Path of the Storm

by Douglas Reeman

  Gunnar said: ‘I happen to know that the Seventh is pretty busy elsewhere, Colonel. If this show goes dead on us, it’ll be in our laps right here.’

  ‘Well it won’t. So do your job and be a good boy. As soon as I can I’ll get your ship replaced by another. But until then we just have to manage.’ He shrugged. ‘If not, then I’ll have you replaced!’ He swung his chair, displaying his back to Gunnar. ‘Give me Pak on the phone, Sergeant. I’ll tell him what we’re doing.’

  Gunnar slammed the door and marched up the narrow corridor between the yellow electric bulbs. Outside the gates Were still open, but the soldiers fully kitted and armed patrolled the ramparts and idled around the waiting jeeps.

  Below the buff he could see the masthead of his ship. The poor, salt-stained and demoralised Hibiscus, which he had boarded as she had come alongside the pier after two attempts. Maddox had been angry as well as despairing, and Gunnar thought he knew why.

  But right now time was short, and things had to be done, popular or otherwise.

  * * *

  Jack Burgess stood like a rock in the centre of his living room, his bloodshot eyes fixed and determined as he stared at the seated American officer. He cleared his throat and said awkwardly, ‘I think you’d better keep away from here for a bit.’

  Robert Maddox lifted his eyes from his glass and returned his stare with something like indifference. ‘Suit yourself.’

  Burgess seemed a bit taken aback, and after sloshing another full measure into Maddox’s tilted glass he busied himself Vaguely by adjusting the closed shutters and pumping one of the pressure lamps.

  Outside the room the street was dead quiet, as it had been since sunset. Maddox knew that soldiers were in the small square and another jeepload were only at the end of the first street, listening and ready. But he was past caring. He could not remember when he had felt like this, or when he had been so drunk. But the drink was no longer a balm, and it left him neither elated nor angry.

  For Maddox it had been one hell of a day. The humiliation and confusion over losing the tow had been only a beginning. He had rounded it off himself by nearly ramming the pier upon his return to the anchorage, and even after a second attempt had brought the long-suffering Hibiscus to roost with a sickening jolt which had made the teeth shake in his head. He had felt like a schoolboy as he had blurted out the facts to the captain, who had stepped aboard almost as soon as the first wires had gone ashore.

  It had sounded bad even in his own ears, and as he had watched Gunnar’s grey eyes hardening he knew that worse was to come. Surprisingly, Gunnar had said very little about the actual towing. This point Maddox took as a personal rebuke, especially as the captain did comment to some length on the appearance of the ship.

  Maddox had been dog tired. ‘Hell, Captain, the boys are beat! They’ve been on their feet for twenty-four hours frig-ing about with the tow! You can’t expect the ship to be in review order!’

  Gunnar had eyed him coldly. ‘I do expect it! I want the ship in first-line readiness for anything. Another tow if necessary!’

  Maddox had wanted to say that if the captain had been on the bridge the result might have been the same. Instead his voice had said, ‘I suppose this’ll go against me?’

  ‘Or me,’ Gunnar had replied quietly.

  But it was only when Maddox had met his young brother that the explosion had really been sparked off. Open-mouthed he had listened to Pip’s excited account of the night search, the frantic struggle in the moonlight, and finally the killing of a Chinese terrorist.

  Blindly he had run back to the captain’s cabin where he had found Gunnar still standing beside his littered desk. ‘What the hell do you mean by taking that kid with you like that?’ The words had burst from him in a flood. ‘Isn’t one medal enough, for Christ’s sake? Do you have to get him killed too to prove what a helluva hero you are?’

  Gunnar had looked for one brief instant as if he was going to strike him. Go on, hit me, you cold-blooded bastard, Maddox’s maddened brain had said.

  But Gunnar had sat down, suddenly ice calm. ‘I’ll forget what you said, Mister Maddox. But if I hear another word like that I’ll put you under arrest!’

  Maddox had felt as if he wanted to explode, so that the small cabin seemed to close in on him like a vice. All the frustrations and insults, the unexpected dangers and everything else, crushed his reason and rendered him speechless.

  Gunnar added more quietly: ‘Your brother is an officer. Just because he is related to you does not exempt him from danger. He did very well. If there are any medals going they should be for him.’

