Path of the Storm

by Douglas Reeman

  ‘I promise you that, Colonel!’ Gunnar’s eyes filled with Arctic brightness so that the colonel regarded him with interest.

  ‘That is reassuring.’

  Gunnar paused at the door, his voice carefully controlled. ‘I see that you are building an airstrip out at the prison camp?’

  The great glass lenses flashed in the sunlight as he turned in the chair. ‘Like you, Captain, I keep my people occupied!’

  Gunnar walked down the cold corridors and out into the main courtyard. He waved aside the jeep driver and walked alone into the sunshine beyond the gates.

  A man moved from beside a barrow of melons, a giant, muscular Chinese with a flat wrestler’s face. Something familiar made Gunnar frown as the man shambled towards him. Of course, it was Burgess’s deckhand. Gunnar wondered how the man enjoyed working for an erratic failure like Burgess.

  ‘Do you want to speak to me?’

  The man bowed slightly but was still almost a head taller than Gunnar. ‘My name is Tsung, Captain. I am from Commander Burgess.’ His English was clear, but slow and schoolroom style.

  ‘I know you, what does your master require?’

  The man’s lips moved soundlessly, then he smiled faintly as if at some joke. ‘The meeting is tonight, Captain. It will be aboard the Osprey at sunset.’ He tilted his head to one side. ‘O-kay?’

  Gunnar stifled his excitement. ‘That’ll be fine. I will be there.’

  Burgess had apparently enough sense to arrange the meeting in his own boat. Away from prying eyes. Or did he just want another bottle?

  Tsung loped away, his mission accomplished. In the distance he looked like any other Chinese, and Gunnar wondered who amongst all these people was the man who had informed on Bolod. Now he would be a real capture. The key to the whole mystery.

  From his high window the colonel watched Gunnar’s slim figure striding down the hill and then waddled crablike towards the curtained door. He saw that the girl was still waiting, and he was glad he had roused the American captain into leaving so hurriedly. With a contented chuckle he dropped his sarong and closed the curtain behind him.

  * * *

  The place which Bella and Pirelli eventually found to be alone with their thoughts was certainly quiet enough, even quieter than either had expected. Bella thought they had walked for hours, mostly uphill, and all the time in the blazing heat of the afternoon. They had passed small groups of sailors and plenty of off-duty Chinese garrison troops, although most of the islanders seemed content to laze within the shadows of their doorways.

  Once, Bella had pulled Pirelli into a side street as an army jeep growled past, its occupants darting glances in all directions as they carried out a town patrol. Conspicuous in navy uniform complete with white, shore-patrol gaiters, Chief Tasker sat stiffly between the soldiers, the Hibiscus’s one representative of law and order.

  Then they had continued their search, until more from weariness than set planning they had found this place. It was in the last jumble of buildings on the hillside, so that through the open side of the room they could see the other dwellings below them, layer upon layer, like steps to the sea at the foot of the headland.

  It was a wooden building, high-roofed and comparatively cool. Two sides were open to the weather but for rolled bamboo screens, and the beams were hung with faded, painted mats like battle flags. Some old men were squatting at the far end, smoking and playing a seemingly meaningless game with black ebony counters, which appeared to have few rules and very little movement.

  A big Chinese in a canvas jacket regarded the sailors with apprehension until they slumped into two bamboo chairs in a corner away from the other occupants, and then he attended to them with quiet and dignified respect.

  The drink, as to be expected, was a local brew, a cross between beer and wine, and tasted bitter. But it was fairly cool and left the mouth fresh and demanding more.

  An hour passed, and but for an occasional remark each man was immersed with his own problems.

  The sun moved over the island towards the distant sea and with surprising suddenness passed below the brow of the hill, which was higher than Bella had at first realised. Immediately the surroundings seemed to lose their shabbiness and poverty as lanterns were lit, and from another section of the building came the cheerful clatter of pots and dishes.

  More Chinese filtered into the place. All were subdued at first, but upon realising that the Americans were harmless broke into a noisy, bird-like chatter which soothed rather than irritated Bella’s rapidly fogging mind.

