Gunnar looked at him from a different angle. The man’s sudden frank bitterness reminded him of Janet’s comments and her contempt for men of Jago’s calibre.
‘And as for that business this morning,’ the marine’s voice collected its normal sharpness, ‘it couldn’t be helped. It happens from time to time. They’re ignorant and believe anything they’re told. Nuclear warheads indeed! Did you ever hear such a load of crap?’
‘I still believe there’s more in it than that.’ Gunnar stifled his earlier sensation of sympathy for this hard-bitten man. ‘It didn’t just happen. I know from experience that there is usually some justification for these outbreaks. Or there is an organised core to get them started. From what I’ve been told it seems that the locals are unhappy about this military “Occupation” of their own island. They don’t want it, in fact they want nothing to do with either faction.’
Jago sighed. ‘Then they’ll just have to lump it! They happen to live in a bit of land which has become strategically important. Part of the pattern. It can’t be helped. It was like that in Korea, in Viet Nam and all the other dumps. The Limeys had it all before us, and the Romans before them. Hell, the weakest will always go to the wall!’
‘There’s rather more at stake today—’
Jago waved his hand. ‘Sure I know that. Before, it was a handful of guns to control a million spears and a stone age mentality. Today, these piddling little nations can bleat either to Washington or Moscow and they get all the weapons they want! Jesus, there never was a better world for testing modern arms!’
Jago punctured another can and regarded it moodily. ‘And here we are, you and me! Washington and the fleet are a long way off, and we are the representatives of the power for peace.’ It seemed to amuse him and he grinned. ‘Well, we’re stuck with it and that’s that!’
Gunnar watched a gull slowly circling the tower. ‘And somewhere on the island is our opposite number.’
Jago snorted. ‘There you go again! My men can handle anything the Reds care to invent. The training is getting better all the time. We can cope!’
It was useless. Gunnar changed the subject. ‘I’ll get on with the survey tomorrow. My exec is organising the other boat now. How reliable is this Commander Burgess?’
‘Reliable? He’s predictable, and that’s about all. Thinks he’s in command of the whole situation here.’
Like you, thought Gunnar coldly. ‘His position doesn’t seem very clear.’
Jago chuckled. ‘The commandant is a cunning old bastard, whatever he may seem. He keeps a couple of Limeys here just in case we get difficult.’
‘A couple?’
‘Yeah.’ Jago’s eyes narrowed. ‘I can see you’ve not read all my notes yet.’ He continued: ‘You know how touchy the Limeys are about this area. For generations the Royal Navy has run the whole shoot, now they’re pinched out, except for Hong Kong. Even in Malaysia they’re only tolerated because they’re protecting the place from the Reds. It’s like I said, a lot of piddling little nations calling the tune!’ He took another drink. He was surrounded by empty cans but showed no sign of having taken a single swallow. ‘But the Limeys don’t like us as top dogs. If they guessed what we were doing here, for instance, they might start huffing and puffing around to interfere. The commandant knows that. If he keeps a couple of British nationals under his wing he could always drop a titbit of information in the right place and perhaps drag in a Limey warship to protect ’em!’
Gunnar was unconvinced. Jago’s clear-cut thinking was too pat, too organised, like the man himself.
Jago added: ‘Of course Burgess earns his keep. He knows these islands like the back of a gin bottle. Well, almost as well. He runs a good boat and would hate to lose his last little bit of authority. The garrison pays his keep and supplies him with hooch. That’s about all he needs.’ Jago grimaced. ‘But don’t rely on him in a pinch. Like all Limeys he thinks we’re a lot of goddamned peasants!’
Gunnar looked thoughtful. ‘Have you read my report about Inglis’s death?’
‘I read it.’ Jago seemed impatient to end the conversation and glanced at his watch. ‘A typical navy effort I would say.’ He waved down Gunnar’s unspoken protest. ‘Sure, I know you feel rough about it, but it could have happened to anyone a bit green. The bayoneting you mention is just another typical bit of Red delicacy.’
