‘You sound like Eric.’ The smile which had started to appear on her lips faded again.
‘Is he a Yank?’
‘No, he’s British.’
‘You married an Englishman!’
‘Why, is there a law against that?’
‘You like Englishmen, then?’
‘I did before I married Eric.’ She grimaced. ‘He looks kinda like Stan Laurel. I thought he was cute.’
‘You married him because he reminded you of Stan Laurel?’
‘What can I say? I’m a Stan and Ollie fan.’
‘So am I, but you wouldn’t catch me marrying someone because she looked like Oliver Hardy.’
‘There were other reasons.’ She grinned ruefully. ‘I’m just not sure I can remember them now.’
‘I ’spect he’ll be all right. He’s prob’ly sitting with his feet up at Raffles Hotel, sipping a stengah of his own and worried sick about you.’
‘I doubt it.’ She pasted a smile on her face. ‘As a matter of fact, we’re getting a divorce. It’s just… well, you can’t live with a guy for two years and stop caring about him all at once. I used to love him. Now I just feel sorry for him.’
‘Is that ’cause you caught some native bint French-polishing his todger?’
She coloured. ‘I hardly think that’s any of your business.’
‘He must be doolally. I mean, if I was married to a tasty bit of… I mean to say, if you was my missus, you wouldn’t catch me tom-catting around.’
‘Thank you… I think,’ she said dubiously.
Kerr entered the bar at that moment, much to Torrance’s annoyance. He was not sure, but he suspected he and Sheridan had been on the verge of having a ‘moment’. Still, it was good to know she was available. He might be in with a chance there yet.
‘Have you seen Lefty and Jimmy?’ Kerr asked Torrance.
‘I think they’re in the kitchens, making dinner.’ Sheridan jumped down from her stool. ‘I’ll go and see how they’re doing.’
‘There’s no need to—’
‘I don’t mind.’ She left the bar, leaving Torrance alone with Kerr.
The lance corporal leered. ‘Fancy your chances there, do you, Slugger?’
‘Better than I fancy yours.’
Kerr grinned nastily. ‘You haven’t got a prayer. Dr Sheridan’s a proper lady, even if she is a Yank. She’s got class. No’ like you, you cockney spiv. Pour me a Glenfiddich, laddie.’ He turned to stand with his back to the bar, gazing across the room with a proprietorial air. ‘Aye, she’s officer material, that one. She’d no’ be interested in an OR like you. Ideas above your station, that’s your problem.’
‘If you say so, Primsie.’ Torrance’s hand hovered over the bottle of Glenfiddich. Anything they left behind would only be taken by the Japanese, but even so the thought of wasting such good whisky on an oaf like Kerr stuck in his craw. He took down the bottle of Bell’s instead and splashed some into a crystal tumbler, before replacing the bottle on the shelf. He pushed the tumbler across the bar towards Kerr. ‘Your Glenfiddich, sir.’
Turning back to the bar, the lance corporal took a sip and smacked his lips in satisfaction. ‘Ahh, that’s the stuff to give the troops! That’s the real deal, that is – you canna fool me. Not that a Sassenach like you would appreciate a fine Scottish malt. Where are you goin’?’ he added as Torrance headed for the door.
‘Thought I might have a bit of a scrub-up myself, as it happens.’
Kerr’s mocking laughter followed him out of the bar. ‘I’m tellin’ you, you’re out of your league!’
We’ll see about that, thought Torrance. Helping himself to the key at reception, he made his way to a room on the first floor. As luck would have it, the previous occupant had departed in such a hurry he had left some of his toiletries behind. Torrance shaved and bathed, washing his filthy hair, and climbed out of the tub, towelling himself vigorously with an enormous, fluffy towel. He slicked back his hair with a dab of Brylcreem, slapped some cologne on his cheeks and splashed some more under his armpits. He put on the new uniform he had commandeered at the barracks and dropped his filthy old gear in the wastepaper basket.
Feeling like a million dollars, he made his way to the bar. The others were all studying a wad of papers. They looked up when he entered. They were not smiling.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Torrance.
Kerr held up the papers. Now Torrance saw it was the geological survey. ‘What the hell’s this?’
