Path of the Storm

by Douglas Reeman

  Maddox touched the rough bristle on his chin and felt the gnawing pangs of anxiety again. ‘I hope it’s as simple as that.’

  ‘On the other hand, the captain might just be right. Nothing would surprise me any more. I’ve been in this navy a long, long time, but I’ve never started out on a survey job and ended in this sort of situation before.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Maddox shifted uneasily. ‘But I’m right, I know I am. The captain’s been a good officer, and he can handle this old scow like a dream, I’ll give you all that. But, and it’s a big but, he’s been so steeped in this East-West brain-washing that he can’t confine himself to his own, plain duty.’

  ‘Perhaps too many of us have done just that in the past, Bob?’

  ‘Oh Jesus, don’t you lecture me!’ Maddox walked to the rail and stared down at the neat, serried ranks of marching rollers. They seemed short and safe after the storm, like a well-trained rearguard following the conqueror.

  The engineer chuckled. ‘Forget it. You should have been down below with my boys. I thought the whole ship was falling apart.’ He half turned. ‘Hello? More company?’

  They saw the familiar, thin shape of the doctor clinging to the rail as the ship rolled sluggishly and stayed momentarily at the same heavy angle. At the reduced speed Hibiscus was only marking time against the steady flood, and each movement was heavy on the stomach and dangerous for the unwary.

  ‘Hi, Doc. Join the party.’ Malinski kept his voice cheerful but nudged Maddox in the darkness.

  Maddox said, ‘What’s your problem, Bruce?’

  ‘It’s Bella.’ Connell sounded subdued, yet his voice hinted at the man’s inner strain and uncertainty, so that it was hard to remember him as he had once been. ‘He’s got to be buried.’

  Malinski nodded. ‘Sure. It’s not too good in this climate.’

  ‘I’ll tell the captain.’ Maddox felt uncomfortable because he had in fact forgotten all about the dead and mutilated yeoman.

  ‘You do that small thing.’ There was a sting in the doctor’s words, as if the mention of the captain had revived his earlier anger. ‘No doubt he’d like to feed him to the sharks!’

  Malinski watched the other man’s shoulders outlined against the occasional whitecap. ‘You feel things pretty deeply, Doc. I’m surprised, I suppose.’

  Connell laughed shortly. ‘I surprise myself. When I was in a carrier with the big boys I was uneasy, dissatisfied if you like. The thought of hundreds, thousands of people being wiped off the slate by one aircraft from our ship, if so ordered, made me feel we were on the wrong course. I used to listen to the men yarning about their girls and their adventures in the Chinese brothels, or about their folks back home and the latest movie. But no one said a word about what we were doing, what we could do if the button was pressed.’

  ‘I guess we all think like that——’

  Malinski faltered as the doctor continued in the same tense voice: ‘No, it wasn’t that. It was a feeling of helplessness, a sense of committal. I wanted to get away, to find out what went on closer to the problem. I put in to go ashore, but nothing happened. When the chance came up for the Hibiscus I volunteered straight away. I guess I imagined that some change would come over me, a clearing of vision, a sense of purpose.’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘I just don’t know what I expected.’

  Maddox interrupted harshly, ‘Instead you discovered it’s a dirty business here just the same, eh?’

  ‘It’s more difficult.’ Malinski began to refill his pipe. ‘The guy with the bayonet hasn’t got time to ask questions, he just has to kill or get spitted himself! We’ve got to trust someone, but if the call goes out we’ve just got to do our best.’ He looked directly at the doctor. ‘I think you’re wrong about the captain.’

  Connell turned his face away. ‘I think not. When I get back to sanity again I’m going to fry him alive.’ He moved to the ladder and they heard him groping his way towards his quarters.

  Malinski replaced his cap. ‘He’s probably got religion, Bob. The scalpel just doesn’t mix with a crucifix, I’m afraid.’

  The door opened half an inch and a tired voice intoned, ‘The book says it’ll be sun-up in ten minutes, Mister Maddox!’

  Malinski grinned broadly. ‘See? God sure keeps us informed of all the real important things!’

  * * *

  Mark Gunnar wrapped his fingers around the thick mug and felt the heat of the rich, strong coffee coursing through his body. It was curious, but in those few hours he had slept better than he could remember, and after a shave and shower and a quick change into clean khakis he felt almost rejuvenated and fresh.