  He noticed that Pirelli’s eyes were red-rimmed and angry, and that he was drinking as fast as the proprietor could refill his cup, until at last the Chinese left one giant earthenware jug so that he could attend to the other customers and bring out the appetising bowls of rice from the other room.

  The elation began to die, and Bella’s mind seemed to cringe from the cheerful talk around him. The fact that Pirelli was past speaking and the Chinese tongue was unintelligible, added to his sense of despair.

  There was a brief lull in the din, and for an instant Bella thought some more of the Hibiscus’s crew had arrived. He was vaguely pleased at the idea and felt inwardly crossed by Pirelli’s apparent lack of gratitude. But it was no one he recognised.

  There were two Chinese in similar leather coats, strong and competent looking. They looked around until one of them saw the two Americans and then they started to push through the room towards them.

  Bella felt an edge of alarm. They were far from the ship and any help if something went wrong. With his finger and thumb he groped under his waistband for his short-bladed knife which he had owned since his dockside childhood. He kicked Pirelli’s ankle under the table. ‘Pull yourself together! We’ve got company!’

  Pirelli straightened himself with effort and glared angrily at the two strangers who now stood beside the table. One smiled and said in careful English, ‘May we join you?’

  There was something about these men, Bella thought. The other Chinese had treated them with respect not as mere equals. What was there to lose? ‘Sure, take a seat.’

  The first man had to translate to his friend and said to Bella: ‘He has no English. I do talking.’ He snapped his fingers and the owner hurried across wiping his hands nervously with a cloth. The man said unhurriedly: ‘We have a real drink, eh? Not this poison!’

  He gabbled again in Chinese and within minutes the table took on a different appearance. Good wine, a dish of seafood, even finger bowls appeared as if by magic. Through the haze of smoke Bella heard someone playing quietly on some weird stringed instrument. The total effect was pleasant and soothing, and Bella noticed that the new benefactor was treating him with great respect, like an old and trusted friend.

  He said, ‘My name is Shou-Chin, I am captain of fishing boat.’ He beamed at Pirelli who was already sampling the wine with new energy. ‘Your friend has great thirst?’

  Pirelli eyed him coldly. ‘I gotta great appetite too!’ He made a violent obscene gesture but the Chinese fisherman shrugged.

  ‘I not understand.’

  Bella felt weary of Pirelli. ‘He wants a woman, goddammit!’

  The man rolled his eyes and spoke rapidly to his companion, who broke into sharp, chirrupy laughter.

  Pirelli lurched to his feet his face contused with rage. ‘Don’t you laugh at me, you slope-headed bastard!’

  Bella said anxiously: ‘Sit down, you ape! They’re all looking at us!’

  But Pirelli had made up his mind. In his state of fuddled resentment and bitterness, his desire to hurt, to shock anything Chinese, had given him an idea. If poor Grout had been here it would have been different, but then so would everything else. He snatched the bottle and glared at Bella’s face. ‘I’m goin’, you can do what you friggin’ well like!’

  Bella felt a hand on his wrist and the man said quietly, ‘Let him go. He is trouble I think.’

  Bella was undecided. Pirelli on his own might upset everythin
g. But even as he was about to follow Pirelli’s swaying shape through the silent Chinese onlookers the man added in a tight, insistent voice: ‘I have been looking for you, I have a message from Hong Kong. From a girl!’

  * * *

  Lieutenant Alan Regan walked slowly along the pier his eyes moving restlessly over the moored ship. The wires were taut and secure and the upper deck looked almost yachtlike under a line of electric bulbs. It was dark, the sunset having come and gone in breathtaking swiftness. There were little lights glowing up the hillside and the headlamps of a jeep probed soundlessly down the steep cliff road from the east. In a weak moment Regan had stood in for Kroner so that he could join them ashore where Connell was having a small celebration at his makeshift hospital. Regan did not want extra duty, any more than he had any desire to help Kroner, but he had not forgiven the doctor’s scathing comment on the pier after the shooting, nor would he.

  He peered at his watch. Time to check the dutymen. Routine had to run no matter where you were. Quarters, evening colours, testing guns, nothing could be changed.

