The Name of Valour

by The Name of Valour (retail) (epub)

  It was a different city now, however. Towards the centre, many of the shops had broken windows. The Batu Road was ankle deep in discarded boxes and torn-up cardboard cartons. The only shops which had not been looted were the ones which had vertical signs with Chinese script by their doors. This was because they generally had a couple of handy-looking young Chinese lads standing outside armed with bamboo staves and fierce expressions.

  A gang of Tamils was loading up bullock carts with sacks of rice from one shop. They left off guiltily when they saw five armed soldiers approaching, but did not move far from the cart, glowering at the Argylls.

  ‘Do you s’pose they’ve paid for yon rice?’ asked Kerr.

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Torrance.

  ‘You mean… they’re looting?’ asked MacLeod, wide-eyed.

  ‘I expect so.’

  ‘That’s bloody disgraceful!’ said Kerr. ‘Stop them! Arrest those men at once!’

  ‘What for?’ asked Sheridan. ‘Trying to feed themselves?’

  ‘People canna just go round taking whatever takes their fancy! There are laws!’

  ‘If you ask me, the laws left along with the white colonists,’ said Rossi.

  ‘I suppose you’re gonna blame the British Empire for this?’ said Torrance.

  ‘Who would you blame? We lord it o’er them, tell them to work for us, and we’ll look after them. And they do. They work to put money in the pockets of their bosses, work to pay their taxes, and all they ask in return is that we protect them. And what happens when the chips are down? First sign o’ trouble, we scarper and leave them to the Japs’ tender mercies!’

  ‘More fool them,’ said Torrance. ‘It’s like I keep telling you – it’s a dog-eat-dog world. You’ve gotta look out for number one.’

  ‘I think that’s just what they are doin’,’ said Rossi.

  More Tamils emerged from the shop and dumped more sacks of rice in the bullock cart, but instead of going back inside, they lingered on the pavement, glaring at Sheridan and the five Argylls. Torrance suddenly realised there were more Tamils on the street than there were soldiers. In fact, there were more Tamils on the street than there were bullets in the magazine of his Thompson. He cleared his throat. ‘On the subject of looking after number one… I suggest we keep moving and leave these nice gentlemen to go about their unlawful business.’

  ‘The British Army is no’ goin’ to be intimidated by a bunch of looters!’ said Kerr.

  ‘The British Army?’ said Torrance. ‘The British Army is halfway to bleedin’ Singapore! No one left here but us chickens, boss. Now, you can try to arrest them if you like, but the rest of us are gonna withdraw.’

  ‘Dinna be absurd. Fire a burst from your tommy gun over their heads. That ought to disperse them.’

  ‘And if it disnae?’ asked Rossi. ‘I’m here to fight Japs, no’ Tamils.’

  Bunching closer together, Torrance, Sheridan, Grant, MacLeod and Rossi continued down the street. Kerr held his ground, making a show of pulling back to the cocking handle of his Thompson, but must have realised discretion was the better part of valour, for a moment later he had rejoined the others.

  A British Army lorry was parked a few hundred yards further on. Torrance ran ahead and opened the door to the cab. The corporal seated behind the wheel levelled a Thompson at his chest. Torrance backed away, spreading his arms wide. ‘Don’t suppose there’s any chance of a lift to Singapore?’

  ‘Piss off!’ said the corporal.

  Half a dozen more British soldiers emerged from the jeweller’s store the lorry was parked outside. They flung their packs over the tailgate. ‘Come on, move it, move it!’ snarled a sergeant. ‘Before the Japs get ’ere!’

  Another saw Sheridan, Kerr, Grant, MacLeod and Rossi. ‘Sarge!’ He nodded at them.

  The sergeant dropped his pack to reach for his Thompson, levelling it. A diamond necklace spilled out from under the pack’s flap.

  Torrance still had his arms held out from his sides. ‘We ain’t looking for any trouble. We just want a lift—’

  The sergeant ignored him, instead snarling impatiently at his men. ‘Get in the back! Dusty, grab my pack!’

  Pack and necklace were snatched up and thrown over the tailgate. Dusty scrambled up after it, turning to keep Torrance and his companions covered while the sergeant climbed up after him. ‘Sorry, lads.’ Settling down beside Dusty, the sergeant levelled his own Thompson again. ‘Every man for ’imself.’

