Gunnar said, ‘Is that all?’ He sounded beaten.
Jago did not seem to hear. ‘Just remember we’ve got to be little tin gods with these sort of people if we’re going to get anywhere. They like discipline, furthermore they expect it!’
Connell said evenly, ‘We saw some of it on the way up here.’
Jago leaned on his hands. ‘What in Jesus’ name did you expect? Goddamned fairies?’
He beckoned to his sergeant who had been watching the little scene with some amusement. ‘Rickover! Bring that folder!’ He passed it to Gunnar. ‘I’ve put all the crap down there for you. Who to see, who to avoid, the lot!’
Gunnar answered quietly, ‘I must get the survey started.’
‘Jesus, a tug could do that!’ Jago grinned unexpectedly. ‘Still, I guess they couldn’t spare a tug!’
Maddox did not remember leaving the fort, nor did he recall getting into the jeep. All he knew was anger and disappointment. He knew that Gunnar could not start a fight with his new superior, but all the same …
Connell whispered. ‘I think the captain and Major Jago are going to get on like a house on fire, eh?’
For once Maddox could not think of an answer. As the jeep squealed down the road he watched the distant shape of the Hibiscus and wondered what he should do next.
Gunnar interrupted his brooding thoughts: ‘A remarkable man, Jago. Like something out of a nightmare!’
Connell stared hard at the captain. ‘The nightmare is right here.’
Maddox thought of what the ship’s company would say when they heard of the extra work expected of them, and knew that the real nightmare had not even begun yet.
* * *
It was strange that the commandant’s quarters could be so different from his U.S. military adviser’s when they were in fact hewn from the same concrete structure. The main room into which Gunnar was ushered with such deference by a small Chinese servant was about the same size as Jago’s bunker, but being built on a higher level it overlooked the whole anchorage by way of a wide, horizontal window, yet so thick was the outer wall that none of the sea’s glare nor the powerful heat itself seemed to penetrate it. Gunnar could see his ship framed in the window like a scale model in a giant showcase, the small green islets, and even some of the interlacing channels between them. The room itself was impressive in its simplicity. The walls were covered with pale wooden panels and the floor with a cunningly interwoven pattern of mats. Some heavy chairs of old and exquisitely carved designs were placed around a centrepiece of marble which served either for a table, or as was now the case, as a support for a large bowl of tiny, transparent fish.
With a nagging irritation Gunnar saw that Jago was already in the room. It seemed this would be the pattern for the rest of his stay in Payenhau. Jago obviously did not trust Gunnar to make any personal contacts alone and thereby upset his own balance of authority. When he had returned to the ship after the morning visit ashore Gunnar had been unable to eat or rest. The insulting manner of Jago’s reception had been bad enough. His folder of fresh instructions left Gunnar in no doubt as to his own position under the marine’s over-all command.
Colonel Tem-Chuan made no effort to rise from his wide, carved chair, but Gunnar was neither surprised nor offended. The colonel looked incapable of movement, like a carving in his own right. He was gross, so that his circular head seemed merely a continuance of his fat body rather than a separate entity. He was either nearly bald or had once shaved his head, Gunnar thought, and the scalp was covered with a fine black fuzz, almost like down. His grotesque and unreal appearance did not end there. His eyes were hidden by the thickest pair of glasses he had ever seen, like bottle-top windows, which gave no clue to what lay behind them. But he was smiling, and one small plump hand gestured towards a chair directly in front of him. Gunnar guessed that it was so placed to save the commandant any unnecessary movement.
Another officer stood beside Jago, tall and slim, the marine’s Chinese counterpart, whom Gunnar imagined was the ‘perfect’ Major Yi-Fang. He too was smiling with his mouth, but his deepset black eyes were hard and impassive.
The commandant settled his vast bulk in his chair and the two plump little hands smoothed down the soft olive-green cloth of his plain, ungarnished uniform.
‘You are very welcome, Captain.’ The mouth turned upwards in a small crescent. ‘I hope your stay will be a pleasant one.’
