by John Harris
A P & O liner out from Brisbane took their passengers, but Willie insisted on staying with the Lady Roberts.
‘Whatever happens,’ he said, ‘I’ll never sell the old lady now.’
With plenty of room, Polly decided to stay with him and the two children were happy enough to have the full attention of the crew. A few repairs were made, then they set off again across the Gulf of Carpentaria. There were Australian naval ships near the Cape York Peninsula which saw them safely heading south along the Great Barrier Reef before they left them to finish the voyage alone to Sydney.
A liner coming up towards Brisbane as they approached North Head and North Point edged closer to take a better look at the listing ship with the wreckage still on her deck, the smashed rails, the bent and buckled ventilators, and the shattered skylights and windows. Dover Heights was a mass of glowing lights as they turned in, and they could see the ferries from Cremorne and Manley. With Australian thoughts on their losses at Singapore, and with the Japanese on the move in Burma and near enough to their coast to threaten Darwin, there were no crowds to greet them as they were tugged alongside. A car was waiting on the docks, however, and as soon as the gangway went down, Nadya and Tom’s wife, Fan-Su, began to struggle up it. Willie was waiting on deck with Polly and the two children and immediately Nadya held out her arms and enveloped them all.
‘Thank God you are safe,’ she said and Polly promptly burst into guilty tears and started accusing herself of a lack of understanding and sympathy.
Nadya placed a finger over her lips. ‘Don’t say any more. It’s over. It’s done. I have heard from your husband. He’s all right. That’s all that matters – you, your husband and your children, William’s grandchildren.’
Tense with all the strain, Polly burst into tears again. ‘Your grandchildren, too,’ she said, sweeping aside half her objections in one magnanimous gesture. ‘I want you to call them yours.’
To his surprise, Willie found he was still in business. Only the Man of Harlech had been lost and, with losses to Australian-based lines from the depredations of the Japanese navy, there was room for his ships in Australian ports and along Australian trade routes. What was even better, they learned that Edward was safely in England and even heard from Thomas in North China. How he had got the letter out, whom he had bribed, they had no idea, but there it was, announcing that he was with the Communists opposing the Japanese.
Willie was bitter at the fact that, instead of fighting the Japanese, Chiang’s Nationalist troops were blockading areas held by the Communists and that the Communist New Fourth Army in the south of Anwhei Province had even been attacked and dispersed with heavy casualties.
But China was a long way away, as was England, and Australia was a land without fighting, without rationing, without black-outs, and for the first time in months they felt safe. As the year progressed even the news improved. After a setback in North Africa, British troops had got the German Afrika Korps on the run, the Americans had landed at the other end of Africa, in Russia the Germans were being forced to retreat, while at long last the Americans, gathering their strength after the first setbacks, were starting to hit out, and had halted the Japanese advance in two big battles in the Coral Sea and at Midway.
Willie was still working, going daily to his office in Sydney, determined to maintain profitability despite the adverse trading caused by the war. The danger of invasion had changed Australian attitudes and it brought occasional jarring meetings with people who considered Australia let down by London, but on the whole it didn’t really affect relations, and his ships began to ply between Australia and New Zealand and in the safe areas of the Pacific.
He had heard nothing of Da Braga or George Kee, but assumed that Da Braga, being a Portuguese, and Kee, being an adaptable Chinese, were keeping the business above water in occupied Shanghai. He was beginning to wonder if he shouldn’t retire, because Edward had said he wouldn’t mind leaving the Navy after the war and taking over the reins. As it happened, however, quite unexpectedly he found himself in hit-and-run tactics against the scattered Japanese garrisons to the north.