‘Where d’you get that?’
‘You know bloody well where I got this! In your pack!’
‘What were you doing, going through my pack?’
‘Looking for smokes—’
‘Oi! Steal your own bloody smokes! We must’ve passed half a dozen tobacconists on the Batu Road today. If you wanted fags why didn’t you get some then?’
‘Looting’s a crime!’
‘Oh, but pinching my fags is okay, I suppose?’
‘I think we’re getting off the point here.’ Rossi snatched the survey from Kerr and brandished it at Torrance. ‘I thought you said you’d used this all up?’
Torrance blushed. ‘And you can get your own bloody arse paper! I’ll bet you’ll find all the arse paper you could wish for in the lavs here.’
‘And I suppose you’re going to pretend you didn’t know this survey details the discovery of seams of gold in the Mount Ophir region?’
‘Does it?’
‘Don’t come the innocent with me! You know bloody well it does! What did you think you were gaunae do? Come back after the war and dig it up for yourself?’
Torrance shrugged. ‘You never know your luck. Listen, I was the one who found that survey. If you think you’re getting a share—’
‘A share! Jesus! You don’t get it, do you? What do you think Funf was doing around that plane? He must have been looking for this survey.’
‘You don’t know that—’
‘I can make an educated guess! If the Japs get their hands on that gold, they’ll put it towards their war effort. Tanks, planes, battleships… for all we know, there’s enough gold there to build them a second navy.’
‘Mount Ophir’s in Johore State, that’s miles south of here.’
‘And given the rate at which the Japs have been advancing down this peninsula, it willna be more than a few days before they’ve conquered Johore as well.’
‘Yeah, well, good luck to them on finding the gold, because they haven’t got the survey which tells them where it is.’ Torrance snatched the survey from Rossi. ‘I do, and I’m keeping it.’
‘Oh, you’re welcome to it,’ said Rossi. ‘Jesus! You still don’t get it, do you? The Japs know about that survey. We know they’re looking for it. And thanks to Funf, they know we’ve got it. That’s why he was with the Japs who turned up at the Batu Caves this morning.’
The colour drained from Kerr’s face. ‘Aw, Jeez! All right… we’ll leave the survey somewhere where we know the Japs will find it. Maybe then they’ll stop chasing us.’
‘What, and hand over millions of quids’ worth of gold to the Japanese war effort?’ snorted Grant. ‘Like hell! I say we burn it.’
Torrance hugged the survey to his chest. ‘Oh, no, you don’t! Anyway, I don’t see what good burning it does. The Japs won’t know we’ve burned it, will they? They’ll still be after us.’
‘At least then there’ll be no danger of that survey falling into the Japs’ hands,’ said Grant.
‘And suppose our lads turn the Japs back before they reach Johore? The tide’s got to turn sooner or later, hasn’t it? Instead of being used to build battleships for the Japs, it could go to building battleships for us instead.’
Rossi nodded. ‘He’s right. We’ve got to get that survey back to our lads.’ He turned to Torrance. ‘Give it here.’
‘What for?’
‘You want that gold to go towards our war effort, don’t you? So what does it matter which one of us holds it?’
> ‘Oh, let him keep it, for Pete’s sake,’ said Sheridan. ‘When you get back to your army, if he won’t give it up you can just tell your commanding officer about the survey, can’t you? Then he’ll have to hand it over.’
‘If he’s no’ sneaked off by then and left us to die,’ said Rossi. ‘We all saw how much of a hurry he was in to leave us all behind at the Batu Caves this morning!’
The chandelier jingled faintly and they looked up at it. ‘Is it an earthquake?’ asked MacLeod.
‘Shit!’ Torrance dashed between the other tables to the window and peered out into the night. Headlights stabbed through the dark, coming down Victoria Avenue, each pair but the first silhouetting the tank in front. They drew up immediately in front of the Hotel Majestic and switched off their engines. Their turrets pointed in all directions, as if to be ready for an attack whichever way it came. A dozen army lorries pulled up behind them and Japanese soldiers swarmed out over their tailgates while NCOs – their harsh tones recognisable in any language – barked orders. Some of the soldiers clattered up the avenue to set up a roadblock. The beams of torches swept this way and that.