There was a sudden movement and the soft flutter of feet across the matting, and Gunnar saw a young Chinese girl, covered from throat to ankle in a white smock, putting a tray of slender glasses and a tall decanter beside the fish bowl. With downcast eyes she stood beside the colonel’s chair, as if waiting for some command or instruction.
The colonel wheezed comfortably. ‘I think we will enjoy a drink to celebrate your visit, Captain.’ He reached out as he was speaking and moved his hand down the servant girl’s back to toy with a long plait of black hair. She kept her eyes down, but Gunnar saw her body quiver as if from pain as the commandant touched her. Like a possession, he thought. Like Laya!
He felt a glass thrust into his hand and realised that Major Yi-Fang had crossed the room with a hardly a sound. The drink was pale and therefore dangerous, he decided. Nevertheless, Gunnar downed his in one gulp, conscious of its immediate power and strange comfort. Probably made locally, he thought. The Chinese were good at that sort of thing.
Jago was staring at him strangely, but said in his flat, cold tone, ‘The captain will start his surveying work tomorrow, Colonel.’
Tem-Chuan nodded equably. ‘Quite so.’ His English was perfect but for a slight lisp. ‘I have put a boat at his disposal as you suggested.’
Jago said off handedly : ‘It’s a fishing boat with an old diesel. I imagine it’ll be more suitable for your officers to get around the channels for soundings and measurements?’
Gunnar nodded. It was irritating him almost to breaking point the way that Jago took it upon himself to decide everything without any consultation. It might be because he had been in the habit of making all the decisions in Payenhau for so long. Or it might be something worse. Little tin gods, he had said himself. He must certainly be the most senior. Gunnar tasted his second drink and stared at the sunlit window. ‘Thank you.’
Jago added with a tight smile, ‘It’ll leave your ship free for more important things, eh?’ He and Major Yi-Fang grinned at each other like a pair of conspirators.
Damn them, Gunnar thought, they had it well planned before I dropped anchor. It made it worse to realise that Jago was probably right in his motives. Payenhau was many miles from the mainland, yet less than two hundred from another tiny island group which lay directly to the west. Owned by Red China, they were geographically useless except as a very temporary shelter for fishing boats and the like. But if some plan was afoot it might be a good jumping-off ground. He asked, ‘What sort of people are detained here?’
The colonel shrugged, the effort bringing a rash of sweat to his smooth forehead. ‘Scum. Political, maniacs, or just people who have lost their way in our society!’ He chuckled. ‘So many refugees are escaping from the mainland by way of Hong Kong that we have to watch out for the fellow-travellers. It is too easy for the Communists to smuggle agents and spies into our midst.’ He took a delicate sip at his glass, and the movement made Gunnar think of a hippopotamus trying to drink from an egg cup. ‘So my command here acts in two ways. It is a good place to sort over the rabble before we let them go in to Taiwan. The good we send on, the rest we keep to work.’
He had obviously seen the frown on Gunnar’s face. ‘We must play by the Communists’ rules, Captain. They use a similar method, I believe?’ He patted the girl beside him. ‘It has its small rewards, however!’
Jago showed his teeth. ‘She’s the daughter of a real political agitator they caught in the net. He’s in the prison camp here, so it pays her to be a nice girl!’
The colonel did not interrupt but chuckled even louder. ‘Quite so!
’
Gunnar felt sick and took another mouthful of wine. It was odd that everyone thought his problem was different out here. Yet exactly the same mistakes had been made in Viet Nam. Corrupt and stupid officials backed up by sincere and dedicated Americans. Jago knew all this too. He must have some other scheme in mind.
‘I hope you don’t get bored by this place, Captain.’ Yi-Fang was watching him fixedly. ‘We have no other sailors for you to meet.’
Gunnar wanted to laugh. This wretched little cluster of land and rock, of poverty and suffering, yet its governors spoke to him as if he was the unwordly interloper from some backward land. He tried to think of home or of Europe and the smiling Mediterranean, but all of them seemed to elude him in the distance of time and memory.
Jago said with a grin, ‘There is one other navy man, surely?’
They all laughed, and Jago continued in a steadier voice: ‘You may meet Commander Jack Burgess, late of the British Royal Navy.’ He spoke out the words as if reading an illuminated address yet the contempt was obvious in his tone. ‘You’ll find his details in my folder, so be warned!’
