He scuttled down the ladder, and Gunnar unbuttoned the front of his shirt. With a quick wipe he smeared the dust from his hidden binoculars and then levelled them along the road. The watch-tower was just right. With startling clarity he saw the faces of the soldiers, the grounded rifles and the big gates. Up and over to the low rooftops beyond. Not much sign of life, but for a few small groups of figures squatting in the shade. No women. Not much activity. He steadied the glasses on to the pale strip of concrete which was only just visible below the ranks of buildings. A road? He dismissed the idea instantly. It would be pointless to construct a road from this point. The one from the town was surely of greater importance, yet little had been done to that. Something Jago had once said … Gunnar heard the door bang below him and slid the glasses back into his shirt, He thought back over all the things Jago had told him about. An airstrip. That was it. Presumably the hard cases in the central camp were employed on doing just that. When it was finished they could move the whole camp away from the prepared site, and then … his mind refused to accept it. It was finished. He had seen the newly built concrete screen at one end, the wooden supports for possible landing lights.
He heard the lieutenant’s voice: ‘Sorry, Captain, sir. No glasses below.’
Gunnar looked past his baffled face. ‘Well, I must have forgotten them!’ He glanced briefly at the soldier by the gun. His face was blank and disinterested as Gunnar had guessed it would be. Soldiers of any army were rarely surprised by the antics of officers. He remembered what Rickover had said and handed his cigarettes to the one man who had seen him peering at the forbidden camp. The man saluted and showed his teeth.
The lieutenant said irritably: ‘No need for whole pack, sir! One would do for common soldier!’
At the foot of the ladder Gunnar asked casually, ‘Who do you have in the inner camp?’
The officer kept his face immobile. ‘Communist agitators. Very bad, dangerous men!’ He lifted his eyes skywards. ‘Very bad men, sir!’
Gunnar walked into the shaded building. He felt vaguely satisfied and alert. Rickover had said that two escapees from the camp had been beheaded for merely taking a ride in a rice wagon. Yet everyone must have known that the likelihood of their really escaping was as remote as snow in Egypt. But the inner camp was full of potentially dangerous agitators, according to the beady-eyed lieutenant. Men who by these standards should have been executed before they even arrived! Someone was lying. But why? What was the point of it all?
Connell met him by the door. He was wiping his hands vigorously, his mouth set and angry. ‘I’ve set his leg, sir. Can we get out of this place now?’
Gunnar eyed him thoughtfully. There was a lot to be found out in Payenhau after all. Perhaps the doctor might be accepted where others were not. ‘Sure, Doc. I thought you might stop off at the fishing village to check up on that kid?’ He watched the surprise show briefly in the doctor’s bright blue eyes.
‘Well, er, yes.’ Connell seemed confused. ‘Yes, I’d like that very much.’ He nodded towards the door. ‘I nearly forgot my oath with that one!’
Gunnar smiled quietly. ‘I’ll remember that when it’s my turn, Doc.’
They remounted the jeeps and headed backtowards town. On the final hill Rickover’s engine coughed and died. The tank was empty, as was the emergency can on the back. Gravely the soldiers from the other jeep gathered round and produced a full can of gas.
More cigarettes were exchanged and Rickover said wearily, ‘I forgot that the journey took us both ways!’ He grinned as the other jeep roared past them, the soldiers swaying with laughter.
Rickover tightened his jaw. ‘Still, I will remember those jokers. Yes, sir, the very next time I have them on manœuvres I’ll just about——’ He never finished his sentence. With a dull crack the other jeep rocked sideways in a cloud of red-tinged smoke. One wheel spun crazily over the lip of the hill, while the jeep itself rocketed on to its side even as the tank exploded.
Rickover hauled on the wheel so that Gunnar thought for an instant that they would crash into the blazing inferno with its four writhing inmates. Somehow they missed the other jeep, and Rickover said hoarsely, ‘Jesus, that was a mine!’
Gunnar shielded his face from the blazing heat and peered down at the road. A black smear in the dust told him where the crude mine had been hastily laid. ‘It was meant for us,’ he said calmly. ‘They thought we’d be in front.’