A pair of headlights flashed across the front of the hotel as a staff car – an open-topped Toyota Phaeton – turned on to the horseshoe-shaped drive, followed by a lorry. As Japanese soldiers poured out of the back of the lorry, an officer got out of the front passenger seat of the Toyota and opened one of the back doors, bowing low as a second got out, a stocky, middle-aged man wearing a forage cap on his head and no insignia on his tunic but for several rows of medal ribbons on his breast. The soldiers preceded him to the door of the hotel.
‘Time to get the hell out of Dodge!’ Torrance led the way across the dining room, knocking chairs aside in his haste to reach the door.
Fourteen
Torrance and his companions retreated into the kitchens. He peered through one of the portholes in the double doors, craning his head for a glimpse of Japanese soldiers entering the dining room. He could not see them yet, but he could hear an NCO barking orders somewhere.
‘Back door?’ he asked.
‘Aye, this way.’ Rossi led them between the cooking ranges, into a utilitarian corridor and then outside to where they startled a troop of monkeys picking over the contents of an overturned rubbish bin. The animals scattered into a patch of scrub at the back of the hotel, shrieking and hooting. Torrance was so startled that he had levelled his Thompson and almost squeezed the trigger before he realised they were only monkeys.
Using some hibiscus bushes for cover, they made their way around the side of the hotel to where they could see the tanks parked on the street in front.
‘How do we get past that lot?’ asked Kerr.
‘We go round them,’ said Sheridan. ‘Across the road and over the railway tracks. There’s another road to the south on the other side.’
‘I’ll go first,’ said Torrance. ‘The rest of you, wait for my signal.’ He broke from cover, dashing across the north-bound lane of the dual carriageway and ducking down behind some rose bushes growing in the middle of the grassy central reservation. The nearest tank was only fifty yards away, but the commander squatting on the turret was more interested in having a conversation with an infantry officer.
Torrance beckoned the others. Bent double, they dashed across to join him behind the rose bushes, ducking down as a section of infantrymen doubled past, havelocks flapping. Once the patter of their crêpe-soled boots on the tarmac had faded into the night, Torrance raised his head cautiously, made sure no one else was looking in his direction, then threaded his way through the bushes, dashing across the road to take cover in the shadows of one of the arches at the south end of the railway station. He stepped out into the moonlight to signal for the others to follow him, then withdrew into the shadows again.
When they joined him, he set off once more, vaulting over a low white fence and dashing across a greensward beneath a row of palm trees. Reaching the south end of the engine shed, he slithered down a grassy embankment between the shed and a linesmen’s hut, where a wire fence – not even barbed – was the only thing separating him from the end of the platform. The others joined him. Here at the foot of the embankment, at least, they were hidden from the view of the soldiers on Victoria Avenue, as long as they kept their heads down. One after another, they scrambled over the fence on to the platform.
‘Nearly made it,’ said Torrance. ‘Now all we have to do is—’
He broke off as a sustained, eldritch squealing approached. Glancing into the shadows of the engine shed, he saw a pair of headlights approaching along the railway line. The vehicle was too small to be a train, though: he could see the red glow of tail lights at the other end. The noise put Torrance in mind of a London Tube approaching.
He tried the door to the hut, but it was padlocked, so he smashed at the hasp with the butt of his Thompson. The wood splintered around the screws and the lock fell off, hasp and all. He jerked the door open. ‘Get in, quick!’
Kerr, Sheridan, Grant, Rossi and MacLeod scrambled into the hut. Torrance followed them in. In the darkness, someone upset what sounded like a box full of large nuts and bolts, and they cascaded to the floor.
‘Shhhh!’ Holding the door ajar, he peered out to see the vehicle moving along the tracks emerge from the shadows beneath the engine-shed roof, revealing a two-tonne Isuzu lorry. Staring at it in bewilderment, he realised it had two pairs of axles: one, currently raised, with ordinary-tyred wheels for running on roads, and another, now lowered, flanged to run on railway tracks. The Isuzu squealed to a halt, and a Japanese soldier jumped down from the cab. He barked an order, and another six Japanese soldiers appeared from the back of the lorry. Holding their rifles at the high port, they dashed across the tracks to take up positions on the far side of the railway line. Only the driver lingered by the Isuzu, pausing to smoke a cigarette.