  ‘We might have room for the judy,’ Dusty leered, revealing rotten teeth.

  ‘Thanks,’ Sheridan said drily. ‘I’ll take a rain check.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Some other time.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ The sergeant banged a fist against the tailgate. The corporal in the cab started up the engine. Dusty and the sergeant kept their guns levelled at Torrance and his companions until the lorry swerved down a side street and disappeared from view.

  Thirteen

  ‘Selfish bastards!’ Torrance felt slightly foolish. He could not help but think he should have done something more. Not that he cared one way or another if half a dozen squaddies cleaned out a jeweller’s shop – in fact he was kicking himself for not having had the same idea – but he was annoyed to see a chance of a lift out of Kuala Lumpur snatched away.

  Rossi burst out laughing.

  ‘You think that’s funny?’ asked Torrance.

  Rossi gestured at the jewellery shop. ‘If that wisnae the British Empire in a nutshell, I don’t know what is.’

  ‘Oh, give it a rest! All that proves is what I’ve said all along – it’s a dog-eat-dog world.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Aye. The difference between you an’ me isnae the way we see the world, Slugger. The difference is that I want to make it a better place. You just want it to stay the way it is, so you don’t have to feel guilty about being a selfish bastard.’

  Torrance knew there had to be an appropriate comeback to that, but before he could think of one they reached the Gombak River, a sluggish torrent of brown water perhaps thirty yards wide, which presented the more pressing problem of how to get across. The Bombay Sappers and Miners had already been here: the bridge lay at the bottom of the river in a tangle of twisted girders, and a water main that had run under the tarmac now disgorged into the turbid flood. Torrance saw at once it might be possible to get across by walking on the girders, if the current was not too fast, the person crossing did not mind getting wet, and the bridge did not collapse further under the additional weight. He looted the longest length of washing line he could find in an abandoned hardware shop, then tied one end around his waist, the other to the last railing on the embankment, and got Grant and Rossi to lower him down.

  On the near side of the river the uppermost girder was only ankle deep, and the current scarcely snatched at his boots. The metal had not been submerged long enough to develop a patina of algae that might otherwise have made it slippery. As he picked his way across, Grant and Rossi paid out the rope behind him. The girder got deeper closer to the middle of the river, until Torrance was almost waist deep, but then there was another girder lying across it. He climbed up on to that and resumed his precarious crossing.

  He clambered up the far embankment and tied the other end of the washing line to one of the stone pillars supporting an ornate Victorian street lamp. The others came across one by one, using the washing line for a hand-rope to steady them. The last few feet were steep, but Torrance waited to help them up one after another. When Sheridan reached the safety of the opposite embankment, she clung breathlessly to Torrance for a moment.

  ‘Okay?’ he asked her.

  She scowled and pushed him away from her, as if he had been the one who had grabbed her. He felt nettled. Bloody judies, he thought.

  The six of them made their way past the cricket ground – now pitted with bomb craters – and the mock-Tudor Selangor Club. Passing under the railway bridge, they headed up Club
Road until they came to the barracks. As soon as they passed through the gates, Torrance saw the place had a deserted air. It was eerie: barracks were places of noise and bustle, and he could practically hear the ghostly echoes of NCOs barking orders, the tramp of squaddies’ boots on the parade ground, and bugles sounding the last post. A shudder ran down his spine as if someone was square-bashing on his grave.

  An Indian emerged from the kitchens. Seeing the five soldiers, he turned and ran along the colonnade. Torrance sprinted to intercept him. The Indian was a few yards ahead as they came around the corner of the building. Torrance put on an extra burst of speed and brought him down with a flying rugby tackle. The two of them grappled briefly, rolling in the dust, but by the time the others arrived, Torrance had the man pinned to the ground.

  ‘All right, chum, where d’you think you’re going?’ Torrance picked himself up, and helped the Indian up after him.

  ‘Please, sahib! My name is Ashok Rao, I am punkah-wallah!’

  ‘Where are the troops who were garrisoned here?’ asked Kerr.

