Path of the Storm

by Douglas Reeman

  Gunnar remembered the mad dash through the citadel’s empty corridors in a frantic search for weapons. He had found the giant bulk of the commandant in his quarters overlooking the anchorage. In the quick, nightmare picture he had appeared like a newly caught and gutted whale. A heavy sabre lay close by, and Gunnar found time to wonder if the girl he had tormented for so long had taken her revenge. ‘No, he didn’t run, Colonel. He died.’

  Jago bit his lip. ‘I guess I got the wrong idea about him. Like everything else!’

  A sailor shouted hoarsely, ‘Here they come!’

  Then they were all up and firing again. Blindly, wildly, with the quiet desperation of cornered animals. Another seaman fell, and after a brief pause Connell crawled to his side, but when Gunnar looked to see if he was treating the great wound in his shoulder he saw with sick horror that Connell was on his knees, running a rosary slowly through his bloodied fingers.

  Chief Anders was the next to go. An unseen Chinese had somehow climbed up a wall support from the side of the courtyard while his comrades kept up a continuous fire along the actual rampart. Anders saw him at the last minute as he clung to the top of the wall and aimed his automatic at Gunnar’s back. Anders leapt at him, and before anyone could reach him he had rolled over the top of the wall, still locked with the other man in a final embrace.

  Gunnar pulled the pins from two grenades and pitched them over the wall, baring his teeth as the ground shook to the mingled detonations. Soon now.

  The air suddenly seemed to come alive with a different sound, and for one instant Gunnar imagined that the enemy had at last managed to get round behind with some new, unexpected weapons. His ears cringed from the fierce rattle of cannonfire, the crash and whine of exploding shells and the sudden screams from the courtyard below.

  A seaman stood up, his arms in the air like a man at a ball game. ‘Jesus! It’s the ship, sir! The goddamn Hibiscus!’

  Then they were all at the wall, staring through the blue smoke towards the shallow, limping shape which appeared to be pushing itself through the fringe of fallen rock at the side of the anchorage, as if cutting across the land itself.

  Every gun was firing, and Gunnar watched in silence as the vicious cannon-fire cut the attackers down from behind, followed them along the road, blasting them to bloody fragments as they scampered to escape their probing vengeance. The grey three-inch gun was high angled away from the citadel, and Gunnar knew that it was seeking a target further inshore, probably the mortars.

  But he could no longer see clearly, and even the ship’s shape seemed to merge with the sea itself. The ship had returned. To the events on the island it would make little difference.

  But to him it meant everything.

  17

  Final Gesture

  THE OSPREY’S CABLE locker had become like a furnace, so that Pirelli could not even doze to break the tension of waiting, and the sweat poured from his body in a continuous flood, as if he were standing in a shower.

  He knew that the girl was still in the cabin adjoining his hiding place, yet because the hatch had been slammed shut he could no longer see what she was doing, and only occasionally had he heard her make any movement. His watch had stopped, and he had little idea of how long he had been listening and waiting. He had heard distant shots and some other vague explosions, but the gurgle of water round the boat’s stem had deadened all but indistinct echoes.

  Pirelli stiffened as he heard a sudden gust of laughter followed by the tinkle of breaking glass. More laughter, and this time it was accompanied by thuds along the upper deck and one shout of pain. The guards left on the boat were obviously enjoying themselves, he thought grimly.

  He almost fell from his perch as the hatch banged open with a violent crash and the cabin flooded with bright sunlight. There were two men. He saw their legs first, brown skinned, the feet encased in stout leather sandals. They were both wearing short quilted coats in spite of the heat, and each of them carried a heavy automatic pistol at the waist, and one had a burp-gun tucked beneath his arm like a toy.

  The two Chinese were obviously drunk, and stood for several seconds blinking vaguely in the semi-darkness, their eyes like black slits in their heavy, square faces. Surprisingly, they both sat down side by side on the narrow bunk and stared at the girl with flat, expressionless faces, as if she had just fallen from the sky.

