Path of the Storm

by Douglas Reeman

  She put her head on one side as if to gauge the sincerity of his astonishment. ‘I did.’ She came into the room, a tray of dishes in her hands. ‘I learned how to do it when we lived in Malaya. They are not very good really.’

  Maddox picked up a small figurine of a stooping water-carrier and examined it carefully. ‘I’d say they were damn good!’

  When he turned, her head was lowered as she poured some tea, but he could see the pleasure at the corners of her mouth. He sat down on the bench at her side, conscious of her smooth arms and the tantalising tilt of her head. ‘You see, we can be friends after all!’

  She handed him a cup and frowned. ‘Please do not misunderstand me, Lieutenant. I am not really hitting at you. It is what you stand for, what you have to do whether you like it or not!’

  ‘But I do understand. And I’m just as sure that it’s not right for a girl like you to be in this position.’

  She gave a small, sad smile. ‘And what would you have me do? Go to Hong Kong or Taiwan? Or perhaps start a new life again in England?’

  The last word seemed to resurrect the whole bitterness of her early years, and Maddox said hastily: ‘Forget it. That’s all over.’ He spread his hands expansively. ‘You could go anywhere, do anything. With your looks you could crash Buckingham Palace if you wanted!’

  She threw back her head and laughed. ‘Perhaps flattery is good for me after all, Lieutenant.’

  ‘The name’s Bob, if you don’t object.’ He grinned at her. ‘I could be here for a long time, so you might as well get used to it.’

  ‘Well, Bob, let me ask you this. If your government ordered you to fire on these people would you refuse?’

  ‘That’s a hell of a question! In any case, no such order would be given unless …’

  She sighed. ‘Unless it was considered necessary, right?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Maddox sensed he was getting out of his depth once more.

  ‘Like in Viet Nam, or in the Dominican Republic, all in the name of justice and freedom!’ She smiled at Maddox’s set face. ‘You are not smiling, Bob? Are you surprised that I am interested in all these things?’

  ‘It’s not that. I suppose I hadn’t really thought about it before. I mean about the little guys in the middle of all these campaigns and battles. But what can a man do?’

  ‘We shall see, when your captain has made up his mind.’

  The captain?’ Maddox almost dropped his cup. ‘He’s just a small cog like the rest of us.’

  ‘I think not, Bob.’ She stared past him in the far distance, as if seeing another place and time. ‘I have met his kind before. He seems cold and hard, too dedicated to his own beliefs to see room for deviations or retreats. He is a lonely man, I think.’

  ‘I guess that’s so.’ Maddox found to his surprise that it was easy to speak about Gunnar to this girl. It was as if he had wanted to tell someone and now could not stop himself. ‘He has had a very bad time I think it shows in many of the things he does. Yes, I guess you’re right, he is a lonely man. But in his position it’s hard to be otherwise.’

  She grimaced. ‘You sound loyal.’

  Maddox grinned and changed the subject. ‘You ought to think about him as a prospective husband! I reckon you’d soon have him eating out of your hand!’

  She did not share his joke. ‘You sound like my father. He always talks of this man and that, like a marriage broker!’

  ‘Your father is quite a guy.’

  ‘You think so?’ She shrugged. ‘He is much changed from what he used to be.’

  She sipped at her tea her eyes thoughtful. ‘I am interested in what you say about your captain.’

  Maddox gulped. ‘I was only pulling your leg.’

  ‘You mean, he wouldn’t lower himself to mix with a girl who is neither East nor West?’ Her mouth quivered with sudden anger. ‘Not politically or racially perfect enough for a captain, is that it?’

  Maddox grinned with relief. ‘Hell, you know I didn’t mean any such thing! You’re a proper little spitfire, d’you know that? Just unbend and come out from behind that nettlebush long enough for me to get a word in!’ He reached out impulsively and took her hand. It felt small and cool, and strangely reassuring. ‘Will you do that?’

  Very gently she withdrew her hand, but she met his eyes with a quick smile. Maddox noticed that her breathing was a little faster and she had lost some of her built-in composure.

  ‘Very well, Bob. So long as you do not try to alter my views. They are all I have.’

  Maddox swallowed hard ‘We shall have to do something about that, my girl. It’s just as well I came to Payenhau, I can see that!’

