The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3)

by Charles S. Jackson

  “A feisty one, eh…?” One of them growled, grinning evilly. “Think you’re a big, tough gaijin just because you speak our language, eh? We’ll see how tough you are, bakayarō…”

  Using his submachine gun as a club, he reversed it in one hand and drove the flat top of its stamped-metal receiver straight into the pilot’s belly, doubling him over as whatever breath was left in him was forced out in a rush. Sagging between them, they this time bound his wrists behind his back to ensure his compliance, tying it all to a fresh noose placed about his throat. With his hands pulled high up into his back, any attempt to move them would constrict against his throat, making quite sure Ritter was now unable to resist in any way.

  He was hauled away in the same direction as Schiller, nearing within a few yards of Eileen as she remained similarly held by the throat as all three captors argued over the spoils of her belongings. She was trying to call out – to reach desperately for him as he passed – but so firmly was he now restrained by his own captors that he could do nothing but croak a feeble “I’m sorry…” before he was gone again, disappearing through the trees in pursuit of his wounded superior. As their eyes locked for just a few seconds, it was her expression of abject, helpless terror that froze his very soul and haunted his thoughts as he was dragged away.

  15.Laha

  Larike Village area

  Ambon, Dutch East Indies

  Three abandoned trucks were all that remained as Mal and Victoria trudged into the eastern outskirts of the small village, three hours later. Two of those had been the same ones that had carried the wounded and the German prisoners on ahead, while the third was a Chevrolet K-51 panel van that had been converted into a mobile radio vehicle, complete with its accompanying K-52 ‘Ben Hur’ trailer. This particular unit had been deployed as part of an observation post stationed by Newbury, the company commander, to keep watch on the area and notify of any arrival.

  Save for a handful of native Ambonese wandering about, there was not a single soul to be seen. Most of those natives seemed quite scared and bewildered by the distant sounds of battle, and almost inconceivably to Langdale, it seemed that none of them were even aware of the Japanese invasion as he made an effort to converse with them in stilted, broken English. Some had definitely seen the trucks roll up earlier, however, and had also been present as the ‘big planes’ had touched down out beyond the surf sometime after that and had sent some motorised, inflatable boats back and forth to the beach, collecting every single one of the newcomers and taking them away.

  Completely taking Langdale by surprise, a dog-tired Victoria Watson immediately singled out the witness to the departure and began conversing with him in what to the SAS sergeant’s untrained ear seemed to be quite competent Ambonese.

  “He says the planes left when a big boat came… a big boat from the east,” she repeated, gesturing off toward the mouth of the bay in the darkness and mimicking the pointing motion the fellow had made moments before.

  “Did they get away?” Langdale demanded desperately. “What happened?”

  “He thinks the planes flew away. The ‘big boat’ was shooting, but he doesn’t think the planes were hit: he says there was no big flash in the sky.”

  “Right…” he muttered thoughtfully as Watson quickly thanked the old man and gently sent him on his way. “…So maybe they got away okay, at least…” He gave a sigh and made a great show of staring all about, taking stock of their environment with hands on hips. “They’ve bloody-well got Evan, Eileen and your dad, and the Jap warship that came through had a go at the others as they took off…” he growled, finding a need to verbalise to aid his own thought processes, “…considering they also would’a found a fair few bodies lyin’ about on the track where they hit us; if we’re lucky… maybe they’re not gonna be real interested in making much of an effort in looking for anyone else…”

  It was at that moment, Langdale realised that tears were streaming down Victoria Watson’s face, almost invisible in the darkness around them, although it was clear from the shaking of her shoulders and the hushed sniffling that she was fighting to control the sobs shuddering through her body. It was only then that the SAS sergeant realised what he’d said had included her father being taken prisoner, and that she wouldn’t necessarily be as trained or equipped to deal with that kind of situation as he was.

  “Oh, bugger…” he breathed softly, rolling his eyes at his own stupidity. “Listen… Victoria…? Look, I’m really sorry… I didn’t mean to make it sound like that was no big deal… about your dad…” he added, perhaps a little unnecessarily. “They’ve been taken prisoner, right?” He continued, making a valiant attempt at optimism under the circumstances. “They’re alive, and there’s no reason to believe that’ll change for the moment. They’re all too important for the Japs to do anything to em, right…?”

  He wanted to believe that too, but Sergeant Langdale knew enough about the history of the Imperial Japanese Army during the Second World War to know that no prisoner was safe from torture or execution. He was extremely concerned about both Eileen’s and Evan’s safety, but he also understood the importance of not showing any of that concern to the young woman with him, who might still be innocent enough not to be aware of the horrors men could visit upon one another in the name of emperor and country…

  Or king and country for that matter, he thought silently, considering the treatment of his own ancestors for a moment.

  “Come on…” he suggested, not daring to make too much of physical contact under the circumstances and electing to give her a gentle, hopefully-encouraging pat on the shoulder. “There’s a radio truck here: let’s see who we can get hold of. I’m sure my bosses back in Oz will want to know what’s happened.”