The old Japanese fishing boat he had bought years before, the Fuku Maru, always known to her crew as the Fuck You, Mary, had a speed of nine knots and with a cruising range of eight thousand miles had been claimed by the Navy. Filled with explosives, limpet mines and foll boats, towing miniature submarines and carrying a group of vengeful commandos determined to get a little of their own back for Singapore, the Australians fell on the Japanese outposts. It had been intended to place a naval officer in command but, with everybody already occupied, Willie unexpectedly found himself in the uniform of a lieutenant in the Australian Naval Reserve and in command. It took Edward only a week to learn about it and send a signal insisting that, as senior officer, he would expect a salute the next time they met.
Both Nadya and Polly insisted Willie was too old to put on uniform, but he found he rather fancied the idea. They carried out one or two raids, the old Fuku Maru, her Japanese name exchanged for the more hostile Cobra, transporting the raiders to a point from which they could make their attacks, then waiting until they returned before transporting them back to their base, in and out of uninhabited islands, sheltering when they had to close under the shore among the overhanging foliage.
Though he was over-age for war, it seemed it was to become Willie’s wartime career when a letter arrived asking him if he would call at Government House. As he headed for the Governor’s office his arm was touched and it was indicated that he should head down a corridor towards another part of the building. As he entered the room indicated, he was surprised to find a figure rising that he knew. It was Mallinson, whom he’d last seen in Shanghai before the war.
‘Mallinson,’ he said. ‘Arthur Mallinson.’
‘Farmagh now,’ Mallinson said. ‘Lord Farmagh. They gave me a title to keep me quiet.’
Willie smiled. ‘What in God’s name are you doing here? Aren’t you retired yet?’
‘Retired in 1937, but you know what it’s like. With everybody under forty in the Forces, if you can still stand upright – sometimes even if you can’t – you have some value.’
Willie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is that why I’m here?’
‘’Fraid so.’
‘I already have a job. They gave it to me because I was the only one available.’
‘Temporary, Willie. That’s all. We’ve found a replacement and you’re free.’
‘To do what?’
Mallinson smiled. ‘Hear you’ve heard from your son in China,’ he said.
‘How the hell did you know that?’
‘We have our means. What does he have to say about Chiang?’
‘Nothing flattering. He says that instead of going for the Japanese, he’s busy destroying the Communists.’
‘That’s what we’ve heard. Suspect that if it’s true he’s gone a little too far. Heard the Communists have started to boycott the meetings of the Political Council, in fact, and one might be justified in thinking that the united front against Japan’s come to an end. It’s even suggested that all the money being sent to Chiang in the form of aid against the Japanese is being used to remove his political rivals and make his own future secure. What’s more, while the Communists are fighting the Japanese, he’s trying to stop them. Of course–’ Mallinson offered a cigarette ‘–he knows perfectly well that now the United States are in the war, all he has to do is retire and let the Americans do the job for him.’
‘Go on.’
‘There are Chiang generals in the south who we think are selling him to the Japanese.’
‘Zychov,’ Willie said at once.
‘What’s that?’
‘Nothing.’ Willie changed step quickly. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if you’re right.’
‘What we want to know is, are they, and if they are, does Chiang care? What do you think?’
‘Yes to question number one. No to question number two.’
Ma
llinson smiled. ‘A lot of money’s gone to them,’ he explained. ‘We’re wanting to know what he’s doing with it, if it was a mistake, and if it could be put to better use.’
‘And where do I come into it?’
‘London’s worried. Like the Americans, we’re concerned that our supplies are not being used for the purpose for which they were sent.’
‘Aren’t you getting the truth out of Chungking?’
‘There’s a great deal of publicity showing Winston, Roosevelt, Stalin and Chiang together, as if they were all equal. But that’s nonsense, and the Americans are in a turmoil because people in Washington think, since the Communists fight, that the sun shines out of their backsides. But another lot in Chungking, who depend on Chiang for favours, say the opposite. Winston doesn’t trust what he hears and he wants to know. How genuine is Chiang? How genuine are the Communists?’
‘For God’s sake!’ Willie said. ‘And you want me to find out? That would mean going to Chungking.’