  She shook her head in mock sadness. ‘Always you joke. It must be wonderful to have no fears, no uncertainty.’

  He watched the smooth skin of her spine as she leaned forward to replace the cup, and felt the blood singing in his ears. He almost reached out to touch it, but controlled himself with a real effort. Not yet, not here.

  She said: ‘I am so sick of sham. It is hard to take things and people at surface value.’

  ‘I guess so.’ Maddox tried to concentrate.

  ‘Here, they all wear masks. The commandant, Major Jago, Yi-Fang, and now your captain. They are afraid of losing face, so they hide their every thought, repress each simple ideal. It is very sad.’

  There was the sound of shuffling feet on the dark roadway, and Burgess’s voice raised in thick protest.

  She touched Maddox’s arm. ‘The boys are bringing him back.’ For a moment the sadness returned to her features. ‘If only he could find the strength to fight it, or even to admit that we will never find the old ways again.’

  Maddox saw it as the moment to leave. ‘Can I see you again, Lea?’

  Her eyes widened, caught off guard by the sound of her name. ‘If you wish.’ And as he backed towards the door. ‘Thank you for your tolerance!’

  Maddox gave his old grin. ‘Thank you, lady!’

  Whistling, he walked through the village, which now seemed a friendly place.

  Things were getting better after all. Better than he could ever have dreamed. It had been a near thing over Gunnar, he thought.

  For one dreadful instant he had nearly smashed up the affair before it had begun. Gunnar was the captain, and that was all. He was strictly not included in Maddox’s personal plans for Lea Burgess.

  * * *

  The air in the small wardroom seemed almost cold, stale in the remaining hours before the dawn. Slumped around the table, their faces grey and strained, the ship’s officers stared at Gunnar’s pale features with mingled expressions of anger or dulled submission. The brief party which Connell had given to celebrate the opening of his shore hospital was forgotten, although the drink had done nothing to ease this pre-dawn gathering.

  Gunnar’s shirt and slacks were smeared with dirt, and in his tired, angry face his eyes shone with feverish life, like windows on to the torment of his thoughts. He looked down at Maddox’s slumped figure. ‘Well, we’ve lost him! He’s up there in the hills somewhere, and God knows what he’ll do next!’

  Regan licked his lips and touched the long strip of plaster across his high forehead. ‘I’d like to get my hands on the bastard!’

  Gunnar stared at him with open amazement. ‘You really get me!’ He began to pace across the frayed carpet, his hands moving in time with his words. ‘You of all people should have known better, Regan. Pirelli is a gunner, one of your own men. It seems to me that none of you has done a damn thing to find out about your particular sections, you’ve not even tried to drag them together as a crew!’ Each word was like a lash, and Maddox stirred in his chair as if he was feeling the sting of every sentence from the captain’s tight mouth. ‘I’ve knocked myself out trying to get this job properly organised, and when I’m away from the ship for one hour what happens?’ He glared again at Regan’s grim face. ‘You go haring off into the hills after this deserter, armed with a rifle like some cop in the movies! What the hell
were you going to do, shoot him?’

  Regan shrugged angrily. ‘I wish I had!’

  ‘Well, he got you instead, didn’t he?’ Gunnar’s voice was devoid of pity. ‘What is even worse, he took the damn rifle off you before he made good his escape!’ He lifted one hand and counted off each item on his fingers. ‘So here we are. Pirelli’s laid out an officer, deserted, and put the whole mission in jeopardy, simply because of your incompetence!’

  Maddox said hoarsely, ‘That’s a bit hard, sir.’

  ‘I don’t give a monkey’s damn what you think!’ Gunnar eyed him coldly. ‘It’s the only word for it! Quite apart from raping a local girl, Pirelli’s filled the book as far as I am concerned!’

  ‘Perhaps he’ll give himself up when he’s had time to think about it, sir?’ Malinski’s quiet voice halted Gunnar in his pacing. ‘He’s got a lot to lose.’

  Gunnar gave a small, bitter smile. ‘Is that what you think? Would you hand yourself over in his shoes? Pirelli’s facing ten years at least for what he’s done already. God knows what he’ll do before he’s caught. If he’s ever found, that is!’

  ‘He can’t get far, Captain.’ Maddox sounded resentful, his face crumpled and weary from the night’s unexpected developments.