  Pirelli shifted slightly so that he could see her She was standing quite still against the far side, her hands pressed on the curved wooden hull at her back, her lips parted in fear as she watched the two intruders. Pirelli could see that her neck and throat were shining with perspiration, and her hair was damp against her tanned skin like a veil. Pirelli found that his throat had gone dry as if coated with dust, and try as he might he could not control the rapid pounding of his heart, so that it seemed to fill the small place with sound. The bigger of the two Chinese was a slab-shouldered, brutish-looking man with a heavy jaw and the thick, roughened hands of a peasant. Pirelli could see the lust growing in his dark eyes, could watch it overcoming the dulled pleasure of the drink which they must have found somewhere on the upper deck. He wondered what had happened to the boat’s wizened engineer, and decided that the cry of pain he had heard was probably the last sound he would ever make on this earth.

  With a shock he heard the girl speaking. She kept her voice low and steady, as if she was using it with real effort. ‘What are you doing here? You must go now!’

  The second Chinese looked enquiringly at his companion, who said haltingly: ‘You finish. All Yankee dead!’ He pointed a thick finger at her and bared his yellow teeth in a wide grin. ‘Boom! Boom!’ He then translated his comments to his friend, who rocked with laughter until he broke off in a fit of violent coughing.

  Pirelli mopped his face. Dead? The man was lying. Why was there still shooting? It was possible, however, that it would soon be over, and then what would he do? The thought of being a prisoner made him feel suddenly sick. He had heard often enough what Communist guerrillas did with their rare American victims.

  The big man stood up and carefully laid his gun on the bunk. Very deliberately he unstrapped his belt and put that beside it. All the time he kept his eyes fastened on the girl while his companion settled down with obvious enjoyment. Here it comes, Pirelli thought desperately, and there’s nothing she can do about it.

  With a quick movement the girl pushed herself from the side and ran for the ladder. Pirelli’s vision was momentarily blacked out as her slim body blotted out the sunlight. Then she was down, pulled from the ladder with the helplessness of a child. She opened her mouth to scream but the big soldier struck her casually across the face so that her head jerked sideways, and she was momentarily stunned as he threw her on to the bunk and ripped her shirt from her shoulders. Straddling her body he pinned her hands to her sides as he peeled the shirt from her and threw it to his companion, who was stooping over to watch more closely.

  Pirelli tried to drag his eyes away, but the sight of her naked body shining with sweat as she struggled beneath the man’s weight held him like a nightmare. The Chinese said something to his friend and then he began to tug at the girl’s belt with the inflamed madness of a wild beast.

  There was a heavy thud, and with a frenzied bellow Burgess dropped into the cabin with the force of a sudden storm. His maniacal rage seemed to fill the cabin and swamp the stricken occupants with its fury. Splintered furniture scattered in his path, and taking the nearest Chinese by the throat he threw him full length across the cabin so that his head crashed against the timbers with the sound of a breaking wicker basket. The other man recovered his shocked surprise and leapt from the girl’s prostrate body and plunged towards his piled weapons. Burgess wrapped his arms about his waist and together they rolled across the deck, grunting and snarling like panthers fighting over a prey. Lea Burgess pulled herself upright, her half-naked body showing the bright bruises left by the man’s powerful hands, her eyes wide with terror as she staggered away from
the two grappling figures at her feet.

  Pirelli saw the first Chinese dragging himself into his small field of vision, his teeth bared in agony but his eyes unblinking as he moved crabwise across the deck, a heavy pistol clutched in his hand. The girl screamed, a sharp, desperate cry which seemed to unlock the last barrier in Pirelli’s reeling mind, and with a frantic kick he pushed open the door to the chain locker and blundered into the open.

  Several things seemed to happen simultaneously. The man on the floor at Pirelli’s feet lifted his pistol and fired perhaps a split second before the heavy rifle butt crashed down at the base of his skull, and then Pirelli found himself facing the other Chinese, the man’s great heaving chest within inches of the levelled barrel. From the corner of his eye Pirelli saw Burgess trying to drag himself clear, his chest glittering with blood where he had been caught by that one final shot.

  Pirelli watched the other man’s face, lulled momentarily by the completion of the surprise made by his entrance. The girl had her hand across her mouth as if mesmerised. Burgess lay propped against the side, his eyes dulled with pain but nevertheless fixed on Pirelli as if he no longer understood what was happening. Pirelli stood quite motionless, his wild beard and sweat-tangled hair matching his foul clothing and the appearance of complete degradation left by his voluntary imprisonment.