  ‘They pulled out this morning. Colonel Paget sahib said Kuala Lumpur has been declared an open city, so the Japanese will not hurt too many people or do too much damage when they arrive.’

  ‘So we’re just gaunae let the Japs stroll into Kuala Lumpur without so much as a fight?’ asked Grant. ‘Bloody hell! Is it me, or are we losing this war?’

  ‘That’s enough of that sort of talk, Private Grant!’ said Kerr. ‘I’m sure it’s only a tactical withdrawal.’

  ‘Oh, a tactical withdrawal, is it?’ said Torrance. ‘Oh, well, that’s all right, then.’ He gave Rao a clip around the back of the head. ‘Go on, then. Off you sod.’

  The only vehicle they found at the barracks was a three-tonne lorry. Torrance tried to get it started, but the engine seemed dead. When he opened the bonnet to see what the problem was, he found the engine block was missing. He slammed the bonnet down. ‘Sod it!’

  ‘Maybe we can still catch a train,’ said Kerr.

  Leaving the barracks, they made their way down Victoria Avenue. The few cars Torrance saw were either burned-out wrecks or had been cannibalised for parts, and he found no opportunities to replace a missing carburettor from one car with a compatible model taken from one of the cars on blocks with their wheels missing.

  With its gleaming white walls, horseshoe-arched windows and onion-domed chhatris on the roof, the station looked more like a Mughal palace than a railway terminus. It also had a silent and deserted air. No ticket collectors barred their way as they passed from the booking hall to the platforms. A steamer trunk had been broken open on one platform, the contents – mostly women’s scanties – strewn about and trampled underfoot, emphasising the station’s forlorn atmosphere. Billows of smoke rose from goods wagons burning in a marshalling yard a few hundred yards away.

  ‘I think we’ve missed the last train to Singapore,’ said Rossi.

  MacLeod grinned. ‘Next train’s gorn!’ he said in a passable imitation of Moore Marriott in Oh, Mr Porter! Then his smile faded as the reality of their situation sank in. ‘Now what do we do?’

  ‘Well, we’ve got three choices,’ said Torrance. ‘We can either wait here till the Japs come, hoof it by Shanks’ pony to Singapore...’

  ‘Singapore!’ spluttered Kerr. ‘You’re off your head, man! The sun’s got to you! Singapore’s two hundred miles away!’

  ‘We can take it in easy stages. Anyway, we may not have to walk the whole bloody way. We might find a car. Who knows? Maybe we’ll meet our lads coming back the other way, though I wouldn’t count on it. Tactical withdrawal my arse! Total bloody rout, more like.’

  ‘What’s the third choice?’ asked Sheridan.

  ‘Port Swettenham’s only twenty miles west of here,’ said Torrance. ‘We might find a boat to take us across the Strait of Malacca to Sumatra.’

  She glanced at her watch. ‘Whatever we decide, we’d be crazy to set out now – it’ll be dark in another hour. Why don’t we spend the night here in KL? We can freshen up, get something to eat, get a good night’s rest in comfortable beds, and decide what we’re going to do tomorrow.’

  ‘Makes sense to me,’ said Kerr. ‘The Japs’ll no’ march into Kuala Lumpur without sending scouts ahead of them, and we’ve no’ seen a Jap patrol all day. I reckon we’ll be all right to spend the night at the barracks on Bluff Road, as long as we’re on our way at first light—’

  ‘The barracks?’ said Torrance. ‘Stuff that! Why would I want to spend the night at a manky barracks when the Hotel Majestic is just over there?’ He pointed to a gleaming white building on the other side of the avenue.

  ‘The Hotel Majestic! You canna afford to stay at the Hotel Majestic. Besides, there’ll be nobody there, it’ll be locked up.’

  ‘Two problems which cancel each other out,’ said Torrance. ‘We’ll have to do without room service, but I don’t mind roughing it for a night.’

  ‘I do have to pop into the Majestic,’ said Sheridan. ‘Before Eric left to join his unit, we agreed that if anything happened – if either of us couldn’t get back to the plantation – we’d leave a message for the other at the concierge’s desk.’

  ‘Lefty, why don’t you and Jimmy take the doc to the hotel while Primsie, Titch and me go the barracks on Bluff Road? Whatever we do tomorrow, it’ll involve some walking. We might as well make sure we don’t run out of grub on the way. There’ll be stores in the barracks – I bet we’ll find all the rations we need.’