  ‘He’s a seaman. Right now I’ll bet he’s thinking about hijacking some fishing boat, or making a deal with one of the junk skippers. He’s no fool. But what gets me is the way you’ve all shown yourselves in this!’ He scanned their faces with cool contempt. ‘The man is allowed to walk off the ship because one of my officers is too damn lazy to attend to my standing orders. You just don’t care, do you? You’re so wrapped up in your own little worlds you still can’t see what we’re supposed to be doing.’

  Maddox stuck out his jaw. ‘It’s not clear what is going on here, sir.’

  ‘And it never will be until you learn a bit of discipline!’ Gunnar ignored the exec’s flushed face. ‘Hell, you didn’t even know about this until you chose to wander back to the ship!’

  Maddox opened his mouth, and then closed it again like a trap.

  ‘I’ll not have this ship’s reputation wrecked because of your damn laziness, do you understand me?’

  The doctor opened his cigar case and then changed his mind. ‘Will this business make any difference to our acceptance here, sir?’

  ‘They’ll not be laughing about it, if that’s what you mean!’ Gunnar ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Just when we’re feeling our way into their trust, this has to happen. I can just imagine what Jago’ll say when he gets back. It makes a mockery of everything we’ve tried to do.’

  There was a silence, and none of the officers looked at his neighbour. Outside the water lapped gently against the plates, and overhead they could hear the slow pacing of the quartermaster on watch.

  Gunnar seemed spent, as if he could find no more words to goad the grim-faced officers. ‘Well, have you no comment?’

  Regan said flatly, ‘If it’s my fault, then I’ll take the blame.’

  ‘Like hell you will.’ Gunnar’s voice was shaking. ‘I take the responsibility for everything, as you well know. Every stupid, thoughtless act, each piece of lazy indifference and incompetence is laid at the captain’s door. One day you’ll know what I’m talking about, if you live that long!’ His shoulders slumped, as if the life had gone out of them. ‘I’m going to turn in now.’

  Maddox moved noisily to his feet. ‘What do you want us to do?’

  ‘Right now I don’t care if you commit mass suicide. Just remember that we start afresh in the morning. From now on I’ll be watching each one of you. Our orders are to hold on here until told otherwise, and until relieved. Payenhau is important, otherwise there would be more open protest about what we’re doing. Things are happening well enough, and when you find the time from enjoying yourselves or testing your manhood, perhaps you’ll realise that there’s more to earning your money than just carrying the uniform.’ He looked through an open scuttle at the darkened hills beyond. ‘That’s all. Carry on, Mister Maddox.’

  Maddox made a last effort. ‘I think I should be the one to explain, Captain.’

  Gunnar eyed him without recognition. ‘I said, that is all! There’ll be time enough for your explanations later on!’

  He strode from the wardroom, and the others stood or sat in silence, listening to the captain’s sharp footsteps on the steel decking.

  Regan said at length, ‘I guess the party’s over.’

  Maddox sat down again, aware that his limbs were shaking as if from a sudden fever. It was a fierce mixture of guilt and anger, or hurt pride and bitter resentment. He wanted to say something, to put back the clock, but he could find no more words. He could still feel Gunnar’s cold anger, which had been like a wedge driven between them.

  Kroner said in a small voice, ‘I don’t see that he needed to blow his top like that.’

  Regan felt his bruised head once more. ‘He’s a nut, just like I said he was! There’s no reason in a crackpot!’ He turned defiantly towards Maddox and showed his teeth at the exec’s brooding silence. ‘What, no defence? No paths to glory, Mister Maddox?’ He spread his bony hands. ‘That proves it then! When an exec won’t back up his boss, things must be very bad indeed!’

  The doctor walked quietly to Maddox’s side. ‘Take it off your back, Bob. Words can’t hurt you.’

  But Maddox answered as if the doctor had not spoken. ‘He spoke to me like a goddamn cadet! Like a first-year rookie!’

  Regan paused on his way through the door. ‘And you took it! Surely that must prove something?’ They heard him slam his door and the sound of falling furniture.

  Soon only Connell was left in the wardroom. He looked at the empty, discarded chairs around the table. Even their angles and positions seemed to reflect the anger of their recent occupants, yet Connell still felt more like an outsider than before. He wanted to share their drama, even to feel some of the humiliation which had grown with the captain’s attack.