Connell leaned against the jeep, his face pale. ‘Thank God you forgot to pay those poor devils extra “squeeze”, Sergeant!’
‘Yen.’ Rickover, who had tugged his automatic from its holster, replaced the weapon and climbed back on the driving seat. ‘I guess I’ll never get my own back on them now!’
As they roared down the final slope Rickover said flatly: ‘I’ve been here long enough to be blown up before, sir. The doctor is harmless enough.’ He glanced sideways at Gunnar’s impassive face. ‘That leaves you, sir!’
* * *
Clad only in shorts, and sprawled in faded canvas chairs, the Hibiscus’s officers took advantage of the shade afforded by the fantail awning and of a too-brief breeze which stirred the water from its usual lethargy.
Regan was apparently asleep, an old newspaper across his head and shoulders, and Malinski was absorbed in a much-thumbed manual of machine spares. Maddox adjusted his sunglasses and thrust his hands behind his head. Floating loosely on the stream, a narrow-gutted sampan, loaded to the gunwales with important-looking water melons, passed slowly by the anchored ship. Like Chinese carvings the three crew members stood in a small, hopeful group by the sweep oar as they peered from beneath giant coolie hats at the warship’s upper deck. There was no response however. The midday meal’s greasy vapour still hovered between decks where most of the men snored in their bunks or idled their time before facing the afternoon sun and another round of work. Only the gangway watch, bored and listless, watched the passing boat, and their minds were elsewhere and not excited by the prospect of melon.
Lieutenant Kroner stretched his long legs and yawned languidly. ‘The natives seem to be getting more friendly.’
Maddox grunted. It was true that more craft than usual had been passing nearer to the ship, but they still kept their distance, cautious and timid. Gunnar had left strict orders that no unauthorised vessel was to come alongside, but the warning was apparently unnecessary.
Maddox lowered his wrist to look at his watch. The captain should be back soon from his visit to the prison camp. What new ideas would he have? he wondered. It would be good to talk with the doctor again too. Malinski was a good guy, but his conversation was limited and he preferred to keep to himself. As for Regan. Maddox frowned so that Kroner remarked, ‘Are you still yearning for the high life?’ Maddox did not answer. It was plainer than ever how much they all missed Inglis. Alive he had been just an extra member of the mess. Shy, unsure of himself, and sometimes quite irritating. But now it was obvious that he had made the right balance required for any small ship.
A radioman padded on to the fantail and peered down at Kroner. ‘You coming to check the despatches, sir?’
Kroner stretched like a dog and yawned again. ‘I suppose so.’
Maddox settled down to his thoughts undisturbed.
As usual his mind returned to the shooting on the pier and mostly to his own reaction. It was strange to view the incident with an almost clinical detachment. Even his own fear was like part of a larger pattern. But I was afraid, he told himself. Sick, unnerved, as he had never been before. He had felt out of his depth, shattered by the crowd’s haphazard power and determination. It was like nothing he had experienced, and he did not know how he would react if it occurred again. The captain had been a different man under those circumstances. He had gathered some new strength, as if he had been expecting it all to happen, and had shown less uncertainty than he had over Inglis’s death, when he was not involved. It was all very strange.
‘Boat approaching from starboard, sir!’ M
cCord, a quartermaster, poked his head round the forty-millimetre and looked at the silent group. ‘It’s the fishing boat, Osprey.’
Maddox was about to shake Regan, who was officially O.O.D., when he remembered that the Englishman, Burgess, would be aboard his boat, and anything was better than brooding over his own misgivings. ‘Okay, I’ll come.’
He slapped his cap on his dishevelled hair and sauntered along the deck as the sturdy M.F.V. putted alongside. He could see Burgess’s bearded face in the small wheelhouse, and watched as a powerfully built Chinese threw a line from the bows to the gangway watch. One other hand was flaking down a rope with service precision on the canvas hold cover, and Maddox guessed there was probably a third Chinese in the tiny engine room. In spite of this small crew the boat wheeled smartly and coughed astern to creak obediently against her fenders.
Burgess barked another order, his voice unnecessarily loud, as if he were calling from the bridge of a frigate, and watched impatiently as the big deckhand hurried aft to secure the other line. Then he put on a white-covered cap and climbed slowly and carefully on to the Hibiscus’s deck.