  A jeep thundered on to the pier so that it vibrated like a mad thing. Regan scowled as he saw Chief Tasker leap from it and run towards the gangway where already one of the watch had picked up his rifle with startled confusion.

  Regan barked, ‘I’m over here, man!’

  Tasker blinked away from the harsh lights and saluted. ‘I was lookin’ for the O.O.D., sir!’

  ‘Well, as from one hour ago, I’m it!’ Regan balanced on his heels. ‘Now what have our liberty boys been up to that makes you get in a sweat?’

  Tasker controlled himself with an effort. ‘It’s Pirelli, Lieutenant!’

  Regan lost his temper. The whisky drunk in quantity under the sun, the unsatisfactory boat trip and swimming party, and now this. ‘What in the name of Jesus are you bellyaching about? Pirelli’s restricted, I’m just going to check on him!’

  Tasker eyed him stonily. ‘He’s ashore, sir. With a pass signed by you!’ He took a breath. ‘He’s just raped a Chinese girl and beat up a couple of soldiers! Apart from that, all’s well, Lieutenant!’

  Regan threw his cap on the pier. ‘Christ Almighty!’ He remembered vaguely that he had signed the cards in rather a hurry. An idea crossed his racing thoughts. ‘Is Bella with him?’

  ‘He was, sir. Not now. He’s up the hill looking for him.’

  ‘I’ll bet he is!’ He quickly made up his mind. ‘Go and drag Mister Kroner from that tumbledown sick bay and tell him to take over again. You hold the gangway until I get back.’ He beckoned to the quartermaster. ‘Bring that rifle to me!’ With a slap he grabbed the weapon and peered at the vibrating jeep. ‘Take me up the hill, quick!’ The Chinese driver’s eyes glittered in the gangway light, and before Tasker could utter another word Regan and jeep had roared away towards the town.

  Tasker looked at the other seaman. ‘Fetch Mister Kroner.’ he said wearily. ‘It looks like being a long night!’

  8

  The Facts of Life

  THE HOLD COVER of the Motor Fishing Vessel Osprey had been removed so that the velvet sky and the high bright stars formed a natural ceiling above the seated figures below. The hold was well lit by the vessel’s own electric lights backed up with a powerful, hissing pressure lamp, and the small, crowded place was warm and humid in spite of the late hour.

  Mark Gunnar was never surprised by the East’s ability to make any gathering or event seem important and grave. Even in this converted fishing boat the formalities were observed, with neither a show of surprise nor an admission of discomfort. Tea was brought down the deck ladder by one of Burgess’s messboys, and the silence was only broken by an occasional grunt or the careful sip of the transparent green beverage. Burgess too seemed subdued and watchful, although when he had ushered Gunnar across the closely packed tilting decks of the newly arrived fishing boats he had been careful to align himself with the American in the face of his strange, dignified Chinese visitors.

  Tao-Cho was like somebody from an old painting. He was of great age, his thin, biscuit-coloured features criss-crossed with tiny lines, his chin decorated by a flimsy but venerable beard. His clothing was plain and without character, but draped itself around his erect frame with a kind of dignity. His companions were also elderly men of the same stamp, yet who hung on their leader’s every word and waited with something like subservience for him to complete his tea drinking.

  Gunnar had walked straight from the ship and through the village, constantly aware of patrolling soldiers and the feeling that he was expected. The troops faded away when he entered the village itself, and Gunnar had the impression that it was an island within an island, a forbidden place but to those who were chosen. Near the small square a child had stepped from the gloom and without a word had plunged his hand into Gunnar’s, and with the confident sureness of an old man had led him down to the jetty across the first moored boat to where Burgess waited like an anxious mother to welcome him.

  Tao-Cho slipped his hands into his sleeves and made a brief signal for the basins to be removed. He watched Gunnar with impersonal interest and said, ‘Well, Captain, what is it we have to say to each other?’ His voice was fragile without being weak, and Gunnar imagined that he must have been a ruthless leader at one time in his long life.