  Gunnar had stood up, and only then did Maddox notice the strain, the dark shadows beneath his eyes. Calmly the captain had continued: ‘Try to remember that this is a ship of war, not some yacht. And when I require your advice on how to run this ship, I’ll damn well ask for it!’

  The next few hours had been too busy even for Maddox to find time to contemplate the damage his anger might have done. There had been riots in the town, and once a bullet had slammed against the pier within feet of the deck. The hospital had been fired, and Connell had returned smoke-blackened and quiet, and had spoken to nobody since.

  His brother kept clear of him, as if remembering the old days when Maddox had been the controlling force in the home, the bastion between father and the rest of the family.

  There seemed only one thing to do, and as soon as his duties permitted Maddox went ashore to find Burgess, or rather his daughter. He had sampled a bottle in his cabin before leaving, but now, a good many drinks later, he was beginning to feel the effects of the strain and the unexpected self-discipline of taking command even for a short period of time.

  But the visit had soured. Burgess seemed on edge, moody and watchful. He said thickly: ‘You know I like you, Lieutenant. It’s just that it doesn’t do my position any good in the village to have you dropping in all the time. It’s taken a long time to build up a bit of mutual trust.’

  Maddox grunted. ‘Sure, sure. I understand, Commander.’

  Burgess seemed intensely relieved and said in an almost ingratiating tone: ‘It’s bound to blow over. Perhaps then we can all get together again. I can see we’ve a lot in common.’

  Like hell we have, Maddox thought. In a week perhaps, or even days, we’ll be away from this rathole, and Gunnar’s madness as well. He said, ‘You’re dead right!’

  Maddox allowed his fuddled mind to drift again. What would become of them all? Whatever else happened he must see to it that Pip was prevented from risking his fool neck again.

  The curtain moved and Lea Burgess stepped lightly into the room. She was wearing her old shirt and slacks, but in Maddox’s eyes she could have been in a Paris creation.

  Burgess asked: ‘Where have you been, then? Not with your captain I hope? It’s too late to be out on the streets!’

  Maddox’s sluggish mind stirred to life as he saw the quick smile on the girl’s lips. Pip had mentioned something about her being with Gunnar on the boat. In his rage he had not waited to hear the rest of it.

  Burgess added with a broad wink, ‘Well, never mind, your lieutenant is here now!’ He swayed and loosened his shirt collar. ‘I think I’ll take a stroll on the jetty to check the moorings.’ He put a big hand on Maddox’s shoulder and added with unusual sincerity: ‘I’d give a lot to get out of this place! My time’ll come. It may be soon now.’ He looked across at his daughter. ‘She’ll make a good wife for someone, Bob. A good Wife.’ Then carrying a full glass he lurched out of the room.

  Maddox watched the girl as she sat quietly on the edge of the bench seat which he had shared with her so long ago. He stood up and poured another drink, and then, without asking, another for her.

  He dropped beside her and thrust the glass into her hand. ‘Drink it, it’ll do you good.’

  He could feel the warmth of her body, could see the small droplets of perspiration on her upper lip. It was very hot, and the blood was pounding in his brain like a
giant hammer.

  ‘I think your old man fancies me as a son-in-law, Lea. He’s a good judge of character.’ He slipped one arm about her shoulders and squeezed gently. He felt her stiffen but said easily, ‘You’re quite a girl!’

  She smiled strangely, her lips moist in the lamplight. ‘I think that you have been celebrating?’

  ‘Like hell.’ Maddox eyed her fixedly, like a marksman measuring his target. ‘I’ve been letting go a bit, that’s all.’ He Watched her from beneath his lowered lids. ‘That fool of a captain has nearly driven me up the wall!’ He felt her shoulders move and saw her chin lift a fraction. Maddox knew enough about women to guess at her reaction.

  Almost roughly he said, ‘Have you gone and fallen for that stiff back?’

  She turned away, her face partly hidden by her hair. ‘That is an unfair question.’

  Maddox pulled gently at her shoulder. He could feel the moist warmth of her skin soaking through the thin material and guessed that beneath it she was naked. ‘He’ll love you and leave you, Lea.’