Maddox noticed that the cap still bore a tarnished Royal Navy badge, and something made him call the gangway watch to attention as the big man stepped aboard.
Burgess turned slowly aft and first saluted the listless Stars and Stripes, and then Maddox. The latter sensed that this was quite a moment for the Englishman. He could not guess how long it had been since Burgess had boarded a ship of war, or exactly what he was thinking at this moment. The man’s dark eyes were steady and grave, quite unlike their bleary, excited restlessness when Maddox and the doctor had called at his shacklike house. He was an officer again. Reliving it, making every second count.
He boomed, ‘Reporting for orders, Lieutenant!’ Then his eyes twinkled. ‘I thank you for your courtesy.’
Maddox felt embarrassed, although he could not say why. Several seamen had come on deck to see who had arrived, and the gangway watch still stood in attitudes of resentful attention. Maddox said hastily, ‘Come aft and meet the others.’
Within minutes the other officers had returned to life. Malinski became quite voluble in his descriptions of London and the Portsmouth dockyard, and even Regan seemed pleasant and relaxed.
Maddox sat in his chair watching Burgess’s features becoming more animated and less tense.
It’s just that we’re all sick of the sight of each other, Maddox thought. If we knew this was to be a three-year commission we would settle down and make the best of it. The uncertainty was more depressing than any stupid hint of danger and involvement.
Kroner stepped aft, and after a mumbled introduction to the newcomer drew Maddox to one side. ‘Any sign of the captain?’
Maddox eyed the despatch pad in his hand and felt a rising knot of panic. ‘Not yet. Why?’
Kroner held out the pad. ‘Then you’re in charge till he comes. This is a personal brief.’ He smiled gently at Maddox’s apprehensive face. ‘Something for you to tell him.’
Maddox read the blocked words twice before they sunk in. Their content did not concern him personally after all, yet he felt a sense of anxiety, a feeling that he was called to do something. The message merely stated that the captain’s wife had been granted a divorce, that the navy department were making the usual arrangement with reference to pay and allowances, etc., etc. A bald, matter-of-fact statement sent by radio no doubt because mail was restricted by the ship’s uncertain movements.
Maddox handed the pad back. ‘Hell!’
Kroner grinned openly. ‘Scenes behind the scenes! You never know what’s afoot, do you?’
Vaguely he heard Regan say to Burgess: ‘I have a picture of the place in my room below. Care to see it?’
Kroner had gone back to the radio room, and Malinski seemed content to resume his reading. Maddox decided that he would be well advised to think over the new piece of information and how it might affect him personally.
He slung his leg over the rail and stepped on to the M.F.V.’s broad deck. The big Chinese seaman was squatting against the wheelhouse. He smiled at Maddox and then went on with a task of wire splicing. He was a giant of a man, broad and extremely powerful. Maddox doubted if it were possible for him and Burgess to stand in the wheelhouse at one time.
His shadow fell across the other figure which still knelt over the wide coil of rope. Maddox took in the faded jean pants, loose canvas jacket, all surmounted by a giant straw hat as wide as a normal umbrella. ‘Nice job,’ he said companionably.
The figure stood up and turned to face him. Maddox stared transfixed at the upturned, unsmiling face. It was a girl. As the shocked realisation passed, Maddox realised two things simultaneously. She was young and extremely attractive, and she was obviously a half-caste. She had a fine, tanned skin, and but for her eyes and small, delicate mouth, she would pass as a European. Half Chinese without a doubt, he thought vaguely, a girl whose beauty was accentuated rather than marred by her shapeless, hand-sewn garments.
She said, ‘When you’ve had a good look, just hand me the verdict!’
Maddox swallowed hard and was conscious of his own appearance. Never before had he been caught at such a disadvantage. Crumpled, grease-stained shorts, battered cap and an expensive wristwatch made up his inventory of clothing, and his broad chest was still streaked with the coffee he had been drinking with such careless ease in the depths of his chair.
He held out his hand. ‘Maddox,’ he said thickly. ‘Bob Maddox.
Her small, neat hand merely touched his, then she stepped back a pace to look at him. Normally, Maddox would have basked in such a situation. Now he felt laid bare by those dark, unsmiling eyes.