‘Why didn’t your patrols find the men who did it? Or discover any boat on that islet?’
‘Who knows? The Reds had a few hours. They might have been ferried over to the main island by a friendly fisherman or one of your outraged independent Chinese. Or they might have been lifted off by submarine. Either way we’ll drop on them soon enough. Major Yi-Fang has promised to tighten things up here on in.’
Gunnar stood up, the beer already stale in his stomach. ‘I hope you’re right.’
‘Sure I’m right. I’m not losing my own face because of them! Not for them, not for anyone, Captain!’ He regarded Gunnar intently. ‘The cards say you’ve got to stick around for a while. Just do that, Captain, and be ready if you’re needed!’
‘I’ll be ready, don’t you worry.’
‘And tell your boys this is as much a war as anywhere else. What did they expect out here? Flags flying, and a front-line trench? Jesus, the flags go up only after the battle’s over!’
As Gunnar picked up his cap Jago added casually: ‘By the way, Captain. You can release that man Pirelli. Wrap it up in navy jargon, stop his leave for a bit if you must, but nothing violent, see? A court-martial would leak out, might invite attention.’ He grinned at Gunnar’s set face. ‘And we don’t want that, do we?’
Gunnar left without another word. The feeling of helplessness was firmer than ever. He was being controlled from outside like a puppet. Even his own ship seemed to elude him. Aboard the submarine the rear-admiral had said he could get another captain if required.
Gunnar walked blindly into the sunlight where the jeep waited to take him back to the Hibiscus. From now on I shall trust no one, he thought. If I am to be held responsible for what happens, then I shall act accordingly.
Surprisingly, he felt better for his decision, and when he met two armed seamen by the pier he returned their salute with unusual firmness.
6
You never know what’s afoot
LEAVING A ROLLING bank of white dust in their wake, the two jeeps raced past the fishing village and swung on to a right curve between two hills. The noise of the engines was immediately exaggerated and worsened by the enclosing land, and Gunnar, who sat stiffly in the leading jeep, was conscious too of the fact that the sea had been swallowed up behind him. Sergeant Rickover was driving, his eyes squinting through the dust, his big hands swinging the wheel like a racetrack ace as he gunned the engine around the next bend in the road. The other vehicle was about twenty yards in the rear, and Gunnar wondered how they were faring in Rickover’s dusty wake. The second jeep contained four soldiers, two of whom carried sub-machine guns and looked as if they were quite prepared to use them.
Rickover shouted above the din: ‘Relax sir! You’ll find it makes it easier on the rump!’ He grinned without taking his eyes from the trail. ‘The guys behind’d give their teeth to be way out ahead!’
Gunnar eased his legs and nearly fell sideways on to the road as Rickover cursed and twisted the wheel to avoid a small boulder. He looked back to where Connell sat wretchedly amongst his first-aid gear, his hands gripping the jeep’s low sides like a rodeo rider.
He caught Gunnar’s glance and gestured behind. ‘Are they protecting us or just keeping a watchful eye in our direction?’
Rickover heard and shouted cheerfully: ‘The commandant thinks it unsafe outside the town or between the villages. A couple of soldiers were knocked off here a while back.’
Gunnar looked up at the hills’ rounded shoulders with new interest. It was a good place for an ambush. ‘Did they catch anyone?’
The sergeant shook his head. ‘Nah! Probably some
local boys working off a grudge! You know how it is with these Chinks, sir. A bit of “squeeze” always gets going once the military moves in.’
Gunnar could imagine it well enough. As in Viet Nam, it was not possible to watch and check the ultimate destination of all the American aid, no matter what it was. Food, clothing, even arms, often floated on to the black market, the racket made easier by the unofficial army organisation behind it.