  He was never tired of watching the sun climb from the sea. To him it was the best of sights, yet one which always held some new excitement. The great, glowing mass which still found sufficient surplus to spill down a widening, calming path across the ruffled wavetops, the steady, strengthening warmth which already raised a haze of steam from the sodden decks and battered upperworks. For the first time he saw the savage manhandling his ship had received in her fight against the storm, the twisted guardrails, the empty davits and raft racks. Somehow the whaleboat had managed to survive, and he noted with satisfaction that Regan was already bobbing around his gun mountings, checking and coddling his lethal charges and clearing away the salt rime and shredded canvas covers.

  A party of seamen were gathered round the whaleboat’s davits, and Gunnar felt a small twinge of sadness, or was it guilt? He could not be sure. The very first task in Payenhau would be to ferry Bella’s body ashore and bury it quickly. It would no doubt be recovered and flown home at some later date, to be forgotten by all but the close few who knew the boy as he had once been.

  He walked on to the bridge wing and looked narrowly at a working party on the forecastle. Hoses and brooms worked automatically but without enthusiasm, and he could see Chief Tasker lounging against the slender three-inch gun, a cigar stub in his jaw like an old tooth.

  They were all thinking about him, talking about him. He wondered if they would have reacted differently with another captain. But another captain might have behaved in a way they could understand. When Hibiscus returned to Payenhau he would get short shift from Jago and from the over-reaching command of the far-off flag officer. He might even be required to hand over command, to await a court of enquiry.

  The undulating, black mass of Payenhau seemed to sway across the bows as if pivoting on the jackstaff, and he thought it looked forbidding and unfamiliar.

  He let his mind drift from the immediate problems and thought again of Lea Burgess. She was never far away in his mind, and without effort he could picture her dark eyes and feel the warmth of her embrace. It would be more sensible to realise that she might soon forget him once she was allowed to see that other world, once she realised that there was more to life than a dream.

  The ship staggered noisily in a cross-current and he banged down the mug as if to show the readiness he did not feel. He called to the bosun’s mate who hovered nearby, ‘I shall want the cable party up forrard in twenty minutes.’ He slung his glasses around his neck and began to climb the ladder to the upper bridge where Kroner and Ensign Maddox were already preparing the ready-use chart for the last run in.

  When he looked again the shore was much closer, and the dull, smooth-backed hills were already bathed in gold as the sun felt its way across the storm-battered ground and threaded its colouring amongst the cliffs and gullies.

  Maddox clattered up the ladder and paused on the wet gratings to stare at Gunnar’s neat and alert appearance. The exec was still unshaven and crumpled, and seemed almost unnerved by Gunnar’s transformation. ‘Coming up to the main channel now, sir.’

  Gunnar nodded. ‘As soon as we enter the main anchorage I want the whaleboat lowered to deck level.’ He added: ‘I shall go ashore the moment we drop the hook. You can lie at anchor in our original position clear of the pier, and I want a full guard mounted until I know what’s going on. I’ve already told Regan what I
require, but it’ll be up to you to see that the routine runs smoothly.’

  ‘Who are you taking, sir?’ Maddox sensed the tenseness which had crept into Gunnar’s voice. ‘A full burial party?’

  ‘Negative. Six men and Ensign Maddox.’ Behind him he heard the young ensign draw a quick breath.

  Maddox clenched his fists. ‘Is that necessary, sir? I mean, I think he’s been put in enough danger already.’

  ‘If you are right, there’ll be no danger surely?’ Gunnar’s tone was cold. ‘In any case I can’t spare a more experienced officer.’ Then in an almost matter-of-fact voice, ‘Watch this approach now.’

  Maddox stepped up beside the compass repeater his face bleak. He spoke sharply into the voice-pipe, ‘Come right to zero one zero!’ Goddamn him! It was almost as if the captain was deliberately goading him.

  ‘Wreckage on the port bow, sir!’ a man sang out from the wing as a wallowing tangle of broken timber bobbed slowly past on the ebb.

  Gunnar watched it pass. The frail boats of Payenhau would stand little chance in the typhoon’s speedy path, even in the anchorage.