  With a sudden move she stood up, and Maddox cursed himself for his clumsiness. It was the drink, of course, but at least he knew how she stood. Hastily he said: ‘I was only kidding. Now just you sit down again.’ He pulled her down so that she lost her balance and fell against him.

  In one swift movement Maddox had pinioned her body with his arm, and with his free hand caressed her neck and throat. She twisted violently but Maddox held her firmly against his side. ‘Easy there! No one is going to hurt you!’ Then, deftly, he slipped his fingers into the front of her shirt and plucked at the buttons.

  Something seemed to explode in his mind. It was more like resentment than passion, and he heard her cry out as he ripped impatiently at the shirt until his hand found the smooth straining skin beneath.

  It was then that a violent blow across the side of his head sent him sprawling to the floor. He had a vague, distorted vision of the girl’s tear-stained face as she pulled the torn shirt across her breasts, and then of Burgess’s angry red eyes as he stood above him.

  ‘Get out of my house, you bloody bastard!’ Burgess looked on the edge of madness. ‘Out now, before I kill you!’

  Maddox felt as if he was going to be sick. Shakily he picked up his cap from the chair, his humiliation complete. ‘Okay, I’m leaving!’ He tried to recover his scattered wits. ‘You can keep your daughter for another time!’

  Burgess’s face crumpled. ‘She’s a good girl! I’ll not have you speaking like that …’ but he seemed suddenly confused, as if he had lost his direction.

  Lea spoke from the far side of the room. ‘It’s all right, Father. He didn’t know what he was doing.’ She looked across at Maddox’s inflamed face. ‘Do you still want to show me America?’ Then she laughed, a brittle sound, torn from her very heart, and ran through the curtain.

  As Maddox made to leave, Burgess mumbled: ‘I had to hit you, d’you see? I didn’t want to. You’re a good lad really. You’d be right for her, I’m sure. Perhaps when you call again she’ll feel differently.’

  Sickened, Maddox turned away and walked blindly into the darkness.

  12

  Storm Warning

  GUNNAR PAUSED OUTSIDE Burgess’s house and shaded his face to look at the sky. It appeared washed out and pale, but was in fact well filtered by a drifting bank of haze which spread the sun’s normal blaze into a shimmering, eye-searing glare. The village was quiet, but in the stale wind Gunnar could detect the odour of burned wood and charred mortar. He had passed the gutted hospital building that forenoon on his way to meet the headman, Tao-Cho. It had been such a contrast to his other meeting with the old man. Without turning his head he had walked into the labyrinth of narrow streets, aware of the patrolling soldiers, the faces beyond the darkened doors, and of the youth who had been sent to guide him to the meeting place. But he had been even more conscious of the stamp of feet, the clink of equipment, and the deep breathing of Lieutenant Regan who led his party of armed seamen behind his captain.

  The meeting had turned out much as Gunnar had expected. Even the small spark of hope had been extinguished when he saw Tao-Cho’s masklike face and hooded eyes. He had been seated with his elders in exactly the same group as before, but this time, in the cool dignity of his own house, he seemed aloof and unreachable. Jago too must have known what the headman’s reactions would be when he had ordered Gunnar to go with an armed escort. If there was any more doubt left, Tao-Cho soon dispelled it.

  ‘I am meeting you under duress, Captain. There is nothing to add to my last statement, nor do I think you have anything to offer but further offence!’ He tucked his thin hands into his sleeves. ‘I waited for you to show your heart. You gave us gifts, but it was only for the sake of your own plans in which we had no part. You made your choice. We have made ours.’

  Gunnar had remained standing, a solitary figure amidst the faded hangings and worn wooden beams. ‘You have made a big mistake. There can be no understanding without trust. If you think that by siding with the enemy you will regain your old power, then you are mistaken.’

  A thin hand flashed impatiently. ‘We side with no one, Captain. Like all of your mind you cannot recognise the truth. We do not want outside help, nor do we expect it.’

  And so it had continued for the best part of an hour. Probe and rejection, suggestion and counter claim. Until at length Gunnar had said: ‘I command a ship, Tao-Cho. I am responsible for the men who serve in her. But compared with this, your responsibility is far greater, and more final! No one can exist any more merely for principles. There has to be co-operation, even if the ways of men are different and mistakes are made before understanding can be reached.’