She said curtly, ‘Is my father enjoying himself?’ A mere tilt Of the head, yet the movement stabbed Maddox to the heart.
‘Father? Enjoying himself?’ he asked dazedly. Then it dawned on him. Of course … Burgess. A whole collection of distorted pictures floated through his mind as his brain sought to connect with his tongue. Of course, there had to be more to Burgess than he had supposed. Maddox knew enough about the rigid and monastic code of the Royal Navy to appreciate what Burgess’s superiors must have made of his marrying a Chinese woman, no matter what her particular status might have been in her own right.
The girl sat on the rail and stared at her sandalled feet. ‘Yes, he is my father.’
Maddox saw a watching group of sailors above him on the Hibiscus’s fo’c’sle. ‘Come aboard. I’ll rustle up some coffee.’
She looked up at the ship as if seeing it for the first time. ‘No thank you.’ She had a very English accent, which too seemed out of place and alien.
Maddox gained a little confidence. ‘Come on, we won’t bite!’
She took off the big hat, and immediately her neck and shoulders were enveloped in a mass of long, jet-black hair. ‘I hear you’ve released that murderer,’ she said in the same cool voice. ‘I don’t want to be near him, thank you.’
She meant Pirelli, Maddox thought quickly. ‘It was an accident, you see——’
‘I see very well. You know, you really are rather unbelievable!’ She smiled very slightly, but there was still no invitation. ‘You are always the same. You push in, throw your weight around, and expect everyone to fall flat on his face. You hand out candy and comics where there is no bread, and bullets where there is no understanding!’
Maddox flushed. ‘Now just a minute!’
But she continued evenly: ‘You point a finger and say, “That man is safe and pro-American, but that man is a comrade!”’ She looked straight into Maddox’s face. ‘It must be wonderful to be so perfect!’
Vaguely Maddox could hear the distant mutter of the gig’s engine. Gunnar must be coming back. He said hurriedly, ‘The captain is returning.’ He wagged a finger. ‘But don’t go away. I want to finish this talk and straighten out a few things!’
She replaced her hat. ‘I thought you were the captain, you have such authority, such mas
culine sincerity!’
Maddox turned his back and climbed over the rail. It was a hasty and undignified retreat, and he imagined he could hear her laughing with the Chinese deckhand.
Chief Anders was leaning on the rail. ‘Nice bit of tail there, Mister Maddox?’
Maddox glared at him. ‘Shut your goddamned face!’
Chief Tasker joined his friend and stared after the bronzed figure of the exec. ‘What’s eatin’ him?’
Anders turned to stare at the girl again. ‘He’s got a tile loose, I reckon!’
* * *
Maddox stood beneath an overhead fan as Gunnar sat on the edge of the wardroom table and read the despatch. When he looked up, Gunnar’s eyes were still impassive, and he said, ‘Does anyone else know about this?’
‘Only Kroner, sir.’
Surprisingly, the captain smiled, the motion lighting up his strained face and draining away the weight of his inner thoughts. ‘In other words, everyone!’ He seemed to dismiss it. ‘Well, it’ll take their minds off their own problems for a while.’
Maddox said, ‘I’m sorry, sir.’
Gunnar shrugged. ‘Thank you. But there’s nothing to be upset about.’ Then in the same calm tone he continued, ‘Somebody tried to blow us up just now.’
Maddox’s jaw dropped. ‘Who? I—I mean, where, sir?’
Gunnar leafed rapidly through the other despatches, a ray of sunlight showing the dust on his fair hair. ‘By the village, A mine in the road. Sergeant Rickover is looking into it.’ If he had remarked on the state of the ship’s paintwork he could not have sounded more normal. Then in a sharper voice, ‘Didn’t you hear it, for heaven’s sake?’
‘No, sir.’ Maddox wondered with sudden guilt if it had occurred when he was speaking to the girl. ‘I was dealing with Burgess, sir’
Gunnar rubbed his chin. ‘It’s odd all the same. Just shows how careful we must be. Inshore sounds are muffled by that cliff. We’d not hear a thing out here. I think we’ll move over to the pier again.’
Path of the Storm Page 13