  The land reached out and encircled the slow-moving ship and the deep black shadows cast by the early sun seemed to chill the men on the upper bridge like a cold breath.

  Then the first islet had fallen away and the bows were crossing a shallow path of bright sunlight. He heard Maddox say, ‘Right standard rudder.’ Then in a brief pause, ‘Steady on zero two five.’

  It was strange how well Maddox behaved when he was angry, Gunnar thought. He forgot the others as Hibiscus sliced clear of the first part of the channel and into a wider patch of ruffled water. Steadying his glasses he could just make out the distant shadow of the fishing village, but even at this distance he could see the loose piles of broken boats across the pale beach, the houses open to the sky. The storm must have found its way across the anchorage after all and ripped some of the flimsy buildings apart.

  He heard Kroner say fretfully, ‘Damn this haze, I can’t see a thing.’ No one answered.

  It was a bad haze, Gunnar observed. The land was already giving up its moisture to the sun, so that even the hills quivered above the far-off town and the still-hidden citadel, as if the whole island was smouldering above subterranean fires.

  Gunnar said, ‘Reduce speed to ten knots, Mister Maddox.’ He heard the bells jangle and saw the bows drop slightly as the ship cut across the last of the channel’s unpredictable tide-race.

  He stiffened, just faintly above a clump of buildings he could discern the slender white line of the citadel’s flagmast. No flag flew, and he could not remember if it was normally hoisted at dawn or kept flying all day.

  Ensign Maddox’s voice broke with excitement. ‘The wreck, sir! Look, it’s moved!’

  Caught by the unnatural high tide ahead of the typhoon the whole length of the rusted freighter had pivoted from the sandbar and slid into deeper water, so that only the bridge and forecastle remained above water. Unconsciously Gunnar plucked the shirt away from his skin as he remembered the girl on the listing boatdeck, her words about the peace and happiness of that one moment together.

  Somewhere below he heard Chief Anders calling to the lowering party and the squeak of the whaleboat’s blocks as it moved down the falls. We came back, he thought. Even Bella, the haunted and betrayed Bella who had never been given a chance by anybody, was returning like a ghost to the home of his murderers.

  Regan called from the bows, ‘Starboard anchor ready to let go, Captain!’

  ‘All engines stop.’ The ship glided forward, the stem hardly making a ripple as it cut gently through the sheltered water.

  Gunnar swallowed and tried to clear his throat of the sudden dryness. It was all wrong. No people, not even a dog by the old pier. He felt naked and exposed in the open water, but tried to retain a sense of proportion. It was still very early and they were not expected. It was unlikely that anyone would be overjoyed to see the ship anyway. A sudden thought crossed his mind as he looked again at the roofless houses. The people would need help, even from him. ‘Tell the doctor to wait by the whaleboat. He can come ashore with me.’ He wondered how Connell would feel about accompanying his captain and the body of a man he had seen suffer so badly in his hands. He tightened his jaw. He can think what he likes!

  ‘Coming on now, sir!’

  ‘Very well.’ He dropped his hand and saw a spark of rust as the anchor plummeted from the hawse-pipe. ‘All engines back one-third!’ The ship trembled and shuddered as the anchor dug its flukes into the deep, clear water which they had come to know so well. ‘All engines stop.’

  It was an anticlimax, and for several seconds the men stood quite still on the silent bridge, each wrapped in his own thoughts.

  Then Anders yelled, ‘Lower away there!’ and the whaleboat splashed alongside.

  Thank God there was one boat left, Gunnar thought. The pier was sagging at an impossible angle and one nudge, even from a junk, would have finished the job.

  Gunnar glanced at the young ensign. ‘Get down to the boat, Pip. Check that all the men are armed as instructed, just in case there’s any trouble.’

  Kroner said sharply: ‘The citadel, sir. The gates are open!’

  ‘Jago must be getting overconfident.’ Gunnar climbed down the ladder. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’ He tried to read behind the exec’s troubled eyes. ‘And I’ll keep you informed of what’s happening.’

  Slattery, the steward, was waiting by the rail and handed Gunnar his pistol belt without a word, but he watched the captain with something like affection. They don’t want me to go, Gunnar thought bitterly. They don’t want me to make a fool of myself again.