‘You’ve been before. There are all sorts of missions there. American. British. French. Military missions. Air Force and naval missions. Trade and economic missions. You’re an obvious choice for a trade delegation. Chiang couldn’t possibly object. Besides, I gather you’ve met him.’
‘I didn’t like him.’
‘You don’t have to. But you do have to be acceptable.’
‘How do I get there? With Japan in control of the coast.’
‘Since the loss of the Burma Road, the Americans fly everything in from Assam.’
Willie remembered with alarm his trip from Australia to Shanghai . ‘The last time I flew any distance,’ he said, ‘I spent seven days sitting in a raft in the China Sea.’
Mallinson smiled. ‘If anything happens this time, they’ll send a mountaineer. You’ll be going over the Himalayas.’
‘Good God! Do you know how old I am?’
‘To the month. I also know that for an ageing man you’re remarkably fit, very active and surprisingly resourceful. I’ve heard a bit about what happened at Singapore. Nasty business, that, but you seemed to come out of it with roses growing on you as usual.’
‘You want me, in effect, to become a spy?’
‘You’ve been a spy before, Willie.’
Willie was about to protest when he realised the truth in Mallinson’s statement. ‘You need an expert,’ he said.
‘You are an expert.’
‘There are other experts. Younger than me.’
Mallinson gave his dry, crooked smile. ‘Unfortunately, at the moment they’re all in Japanese prison camps.’
‘What do I get out of it?’
‘Willie, people are giving their services to the nation free. Of course, we can arrange for a small bauble afterwards to hang round your neck – something for the grandchildren to play with.’
‘I was hoping to spend some time with my wife and with those grandchildren you’re talking about. I hardly ever see them. Besides, I have a shipping line to run.’
‘But aren’t doing, preferring instead to Errol Flynn it round the islands. It’s quite clear that William Sarth has the sort of managers who can be trusted to run things for him until he returns.’
‘If I return.’
When you find out what we want, you’ll be flown out the same way you were flown in.’
‘Suppose it doesn’t work out that way?’
Mallinson pulled a face. ‘I can’t think of anyone more suited to sort it out,’ he said.
When Willie informed Nadya and his family what was in the wind, their immediate reaction was the same as his.
‘This is a young man’s job.’
Willie grinned. ‘That’s what I said. He said they needed an old man.’
‘But China’s overrun by the Japanese.’
‘There are large tracts where it isn’t. They’re only in control in the areas where they have garrisons. China’s too big for anything else.’
That night, Nadya held him to her, certain in her mind that once he’d gone she’d never see him again. Like Abigail before her, she had got to know him well and was aware that he couldn’t resist taking a risk. He had been taking them all his life and they had become second nature to him. She kissed him gently, sadly, feeling somehow he was slipping away from her. ‘How long will it take?’
He put his arms round her, feeling the warmth of her body against his. He guessed what was in her mind, but he could no more resist Mallinson’s offer than he could have flown to the moon. Now that he had agreed to go, he was growing more and more interested. He had lived most of his life in China, it had absorbed his attention for over forty years, and the thought of returning pleased him. He tried to calculate.
‘Week or two to get there. Month or two to find out what they want to know. Week or two to return to India. That’s about all. It shouldn’t take long.’
He didn’t know how wrong he was.
Six
Chungking hadn’t changed much and, though the bombing seemed to have stopped, the scars remained.
The Liberator that carried Willie there left Assam in the atmosphere of a steam bath, and the idea of flying in an unsuitable aircraft in an area of storms, unmarked peaks, icing, overloading, accidents and unpredictable winds didn’t leave him overjoyed. As it happened, however, the weather was clear and they landed safely at Yunnan, from where they travelled by road and river to Chungking.
Putnam was still there, by this time pushed into uniform and acting as adviser to the American general in command. He greeted Willie rapturously, particularly when Willie produced a bottle of Scotch whisky.