  ‘Our lads will no’ have left anything that might be of use to the Japs,’ asserted Kerr.

  Torrance laughed. ‘Wanna bet?’

  The Bluff Road barracks turned out to be just as deserted as the ones on Club Road. Torrance fetched a couple of paper clips from the administration block and went to work on the padlock on the door to the quartermaster’s stores.

  ‘Trust you to know how to do somethin’ like that!’ said Kerr.

  Grant watched Torrance try to pick the padlock for a couple of minutes, then wandered off. Torrance was still trying to pick the lock five minutes later when Grant returned with a crowbar and pried the hasp off the door.

  ‘That’s damage to army property, that is!’ exclaimed Kerr.

  ‘Away and boil your head, you barmpot!’ said Grant.

  Torrance threw open the doors, feeling like Aladdin stepping into the robbers’ cave. There were crates of stuff: tins of bully beef, packets of biscuits, Maconochie M&V rations, everything a growing squaddie needed. ‘So, our lads won’t have left anything that might be of use to the Japs, won’t they?’

  They helped themselves to an extra pack each, filling them with rations, then made their way to the clothing store. They got new pairs of shorts to replace the spares they had left at Trolak, and Torrance helped himself to a new pair of boots, since the ones he was wearing had begun to rot in the damp atmosphere of the jungle; along with a new shirt and a new pair of socks, to save himself the trouble of laundering the clothing he was wearing.

  Finally they entered the armoury. There were mortars, Vickers guns, Bren guns, Thompsons, Lee-Enfields, chargers of ·303 ammunition, Thompson magazines and Mills bombs. Torrance armed a couple of grenades and stuffed them in his pockets, filled his utility pouches with thirty-round box magazines for the Thompson, then swapped his old Thompson – already grown rusty in the humid atmosphere of the jungle – for a brand spanking new one. After a moment’s hesitation, Kerr did likewise. He gestured at the ammunition they were leaving behind. ‘We’re no’ goin’ to leave this stuff for the Japs, are we?’

  ‘What d’you want to do?’

  ‘Blow it up.’

  ‘D’you see any plastic explosive?’

  ‘We’ve got grenades.’

  ‘And how are you gonna set it all off? This lot goes off, it’s gonna cause an explosion with a bigger blast radius than you can lob a grenade… half a mo’, though – I’ve got an idea.’

  He stacked some crates of landmines and
mortar shells by the door, then wedged a grenade between two crates, making sure the split pin was nice and loose. Then he took a piece of string, tied one end to the ring on the pin, and chivvied the others out. He pulled the door to, squeezed out, then reached an arm through to pull the string taut and wrap it around the handle a few times. ‘Happy?’ he asked Kerr, closing the door.

  ‘Aye.’

  Staggering under the weight of their booty, they headed back to Victoria Avenue and made their way up one side of the Hotel Majestic’s horseshoe-shaped drive. No doorman guarded the portico. Someone – presumably Rossi – had forced the lock on the door. They entered the opulent foyer. Everything looked spick and span, but the place was deserted.

  Torrance made his way to the bar. Finding a bottle of fifteen-year-old Laphroaig, he poured a generous measure into a tall glass, added an equal measure of soda water and some ice. He was enjoying the peaty flavour when Sheridan entered. She had sponged the worst of the dirt off her clothes, washed her hair, powdered her face and touched up her lipstick. Torrance, who had thought she was a bit tasty the first time he had seen her, had to admit she looked stunning now.

  Despite the opportunity to freshen up, she looked glum. ‘What’s wrong, doc?’ he asked her.

  ‘Just worried about Eric, I guess.’

  ‘What you need is a stengah.’ He served up the mixture as before and pushed it across the bar towards her.

  She took a sip, nodded approvingly, and took a longer gulp. ‘And I had you pegged for a beer drinker.’

  ‘You think ’cause I was born in the gutter, I can’t appreciate the finer things in life? The world’s changed, love. All that stuff about everyone knowing his place is going the way of the horse and cart. I might be a humble squaddie now, but when this war’s over, I’m going places.’