  He decided to wait for a while to give Maddox time to turn into his bunk. But as he picked up a magazine his head lolled and he was soon asleep.

  Like penned animals the other officers lay awake or asleep in their respective rooms, each wrapped in thought or in the constant world of dream and speculation.

  Only Gunnar remained on his feet. Standing in his cramped room, his shadow crucified on the bulkhead by the desk lamp which played across the piled folios and despatches as if to mock him. Once, he reached out to touch the cool steel of the cabin wall, conscious of its gentle vibration, the inexplicable movement and life which ran through every ship, even when resting. He knew he would not be able to sleep, yet dreaded the loneliness of waiting for the first light. He felt ashamed, sickened by his own behaviour, the more so because he knew he was driven by necessity. There was no sharing, no passing off blame or responsibility. A ship could be welded into a single unit by tradition or environment, by its task or by the trust of others. Or, it could be drawn together by the mutual hatred for its commander. Gunnar sat down and rubbed his eyes, then he began to read his despatches with slow, concentrated effort.

  If that was how it must be, then that was how it would be.

  Somewhere outside the sleeping Hibiscus other men would be planning and preparing. Up on the hillside amongst the gorse and scrub. Pirelli was probably peering down at the glittering strip of water and at the shaded gangway light. He had his rifle. He was no longer just a man. A mere man, as the rear-admiral had said.

  And Bolod. Was he out there too? Waiting to finish off his career of bloody victories with one final coup?

  If anything was going to happen, it must be soon. The hidden enemy knew that there was an airstrip almost completed, probably knew about the proposed base and everything else.

  When it came it would be swift and sudden.

  Gunnar touched the riveted steel again with something like love. The tired old ship, which had seemed to sneer at his hopes and ambitions, had become part
of his life, in spite of all else. Perhaps they had to prove their worth to each other. Like Bolod, every man looked for something.

  9

  Death Wears a Hat

  IT WAS A change to see another ship in the anchorage. The long-stacked freighter had wound its way through the Western Channel with ponderous confidence, the siren keeping up an intermittent squawking like an ageing banshee. Now she lay at anchor, hemmed in by local boats and buzzing with frenzied activity.

  Gunnar stood alongside Major Jago’s stiff figure at the top of the beach, where three landing craft snuggled in the shallows, their ramps lowered to receive the long procession of figures which had waited with murmuring patience since before dawn. Soldiers checked and re-checked their lists, junior officers waited by the ramps, almost the last barrier to the prospect of freedom.

  ‘How many?’ Gunnar shaded his eyes in the harsh morning sunlight to watch as the procession began to shuffle forward. There seemed to be countless children, but few old people amongst the crowded figures. Old people would survive least of all, Gunnar thought, in the long struggle of endurance faced by each refugee from Red China. At first, getting across the border would be enough. Then the long list of disappointments and dangers would really begin. The bribes required for each painful stage, the parting with the few valuables saved for that last journey, the separations and deaths along the way. Then Payenhau, herded together in that camp where it was said that they vetted and checked for fellow-travellers. In fact, the commandant was profiting in every direction. Before each rare visit of this ancient freighter he would more than recover the price of the refugee’s keep by labour and unpaid skill. Now, some of them were leaving at last for Taiwan, the ultimate haven. Gunnar wondered if in fact they as strangers would find it much different after all. If too their eagerness and hope had been blunted by the commandant’s short-sighted policy of greed and power.

  Jago said at length: ‘There’s about two thousand leaving today. Good riddance to ’em!’

  Gunnar’s eyes narrowed as he watched the distant khaki shape of Regan, accompanied by two enlisted men, as he strode grimly along the lines of Chinese, peering into each face, his attitude of watchful belligerence visible even from the head of the beach. He was obeying orders at least, Gunnar noted coldly. Checking in case Pirelli was attempting to leave amidst the press of refugees. Alongside the waiting ship he had also seen the Hibiscus’s gig bobbing at the companion ladder, where Maddox was also keeping a close watch. Gunnar’s harsh words had borne fruit of sorts, he decided. Two days since Pirelli had escaped and not a sign of him. There had been a distinct change in the Hibiscus, however. Orders were carried out promptly and without question by the officers, but in spite of this fact, Gunnar knew that they had drawn together only in their combined resentment of him, were only biding their time.