‘It’s a load of crap,’ he said as they shared it. ‘All this hero-worship of old Dogleg. There’s plenty of courage but it’s being shockingly wasted. Most people here are interested not in the war but in finding the money to pay for what they need. There’s no problem about buying things. Fur coats, electric razors, silk stockings, army boots, guns, petrol, diamonds – it’s all available. All you need is the dough. Prices have risen two hundred and fifty times in two years. The war’s been left a long way behind. And just to help matters we’ve got typhus because of the rats. You see ’em dead in the streets and nobody bothers to collect ’em. The alleys stink.’
‘What about the Russians? Are they here?’
Putnam gave him a quick look. ‘One or two trade missions. That sort of thing. Only other guy I know of is in the south somewhere with one of Chiang’s generals. Some White Russian admiral or something, acting as adviser.’
It was Zychov. Willie was certain it was Zychov. There weren’t many Russians because Chiang didn’t like them, but Zychov was a White Russian, which always made him acceptable, and it would be like him to advance himself in rank.
‘I think I’ll probably get to meet him somehow,’ he said.
Putnam stared at Willie with narrowed eyes. ‘It’s the same guy you were looking for before, isn’t it?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Same man.’
Putnam frowned. ‘What’s he done to you? What makes him so all-fired important?’
Under the influx of enormous numbers of refugees, Chungking was expanding rapidly, and the new buildings going up in the bombed areas of the city were spreading like fungus, though, as Putnam had suggested, the place seemed to have lapsed into lethargy and indifference. Because Chiang was doing so little for China most people had given up doing anything for him and merely tried to cope with the corruption. The British called him Old Dogleg, the Americans Chancre Jack, and it seemed to be the policy to avoid him whenever possible.
Basically, however, Chungking hadn’t changed much and the streets looked as though nobody had attempted to clear away the refuse since Willie’s last visit before the war. As Putnam had said, the rats could be counted day and night in their hundreds, rummaging around in the bombed buildings for buried bodies among the debris and running as nonchalantly as cats between your legs.
For Willie accommodation was provided on the top floor of a block of offic
es which the British had taken over. Part of it was used for working, the remainder for living quarters. The bottom floors were occupied by Chinese government departments and the entrance was full of the children of the staff, and their washing.
‘Things are a bit overcrowded,’ a young Foreign Office official called McAleavy explained. ‘They sleep in the basement and even seem to like it because it’s warm in winter.’
Eating had grown more difficult since Willie had last been there and food for the Europeans all had to be flown over the Hump. Water was also scarce and every drop had to be carried from the river by coolies and boiled, so that a bath in a few inches was a luxury.
It wasn’t difficult to discover that Mallinson’s interpretation of the situation had been correct. Chiang was well aware that so long as he kept his armies in being the Japanese could never conquer the vast territories of China and he was only waiting for the Americans to win the war so that he could claim his rewards at the peace conference. McAleavy was in no doubt about his object.
‘It’s to keep the Communists pinned down in the north,’ he said. He was a tall, grave young man with horn-rimmed spectacles and not a lot of humour.
‘Vast areas of the country are still in Chinese hands,’ he explained. ‘Simply because the Japanese garrisons daren’t move far. Chiang’s never been happier, in fact. Pearl Harbor made sure the Japanese would be beaten eventually, and, now they’re flying things over the Hump, even the loss of the Burma Road doesn’t matter all that much. It’s a pity a lot of it’s squandered by Chiang’s favourites and their women. Even the petrol that comes in is used for joy-riding.’
To keep his armies in the field, Chiang was making more and more use of conscription and it was an ordinary sight to see squads of soldiers chained together for deportation to the fighting areas. Conscription was as corrupt as everything else, however, and no one with money had to fight. In the meantime, people wore their dirty clothes for weeks, the telephone system was nothing but snarled coils of wire in the streets, there was no electricity for days on end, the sewage piled up and stank, and every disease imaginable flourished.