He wondered why he had come on this unexpected journey instead of leaving Rickover to look after the doctor as he thought fit. The wardroom had been in the middle of breakfast when the marine sergeant had been ferried out to the Hibiscus—which once more rode in solitary watchfulness at her anchorage—and had asked if it were possible for Connell to attend at the guards’ quarters in the prison camp. One of the officers had apparently broken his leg. It was only then that Gunnar had realised there was no medically qualified official on the islands. How in God’s name they managed with closely packed detainees was open to the worst possible supposition. Perhaps this was the real reason for Connell being posted to the Hibiscus in the first place. Deep down Gunnar knew that he wanted to see and know more of the commandant’s little kingdom, rather than worry about Connell’s problems.
Rickover said loudly, ‘They must be a tough bunch to live out here!’
Gunnar nodded and gripped his cap as the jeep sidestepped around a hairpin bend and started on a slight down-gradient.
Wherever they went, whatever they endured or attempted, the Chinese were tough all right. The vast millions of peasants through the mass of China had survived one crushing burden after another. The emperors and bandits, warlords and Japanese invaders, all had lived off their backs, whilst in constant attendance the climate and landscape defied their every effort to scrape a living from the soil. Most Chinese were content to survive. Hang on until the next frugal harvest. Hang on, no matter how much the privileged few in power schemed and manœuvred for more ambitious things.
Even in Hong Kong it was really no different, he thought. Crammed and crowded together under the protection of the British flag, watched and guarded by the distant power of the U.S. Seventh Fleet, the Chinese looked on their lot not as a salvation from the other side of the border, but as a mere incident in time. They did not really like the British, and in their minds associated American sea power with the gunboat era which had once controlled their ports and coastline and opened up trade to Europe and beyond. No, the Chinese were a power yet to be reckoned with. Seven hundred million of them. They did not really care which side of a border they lived or existed. They were first and foremost Chinese, and they looked forward to the time when their latent power would swamp all else. It was hard to understand that the whole pattern of China had happened in living memory for many, and in spite of their ageless traditions and patient calm the Chinese were constantly aware of this fact. From foreign gunboats to the present-day strife between East and West, each year had been marked with their own suffering and hardship.
The jeeps growled up another hillside, the road getting narrower and less stable. Rickover grunted, ‘When the rains come these tracks are like waterfalls!’
‘Have you heard anything about local dissatisfaction while you’ve been here?’
Gunnar’s question made the sergeant chuckle. ‘Hell, yes. You can’t blame them really, I guess. These islands were self-supporting once, but the top weight of garrison and prisoners makes the balance a bit dizzy!’ He dismissed it with a shrug. ‘But it’s the same everywhere, isn’t it?’
The man’s indifference was typical of today’s fighting men, Gunnar thought. They no longer fought to defend home or empire. It was a loose, ragged battle, with the members changing sides as environment and wealth altered its substance and importance. Yes, it was the same everywhere.
Rickover braked slightly and allowed the jeep to idle forward over the top of the hill, so Gunnar could see that the centre span of the island was almost flat, like a flat dustbowl some five miles across. The whole area looked poor and starved of vegetation, but for the usual clumps of shrub and a few patches of wiry grass. The camp itself shimmered in a low heat haze, and the filtered sunlight glittered along the tall fences of barbed wire and the long-legged watch-towers which stood at every corner. It was a big camp, and appeared to be sub-divided again by a similar wired enclosure within, with more watch-towers and even higher fences. It was a hutted prison, with rank upon rank of low wooden shacks on both sides of the inner wire fence, above which floated a cloud of dust mingled with countless plumes of smoke from cooking fires. It was a tired, depressing place, where every ounce of life and hope seemed to have been ground down by time and situation.
Rickover lifted his arm. ‘The inner camp is sealed off from the other one. It’s for special cases. Red sympathisers and so on. The outer ring is for refugees, doubtful citizens from Taiwan and that sort of joker.’ He released the brakes and the jeep shot forward again. Rickover said suddenly, ‘I hate the goddamned place!’ He then lapsed into silence until the jeep had reached the high wooden gates which started to open as the engine died into silence.
Rickover said: ‘We don’t take vehicles inside. A couple of prisoners made a break for it about a month ago in a rice wagon. But they were caught down the hill, poor bastards.’