  He felt the power moving in his cramped limbs like neat whisky, and almost playfully he allowed the rifle to waver away from the other man’s panting body. The Chinese rocked on the balls of his feet and then plunged forward, his hands ready to close around the wavering rifle. With no more than the necessary effort required, Pirelli took half a pace to the right and swung the barrel upwards out of reach, at the same time allowing the butt to complete its half-circle and catch the charging man barely a hand’s breadth above the groin. He heard the gasp of agony and watched with cruel satisfaction as the rushing figure stumbled and doubled over beside him. Before he reached the deck the rifle butt rose and fell once more, neatly behind the man’s ear. The weapon moved only a few inches, yet behind it was all the anger and hatred which Pirelli had nursed and carried since the death of his only real friend. Grout.

  He stepped back. ‘No point in wastin’ ammo.’ His voice seemed loud after the fury of the battle. ‘Now let’s see what we kin do about you!’ He brushed away the girl’s dazed questions as he bent beside the bleeding Englishman. ‘I was hopin’ to get a free trip to Taiwan, see? I guess these bastards have fouled it up somewhat!’

  Burgess said thickly: ‘You’re the deserter. You’ll have to go back to your ship now.’ He stiffened like a board as Pirelli’s probing fingers moved inside his shirt.

  Pirelli grunted, ‘A right mess!’ He fashioned a bandage from a piece of sheet off the bunk, his mind as busy as his fingers. Hibiscus was back again, it was not a guess or a rumour any more. He worked busily and methodically, his ears open to Burgess’s slow and painful words to his daughter. He was apologising, pleading, and there were tears on the girl’s face as she listened. He’ll not live long, Pirelli thought bleakly. The bullet is deep inside his chest.

  Burgess said through his teeth: ‘They promised me gold, plenty of it, if I did what they said. But when the ship came back they thought I had done another deal, had double-crossed them——’ He broke off in a fit of coughing. ‘Just another failure! Just one more bloody failure!’

  She touched his arm. ‘Oh, Father, how could you have done it?’ But there was no anger in her voice. Just despair, Pirelli thought.

  The big Chinese groaned and moved his head very slightly. Pirelli stood up and seized him by the collar of his quilted jacket. The man was heavy, but Pirelli was a product of many years at sea, a hardened fighter who rarely thought of actual physical strain except in terms of combat. He dragged the man up the ladder and laid him beside the hatch. He paused on the ladder as he heard the distant clatter of heavy cannon-fire. Hibiscus was definitely back well enough! He bared his uneven teeth in a grin and ran lightly down the steps for the second man. He was an easier load, and without releasing his hold Pirelli pulled him to the gunwale and dropped him over the side. The other one was heavier, and hit the water with such force that a flock of gulls rose angrily from the deserted beach and circled around the Osprey in disordered confusion.

  Pirelli wiped his hands on his legs and peered down at the two drifting bodies. He turned as he heard the girl’s feet on the deck beside him. She had made some attempt to cover herself with the tattered shirt, but her face looked dulled with shock, and her shoulders shook as if she had just been beaten.

  Pirelli eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Got rid of them jokers. Next thing is to get th’ hell out of here!’ He gestured at the wheelhouse. ‘Go an’ see if there’s any gas in the tanks.’

  She stared at him dully, her face pale and empty of hope. ‘What are you going to do?’

  Pirelli pursed his lips and tasted their dryness. He had not really looked very far into the future, but first things first. ‘Get goin’,’ he remarked at length. ‘The shore seems empty, but we’d never make it through their lines.’ He almost laughed aloud. Through their lines! It sounded like one of Alan Ladd’s old movies. ‘The Hibiscus will be bottled up if she’s in the bay, but she’ll not be hangin’ about, not any more.’ He rubbed his bristled face. ‘The doctor will help your old man, but——’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t think he’ll make it much longer.’

  She turned away and said in a small voice: ‘He’ll think I’ve betrayed him. He’ll think I lied to him——’ Her head dropped and he heard her sobbing quietly.