  ‘I require your help.’ Gunnar heard his voice magnified and distorted by the tall sides of the hold and sensed its insincerity. He added quickly, ‘I think you know of my mission, but much more has happened lately to make me believe that this island may be in danger.’

  The headman made no sign if he was disappointed or surprised by Gunnar’s opening. ‘But why come to me?’

  ‘I am told you are the leader of these people. That you once controlled the whole group of islands and are regarded as a just and loyal man.’

  ‘Loyalty? What is that?’ A hand moved upwards to stroke the small grey beard. ‘I was once what you would call a pirate. I led ships which were based here. Imperialist powers made honest trade impossible for the likes of us. They had the knowledge, the skill, and of course the gunboats!’ He bobbed his head with silent amusement. ‘Eventually, of course, we had to give way to your Western “progress”. We withdrew to these islands. Some of the younger men stayed with their trade until killed or captured by foreign warships. Others went to the mainland or to Taiwan to seek other work.’

  He gave an eloquent shrug. ‘They were of course unlucky. Like crops on bad soil they endured much and eventually were swept away. The Kuomintang, the Japanese, the new Nationalist Government, all exacted their toll, until our small community here remained alone. But we are resourceful people. We protected our children and our elders, we dragged a livelihood from the sea in a way unforeseen by our ancestors. We raised small but sufficient crops, in short, we survived. We had no riches but one. We had freedom!’ The last word was spat from between the thin dry lips, and the other old men bowed and murmured agreement. ‘Then the commandant, Colonel Tem-Chuan, came with his troops and his barbed wire. We had had a bad season, we listened to his promises of help and supplies. Before we realised the falseness of his words, more men came, more guns, and then the fort was built to control us all!’ He glared with sudden anger at Gunnar. ‘Now you want to finish what he started! To drive us out, to blanket our hopes with your false promises!’

  Gunnar began again. ‘I have heard that there is a Communist agent among your people.’ He watched for some sign of alarm or guilt but there was nothing. ‘If he succeeds in his task your people will be worse off than before.’

  ‘So you say, Captain. But how can a man like you really understand us and what we suffer? Either way we lose our independence. Communist China or an American-backed Taiwan will hold no love for us. We are in the way, but we must find our path back to the light. If this man you mention can offer us hope, why should we not accept his word instead of yours?’

  Gunnar felt his limbs relaxing as if from surrender. It was hopeless, particularly as the old Tao
-Cho was right. Yet why should the commandant, for whom he openly expressed his hatred and contempt, tolerate him outside a prison camp? Whichever way you looked at it, it did not make sense.

  Tao-Cho continued in his dry, flat tone: ‘Do not take offence, Captain. I have watched you since your arrival and I think I understand your ways. You were worried about the man killed by your rifleman, yet what could you do? In your position I might have had the right hand lopped from every grown male in the crowd, as an example! Who can tell? But you must understand that whereas you will soon return to your way of life, I shall be left behind as before. You will forget, but I must stay to hold the responsibility of my people no matter what comes to pass.’

  ‘I just want to know where your sympathy lies. I will be content with that.’ Gunnar leaned forward as if to force his sincerity across to the other man.

  ‘I see.’ His face became a mask for several minutes. ‘I will tell you this. I will urge my people to resist a further occupation unless it is with our consent, and not developed by separate arrangement with the commandant and his government.’

  Gunnar said calmly. ‘You must realise that any outside power could subdue you in days without the protection of a great sea force.’

  ‘You saw the old freighter wrecked in the bay, Captain?’ The hooded eyes flicked upwards in the lamplight. ‘It was Japanese. A small force of troops, but heavily armed and battle trained. Yet we killed them like pigs and destroyed their ship! We were not attacked again! A man who knows these islands can hide, fight and survive long after a stupid soldier has given up hope!’

  Gunnar felt lost. ‘But to the outside world you are part of Taiwan!’

  ‘No one has ever asked us. We have been told what we must do by others! If we can regain our freedom through your side then I will give you all the help I can. If not, then we must look elsewhere, Captain. But while you are here I will watch over you. If you are true to your words within the limit of your own responsibility then I will think again. If not,’ once more he shrugged, ‘then I must think first of our own survival yet again!’