‘Now what do we do?’ demanded Kerr.
‘I dunno,’ said Torrance. ‘Wait for them to move out, I s’pose.’
‘What if they dinna move out? What if they stay there all night?’
Torrance said nothing. He was out of ideas. Of all the places in the station the Isuzu could have parked, it had to pull up opposite the linesmen’s hut. Of all the rotten, sodding luck. Of all the…
And then a smile spread across his face, and he nodded at the lorry. ‘We’ll take Duke Ellington’s advice.’
‘Eh?’
‘Take the A-Train.’ Stooping, he hurriedly unlaced his boots, tying the laces together so he could drape them around his neck. Doffing his balmoral, he rolled it up and slipped it inside his shirt. Fumbling on the floor, he picked up one of the bolts, then opened the door just enough to squeeze his arm through and lobbed the bolt over the Isuzu. It struck one of the rails beyond with a noisy clank.
The Japanese soldier standing by the lorry heard it. He levelled his rifle into the darkness, calling out a challenge in Japanese.
Torrance was already dashing across the platform on stockinged feet. He dropped down to the rail bed behind the Isuzu, raising his head cautiously to make sure there was no one else in the back. Seeing it was empty, he moaned softly.
Crêpe-soled boots scrunched on the gravel between the sleepers as the driver made his way along the side of the lorry. Torrance slipped a hand in his pocket and drew out his flick knife. He pressed the stud and the blade sprang into view.
The Japanese came around the corner of the tailgate. Torrance caught him by the throat and stabbed him in the stomach, driving the blade in all the way to the haft and ripping sideways. He felt hot blood splash on his hand. The Japanese gave a groan and crumpled. Torrance followed him down, wiping the blade of his knife on the dead man’s tunic and closing it, slipping it back in his pocket. He took the dead man’s field cap, putting it on. It was too small to go on properly, and he had to perch it on the back of his head.
Torrance heard a voice behind him. The words were Japanese, the tone challenging. He whirled to see an of
ficer standing on the platform above him, a magazine pistol that looked a lot like a Luger in his fist. As Torrance raised his hands, Rossi stepped out of the shadows behind the officer, clamping one hand over his mouth, grabbing the wrist of his gun hand with the other. As the two of them struggled, Torrance clambered on to the platform and fumbled in his pocket for his knife. Drawing it out, he pressed the stud and drove the blade into the officer’s side. With Rossi’s help, he lowered the corpse to the platform.
A voice shouted something in Japanese from inside the engine shed. Torrance ignored it, opening the door to the Isuzu’s cab and swinging himself in behind the wheel. He pulled out the choke, hit the starter and eased down the accelerator with his foot. The engine turned over, sputtered and died. Shit, what if he could not get it started? He tried again; once again it sputtered out.
Rossi had already signalled to the others to come and join them: they were dashing across from the linesmen’s hut. A Japanese NCO standing further down the platform was staring at him. Torrance could only hope that with the undersized cap perched on his head, he was no more than a vague outline in the shadows of the cab. He gave the NCO a friendly wave and hit the starter again.
‘Come on, you bleedin’ piece of Jap junk!’ he muttered under his breath, easing the accelerator further down this time. The engine turned over, sputtered, and started wheezing. He gave it a little more gas, and the engine revolutions picked up, purring nicely.
‘Oi!’ One of the Japanese soldiers at the far side of the railway lines had spotted them and shouted a warning in Japanese.
An NCO unslung his rifle and levelled it. Torrance aimed the Thompson through the open window and fired. The NCO pirouetted and sprawled across the tracks.
Grant, Rossi and MacLeod made for the back of the lorry. Kerr pushed Sheridan towards the cab. Torrance threw the door open for them, grasping her by the hand and helping her into the cab before sliding back behind the wheel. She moved into the middle so Kerr could climb up beside her, slamming the door behind him.
The Name of Valour Page 16