Gunnar said, ‘What is he doing here?’
‘This and that.’ Jago seemed indifferent. ‘He runs a boat for the commandant, stores and so forth. Bit of a comedown for a Limey officer!’
The commandant’s thick glasses flashed as he turned his head with obvious petulance. ‘He is a good fellow! A bit simple, but very useful!’ To Gunnar he added severely: ‘Burgess had some trouble and I helped him from the kindness of my soul. He is a solitary man, but he fights his inner battle with great fortitude.’
Jago grinned wider. ‘Do anything for a drink too!’
Gunnar tried to think clearly and wished he had not hurried with his first drinks. He had met many R.N. officers when he had served with N.A.T.O. For the most part they were courteous, friendly and extremely competent. This Burgess was probably neither a commander nor even an ex-navy man. However, it would probably not matter.
Jago seemed to come to a decision. ‘Now look, Gunnar. Let’s get down to the matter of security. The commandant has okayed your boys using the town for liberty, but all else is off limits. Except the local beaches that is. We don’t want any of them getting shot by my lads, do we? We can do without accidents at the moment.’
Gunnar eyed him thoughtfully. ‘If you say so.’ With the present mood of the crew about hanging around Payenhau it was hardly likely that anyone would be very keen on long walks over the hills anyway.
‘Second point. Keep your boys away from prison working parties. I didn’t like your doctor’s attitude this morning, and if he’s typical you’d better watch all of them!’
‘I am quite capable of handling my ship, thank you, Major.’ Gunnar kept his voice under control, but the growing pain behind his eyes was making him weary of Jago’s assumed importance.
Jago stared at him. ‘We shall see, Captain. This isn’t Viet Nam, you know. You’ve not got a hundred jets ready to scream to your damn aid here! We’re out on a limb, isolated, which is how I like it! I’m not losing my appointment here because some snotty-nosed sailor can’t keep his lip buttoned!’
The commandant breathed out noisily. ‘What he means, Captain, is that Payenhau is part of an experiment. We will build it up into another Nationalist stronghold. You may think it is small, yet it has the same area as Hong Kong, has it not? Who knows, one day it may become the jewel of the China Seas!’ He frowned. ‘But that is enough, I am very tired. Perhaps you could continue your discussions elsewhere. This morning I had to witness some executions and I am weary.’ The servant made to leave but he tugged chidingly at her plait. ‘Not you, my dear. Not you.’
Gunnar tried to catch her eye, but her face when he saw it was empty of everything but despair.
Outside the door Jago said quietly through his teeth, ‘For Jesus’ sake try to look as if you believe the old idiot! Let him dream of his jewel of the Orient if it makes him easier to get along with! He can go on TV for all I care if it’ll ease the way to opening this place as a base!’
Gunnar looked at him bitterly. ‘Is that what we depend on now?’
‘We always have, Gunnar. He may look a fat slob, but he is well connected in Taiwan. The poor relation of a very influential family, so be warned!’
Yi-Fang, who had been listening, said, ‘Fresh flowers often grow from old trees, Captain.’
There was no jeep to take Gunnar back to the pier so he began to walk down the hill alone, the sun beating across his shoulders more fiercely at each step. The wine was even more powerful than he had imagined, and he began to wish he had found time to eat something.
Someone fell in step beside him, and he looked round to see the big marine sergeant, Rickover, peering at him. ‘Here’s a good map of the island for you, sir. I guess the major forgot to give it you this morning.’
Rickover was a typical marine, Gunnar thought. Big, guileless and hardy. Beneath his soft cap Gunnar could see his cropped blond hair, almost as fair as his own, and he had the same well-fed sturdiness as Maddox.
The sergeant brushed away some yelling children with the well-practised ease of a man removing flies from his salad. ‘Helluva dump, eh, sir?’ Then he got to the point. ‘I remember you, sir. I heard how you got your decoration.’ He smiled with obvious admiration. ‘Bloody good show, as Commander Burgess would say!’
‘D’you know him, Sergeant?’