  He sat in the swaying whaleboat and took a good look at the ship. He could see the scarred paintwork, stripped bare by the pounding waves, the old patched plates bared for all to see. The oars dipped, and in seconds they were parted from the parent ship’s side.

  From his high vantage point Maddox watched the boat pulling away like a small water insect. He could still see his brother’s head beside the captain and the bright patch of colour made by the flag across the dead yeoman between the cramped oarsmen. He remembered what Connell had said earlier and wondered what he was thinking at this moment.

  Regan clumped across the bridge, cap in hand, and gnawing at a giant sandwich. ‘Jesus, Bob, you look as if you’d slept in a bottle!’ He grinned wolfishly at Maddox’s unsmiling face. ‘Even your ears are bloodshot!’

  Then he tensed, and Maddox turned to follow his stare. High on a hillside, above the very channel they had just used, there was a small puff of brown smoke. In an instant it was caught by the breeze and blended itself with the drifting haze, but Regan said sharply, ‘That was a shot!’

  Even as they stared there was a thin, abbreviated whistle followed immediately by a loud splash right alongside. Then another, and yet a third which exploded on the water with a bright yellow splash and an ear-splitting crack.

  Kroner gasped, ‘What th’ hell!’

  But Regan was already starting back to the ladder, the sandwich still in his hand. ‘A mortar! A goddamn mortar!’ Then he halted and stared at Maddox’s stricken face. ‘Get going, Bob, for Christ’s sake, they’ve got us zeroed in!’

  Maddox felt unable to move. He opened his mouth but no words came.

  Regan punched his arm. ‘Come on, Bob!’

  Maddox moved dazedly across the bridge, his heart pounding his ribs like a hammer, in a strange, unrecognisable voice he yelled, ‘Sound General Quarters!’

  Regan was already on the foredeck running like a madman towards the bows. Maddox was alone. It was his responsibility. Dashing the sweat from his eyes he shouted: ‘Break the cable! Let it go!’ But Regan was already herding his section back to the cable, his arms moving like flails as he pushed and kicked the dazed men to his bidding.

  Maddox was suddenly ice-calm, as if he was under sentence of death. To Kroner he said harshly: ‘Send off a despatch immediately. Tell
them we are under fire. We require air assistance——’ He broke off with a gasp as another pattern of mortar bombs exploded around the hull and sent a stream of white-hot splinters whining above the bridge. ‘Get going, man, send it off!’ Then he reeled to the voice-pipe. ‘All engines ahead full! Right full rudder!’ He prayed that the cable was already broken, and stared wildly towards the shore to see if he could find the whaleboat. But the ship was already swinging, and the boat, if it was still afloat, was hidden by the wrecked freighter’s bridge.

  He suddenly found that he was lying on the deck, his eyes within inches of the neat rivets, an agonising pain in his ribs, his ears singing with the agony of an explosion he had not heard. Sobbing and gasping he dragged himself to his feet, retching with the stench of explosive and burnt paint. There was a funnel of black smoke pouring from below the bridge, and the stack was pitted with tiny shining holes from the bursting bomb. The ship was still swinging, and had he not been deafened by the explosion Maddox would have heard the chattering voice-pipes and the inhuman screaming from one of the signalmen who had been impaled by a strip of flying steel from the maindeck.

  His hair had fallen across his eyes, and like a wounded animal he staggered to the voice-pipe. ‘Steer straight for the channel! Give me maximum speed!’ He ducked as another blast rocked the bridge and ripped the chart table from its clips like a piece of scrap paper. ‘Get a fix on that mortar position and open fire!’ He pounded the screen with helpless fury, he did not even know if the guns were ready. But from somewhere forward he heard the click of a breech block, and as his hearing slowly returned he caught Regan’s harsh voice above the whine of the fans and the steady thresh of the engines. ‘Stand by all guns!’ Maddox peered over the screen and saw with amazement that some of the men were even wearing their steel helmets and lifejackets, so that they looked unfamiliar and stiff in their automatic movements.

  The three-inch gun staggered back in its mounting and its sharp crack scraped the inner membranes of Maddox’s ears. He did not see where the shot fell, nor did he care. There was so much to remember, so much to do, and all the time the ship was racing towards the twisting channel like a mad thing.