  Pirelli guessed she was referring to the captain, and said harshly: ‘Don’t you worry about him. He’s fully occupied right now, I shouldn’t wonder.’ With sudden force he gripped her arm. ‘It’s you an’ me now.’ He peered into her face. ‘I’m making a passage straight to the pen when I get back, but I don’t somehow think this is the right time to leave the navy! Even the cage is better than what these bastards’d do to me!’ He shook her roughly. ‘Get on the wheel and start up. I’m going to slip the cable.’ She made as if to go towards the small hatch above the engine room. ‘Get to the wheel, you’ve had enough shocks for one day!’ Pirelli watched her go and sighed. He had seen the dark streaks of blood which led to the hatch. The engineer had been butchered when the two guards had found the liquor. He licked his lips, better get it over with.

  Gritting his teeth and fighting back the nausea he staggered from the engine room with the small bundle which had been thrown down on to the big diesel. The little man hardly made a ripple as he was dropped overboard, but floated with arms outstretched as if taking a quiet bathe.

  Pirelli swung the big flywheel and with a shudder the diesel fired and began to rumble resentfully until he cut in the other cylinders and staggered back again to the sun-bathed deck. He gave a thumbs-up to the girl and ran forward to the small hand-capstan. Then, even as the anchor showed its dripping flukes above the surface, he heard the roar as the girl opened the throttle. She was still holding on it seemed. Handling the wheel would keep her mind busy for a bit. He reached the wheelhouse and took the spokes from her hands and spun them hard down. He watched the shore swinging across the bows, felt a slight breeze on his face and allowed himself a hollow belch.

  She said: ‘The tanks are all but empty. My father must have forgotten to take on fuel.’

  Pirelli scowled. ‘Maybe the Chinks decided to drain ’em just in case of a double-cross on his part!’ He saw the pain in her eyes and added, ‘It’s no fault of yours.’ He unslung the rifle and squinted at the shoreline. ‘Keep close in. I don’t want to be spotted just yet.’

  He thought of Burgess in the cabin below. It was wrong for a man to die alone without knowing what was happening. He said gruffly: ‘Take the wheel for a bit. I’m goin’ to get the skipper.’ He saw the girl’s eyes beginning to fill again. ‘Is there anythin’ to drink?’ She pointed to the side-locker and he scooped out a pair of full bottles. He held them up to the sunlig
ht and said, ‘It doesn’t stop anythin’, but it makes it easier to bear!’

  Pirelli eased the big Englishman down on to the deck at the foot of the wheelhouse and readjusted the sodden bandage. He held out the bottle and was surprised to see a look of dumb gratitude on the man’s pain-racked features.

  ‘Thanks. And thank you for saving Lea from those——’ He coughed and twisted his mouth with agony. ‘I didn’t really know——’ Each word was painful to hear.

  Pirelli felt lightheaded and wild, elated to a point of renewed madness. The boat moved ponderously along its course, and he was in charge of it. For the first time in his life he was needed. He tried to sneer at his own thoughts, to taunt himself for his stupidity at throwing away his chance of freedom for something he did not even understand. But he had been too long with his old way of life, too set in his ways to change after all.

  Somewhere beyond the deceptive calm of the coastline there was his ship. If he reached her he would have to think again, but right now it was all that mattered.

  * * *

  Chief Tasker jog-trotted through the sagging gates to the citadel, his helmet bouncing on his narrow head, an M-14 with fixed bayonet angled across his lean body at the correct angle. He saw Gunnar leaning against the guard hut and skidded to a halt. ‘The road’s clear, sir.’ His deepset eyes flickered across the captain’s strained features and moved quickly around the courtyard. It was like a scene from hell. Some forty Chinese lay scattered and broken in the bloodied dust, and the surrounding walls were pitted with grenade fragments and scarred with bullets. Here and there some human remains smeared the pale concrete like some ghastly impressionist painting.

  Gunnar shaded his eyes and stared towards the grey cube of the Hibiscus’s bridge and the glittering crucifix of her topmast. ‘Is the ship secured?’

  Tasker lowered his rifle. ‘Sure is. It was lucky that wreck shifted off the sandbar. The exec managed to secure to it with not too much effort.’