Rickover nodded vaguely as he watched a small squad of soldiers marching down the road. ‘He’s a nut, sir. But a nice nut.’ After a while he added: ‘Well, here we are, sir, the good old pier. Hell, it’ll fall down one day, that’s for sure!’ As they watched the little gig curve towards the pier Rickover added uncomfortably, ‘Just wanted you to know that all marines ain’t enemies, sir!’ He grinned with embarrassment. ‘My major’s a damn good officer all the same. Trouble is he doesn’t think he’s Jesus Christ any more. He knows he is!’
He was still laughing at his joke as Gunnar climbed into the gig and started back to the ship.
In the solitude of his cabin Gunnar began to sort out the faces and names of Payenhau. Added to what he already believed, Payenhau certainly seemed open for something, but even Jago must know more than he was telling. Then with quiet dedication which he thought he had lost for ever, he began to study the map of Payenhau, the Island of Tin Gods.
4
First Blood
THE OLD FISHING boat loaned by Payenhau’s commandant to assist the Hibiscus’s survey had stood up to three days of almost continuous use with hardly a complaint. About thirty feet in length, flush decked and devoid of mast or deckhouse, it looked to the American seamen like yet another of the island’s relics. On the third day, as it chugged noisily between two of the northern islets, the engine began to make an additional sound and almost as suddenly started to overheat.
Heiser, a tough little mechanic from the Hibiscus’s engine room who had been given charge of the ancient diesel and who had watched it with something like hatred since the survey had begun, hurried on deck where Lieutenant (jg) Peter Inglis stood with Anders, the chief bosun’s mate. With four enlisted men they had been detailed to complete an investigation of the northern approaches, although because of the main island’s high cliffs and scattered shoals it was more a formality than an aid to future navigation.
Inglis, slim and tanned in a pair of stained shorts, was peering at a chart while Anders held his sextant and watched the officer with faint amusement. Inglis took his task very seriously indeed, but unknown to Anders and the others his interest was genuine. The rough beauty of the islands, the complete isolation, affected him deeply, and even the remarks on his chart filled him with excitement. The last recorded survey of the Payenhau group was noted at the foot of the chart, carried out by a Captain Brooks, Royal Navy, of H.M. frigate Nimrod in 1778. In his mind’s eye Inglis could easily imagine the weather-beaten frigate, sails aback, idling perhaps where his own battered boat was now while oared lo
ngboats toiled up and down the glittering water, pigtailed sailors and red-faced young English officers busy with the mysteries of lead lines and soundings while they recorded the particulars of this neglected collection of islands for posterity.
He heard Anders say, ‘Well, Heiser, an’ what’s wrong now?’ Like most professional seamen Anders was intolerant of this sort of work, and showed it.
Heiser looked at his officer and rubbed his grubby hands with a piece of rag. ‘Engine’s overheating, sir. Water inlet’s probably choked.’
They waited while Inglis folded his chart to cover his uncertainty. He said cautiously, ‘What can you do about it?’
Heiser shrugged. ‘Stop the engine. It’ll seize up otherwise.’ He jerked a thumb towards the nearest islet, a tilted slab of grey rock about a mile in length which rose slowly to a cliff end some two hundred feet above the sea. At the foot of the cliff, almost concealed in a deep cleft, was a heart-shaped patch of sand. ‘We could beach her, I could have a good look at it then.’ Heiser rocked back on his heels and waited for a decision as he listened to the engine’s painful beat.
Inglis was undecided. ‘Is there nothing else you can do?’
It was very hot, past midday, and Heiser was weary and irritable. ‘I’m not a flamin’ magician, sir!’
‘That’s enough of that!’ Anders glared at him. ‘Get back to your pit and wait for orders!’ Anders was also in a bad mood. In his view Inglis was too easy, to damn soft with the likes of Heiser. The other enlisted men were lounging about either sleeping or shooting dice. It was always the same with these young officers. They wanted popularity and did not know when to get tough. Regan, the first lieutenant, had he been in charge of the party would have had everyone doing something. Right now, aboard the Hibiscus, he was probably drilling his gunners or supervising a massive hunt for cockroaches.
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