  Tao-Cho stared at him with empty eyes. ‘Go your way, Captain. I can no longer offer friendship to a man who respects my house only with armed men. Soon you will learn that our paths can never cross. We will not become part of your battleground, whatever the price.’

  Gunnar had left without another word. Regan had fallen in step beside him. ‘What did the old goat say, sir?’

  ‘Nothing we don’t already know. I respect his ideas, but I think he is wrong. Dammit, I know he’s wrong!’

  Regan had said uncompromisingly: ‘He can jump off then! It’s nice to know we can whistle up the Seventh Fleet if he gets out of hand.’

  Gunnar had lapsed into silence. It was amazing how men like Regan had such fierce faith in the outside help which always hovered on the end of a radio wave. It was not as simple as that, and never had been.

  The armed party had tramped back to the ship, but Gunnar had made his way to Burgess’s house alone.

  Now, as he stood looking up at some tiny, specklike gulls which circled uneasily overhead, he thought of his words to Tao-Cho. Of his own responsibility to his ship and his men. He had not done very well with either so far.

  A board creaked under his foot and he stood uncertainly on the veranda. His earlier eagerness had melted and he felt unsure and nervous. It was different from the Osprey’s deck after the mad struggle with the terrorist. The fear of death, the revulsion and the relief had joined with his own quiet exultation as the girl had laid her head on his shoulder. That was over.

  The room was shaded and cool after the dusty street, and with shock he realised that she was standing by the far window, her body framed by the sparkling sea beyond. There was tea on a small table, and he noticed that she was wearing a green dress and not her usual Chinese shirt.

  ‘I was afraid you would not come, Captain.’ Her face was in shadow but the catch in her voice made his throat go dry. She continued, ‘I could have told you what you already know, but I thought it best to leave it alone.’

  He crossed the room and stood looking down at her. Her small, oval face was grave and anxious, and she was watching him in a strange way he had not seen before.

  ‘I thought you’d throw me out. All that I said, all that I hoped …’ He shrugged. ‘I guess I asked for it. Like you, I should have le
ft it well alone. Instead I made one error after another. I pretended to myself that I mistrusted every Oriental ever born, but I know now it was something else.’ His voice was bitter, but he could no longer check himself. ‘I used it to cover up my own uncertainty.’

  She moved one hand to brush a strand of hair from her cheek. ‘Have you ever told anyone of this?’

  He shook his head, surprised at himself. ‘Never. Perhaps I should. But there was no one. He walked to the window, aware that she was watching him intently. ‘Something my exec said to me yesterday made me think again. I’ve done all this, risked men’s lives, even been responsible for their deaths.’ He remembered Maddox’s flushed, angry face with sudden clarity. ‘He was right.’

  He felt her hands on his own, pulling him round so that they were facing each other again. ‘Do not speak like that! You will make me angry! It is untrue, and the lieutenant is a fool to hurt you when you need his help!’

  Gunnar stared at her. Need his help? Had he ever needed anyone’s help? In seconds she had laid bare his other weakness. His own stupid pride.

  She led him to the bench seat and said gently: ‘I have made some tea. You will feel better.’ Then she smiled, and Gunnar felt the tension draining from him like blood. She added: ‘I knew you would come here. You see, Captain, I am half Oriental!’

  Gunnar watched her as she moved quietly to the small table. What am I doing? What is happening to me?

  Just then Lea looked across at him, her dark eyes sad. ‘Stop tormenting yourself. It is no good.’ She placed a cup at his side and then surprisingly knelt on the rug by his feet. ‘When you first came here I hated you.’ She studied his face with sudden warmth. ‘I had never even seen you. It was just that you represented something bad, a force which could change everything.’ She tossed her head as if to indicate the whole house and the village beyond. ‘I thought this was the final home for me. I could even bear it if I was left alone. My father needs me. He still talks of getting away, of making that one big success which will change everything. But before your ship came his dreams were less frequent. Sometimes he was almost content.’ Her eyes became distant. ‘When you arrived I saw the change come over him, as it did over others here. He lives a life of make-believe. You are a clever man, you must have noticed?’