‘What happened?’ Connell had spoken for the first time, his voice taut.
‘Chopped ’em.’ The sergeant put on his sunglasses and hitched his pistol around his hip. ‘Cut their goddamn heads off!’
Gunnar slid from the jeep and walked towards the guarded entrance. What was the point of explaining to Connell? You had to live with these people to understand their ways. Kind to children and old folk on the one hand, yet completely devoid of pity on the other.
A dapper lieutenant saluted and bobbed his head. ‘Welcome!’
Rickover apparently knew him and said, ‘Where’s the injured officer?’
The lieutenant grinned. ‘This way. You follow?’
Rickover pulled a pack of cigarettes from his denims and threw it towards the soldiers in the other jeep. As he followed Gunnar and the doctor through the gates he explained: ‘Have to do that. The bastards’ll milk my tank otherwise and then sell me back my own gas!’ He chuckled. ‘They’d pilfer the gold from your teeth while you were asleep and you’d never notice!’
Gunnar bit his lip as they followed the jaunty officer down the wide main road from the gates. He recalled Jago’s summary when he had first arrived in Payenhau. ‘Six thousand prisoners’. That estimate had obviously not included wives and children who stared listlessly at the passing Americans. Christ, to them we’re just like the guards, Gunnar thought bitterly.
As if reading his thoughts Rickover said quietly, ‘What have they got to look forward to?’
The lieutenant stopped outside a white, stone-built block of living quarters. Some flowers made a patch of colour by the entrance, and two Chinese women in worn clothing were busy watering and tending them with the concentration of priests.
The guide said, ‘Here we are!’ He opened a door to reveal a man lying naked on a military cot. His muscular, hairless body was taut with pain, and his face was likewise set with patient suffering.
Rickover said, ‘This is Captain Han, sir.’ And to the doctor, ‘Can you manage?’
Connell looked at the two medical orderlies in outsize smocks who stood at the foot of the cot and said coldly, ‘I can, thank you.’
A slight, dark-eyed girl entered the room and placed a dish of tea beside the cot. Gunnar expected the injured officer to make some attempt to hide his body from the girl, but he stared hard at her and kept her waiting for several minutes before he dismissed her with a brief nod, Typical, Gunnar thought. Like the commandant and the girl at his side. He saw the Chinese officer’s face twist into sudden agony and heard Connell say conversationally, ‘Keep still please.’
Gunnar moved to the door while Rickover slumped in a chair to watch the doctor get to work. Connell was high
ly competent, as he had already shown, but Gunnar had a feeling that Captain Han was in for a rough passage.
The hovering lieutenant saluted. ‘What can do for Captain, sir?’
Gunnar pointed at the nearest watch-tower. ‘I’d like to go up there and look at your gun.’ It was strange how easily the lie had come to his lips.
The officer bobbed with obvious pride. ‘Very good gun. Vickers!’
At the inner end of the long road from the gates Gunnar had seen the entrance to the inner camp. There were several armed guards outside the sealed entrance, although the watch-towers were obviously manned. The working parties inside and outside the camp were sparsely guarded, so why the extra precaution? Unless to stop Gunnar from getting too near. By asking to inspect the point furthest from the other camp Gunnar had obviously dispelled the officer’s doubts. He had been hovering outside the guards’ quarters with the sole purpose of stopping Gunnar from doing anything awkward and could now hardly conceal his relief.
He followed him up the sun-dried wooden ladder until they were under the conelike roof where a soldier stood beside the obsolete machine gun. Gunnar nodded. ‘Very smart. Very good.’ Then he patted his pockets. ‘I seem to have left my sunglasses down there. Could you get them for me?’ He watched the sudden caution in the other man’s eyes, the slow, lip-reading uncertainty of a man caught off guard.
The lieutenant quickly weighed up the new situation. Gunnar could not leave the tower and walk back past the guards’ quarters in such a short time that he could not be stopped. He smiled happily. ‘Very good, Captain, sir!’
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