  Making sure he remained at a slower pace to match her own, Langdale escorted Victoria toward the trucks parked haphazardly by an otherwise unremarkable section of empty beach, their hulking forms little better than indistinct shapes in the oppressive, overcast darkness.

  As they drew to within a few yards of the vehicles, Langdale slung his rifle and instead drew a large automatic pistol from a holster at his belt. With the press of a button, the tactical light below its muzzle burst into brilliant life, brightly illuminating the rear of the trucks as he turned the weapon toward them. Projecting a powerful, focussed beam of white light that could also be set to strobe to blind and confuse potential attackers, the device was also fitted with a green laser for sighting purposes. Casting the light back and forth, he checked the rear and insides of all three vehicles to ensure there was no one hiding within before moving to the trailer that was still attached to the rear of the radio vehicle and kicking over the generator fitted within, giving a short, silent prayer of thanks to the gods of army logistics that its fuel gauge still read as full.

  As the power-pack coughed, spluttered and then settled into a steady idle, he moved around to the van’s rear and proceeded to unhook and raise the pair of tall receiving antenna fixed to either side of the roof. Releasing them to their upright position, he opened the van’s tailgate door and climbed up onto a padded bench seat inside that ran down the centre of the vehicle’s rear. Facing to the van’s left, he found himself directly in front of a large cluster of radio equipment bolted to the inside wall.

  “You know what you’re doing?” Victoria sniffed, her tone suggesting an honest question rather than any scepticism as she hauled herself awkwardly up beside him on the seat.

  “We have to train on all this sh – stuff,” he explained conversationally as he worked, managing self-censor as he turned the set on and began tuning the appropriate frequency. “Fortunately, the buggers left it mostly warmed up for us, so it won’t take as long to get going.”

  “Who are you going to talk to?”

  “Darwin, if I can manage it… I need to get hold of my CO to let ‘em know what’s happened and get further orders: this is waaay over my pay grade!”

  “You can talk to someone so far away on that?” She
asked in surprise, the distraction something for her subconscious to latch onto rather than to leave her thinking of other, darker subjects.

  “This is an SCR-299,” he advised absent-mindedly, still concentrating on his tuning and not for a moment considering the possibility that Victoria might’ve had no use for that piece of information. “You can reach a couple ‘o thousand miles or more with this thing on a good day.”

  “And what will we do then…?”

  “Then… hopefully… I get some direction on how we’re gonna rescue Eileen, Evan and your dad,” he answered honestly, looking at her for the first time in a while. “I’m not gonna leave them as prisoners of the bloody Japs,” he assured seriously, “and neither is the guy I’m reporting to…” He gave a mirthless smile. “I just hope some bugger’s listening…”

  Making some final adjustments, he decided it was as close as he was likely to get and lifted a telephone-like handset hanging from a hook just inside the door and lifted it to his ear.

  “Trooper to Phoenix-Leader… Trooper calling Phoenix-Leader… come in please, Phoenix-Leader… over…” A long period of soft static followed giving no response before Mal once more repeated his original call: “Trooper to Phoenix-Leader… Trooper calling Phoenix-Leader… come in please, Phoenix-Leader… over…”

  “Trooper, this is Harbinger reading you loud and clear: report please… over…”

  It wasn’t exactly the response he’d been expecting or hoping for, but Langdale was nevertheless extremely relieved to hear Alec Trumbull’s voice at the other end of that radio signal.

  “Good to hear your voice there, Harbinger,” he continued immediately, managing a weak smile. “Phoenix-Leader not about, is he…?” He added, swallowing hard over the news he needed to give.

  “Sorry, Old Man… Max is in Darwin right now… ahh… awaiting your arrival, actually…” the reply came back hesitantly, the unspoken question crystal clear in his tone. “…Somewhat prematurely, it now appears…”

  “Yeah, about that…” Langdale dove in, radio protocol going out the window as his tension levels rose. “We had some transport issues… most of the evacuees were sent on ahead, but Evan and Eileen and I and a few others were delayed and ran into a patrol…”

  “You’ve seen them off though, clearly…?” Trumbull ventured tentatively, the question mark at the end of that statement accentuating the fearful hope behind it.

  “Alec…” Langdale began, halting for a moment as he was forced to think about what had happened and a lump of emotion momentarily collected in his throat. “Alec, they took Evan and Eileen… took ‘em prisoner…” There was desperation and guilt in his voice now as it all came gushing out. “We were separated… there was nothing I could do…!”

  There was another long, excruciating pause before Trumbull finally answered.

  “I understand, Malcolm. I’ve no doubt you did everything you could…” Another, shorter pause, then: “Where are you now: how secure are you…?’

  “We’re still at the pick-up point, Alec, and not bloody secure at all. I can’t hang about much longer – they’re bound to have patrols through here sometime soon.”

  “Of course, man… of course…” Trumbull acknowledged, sounding more like someone with a plan now. “First thing we need to do is make sure you’re somewhere safe… after that we can decide what to do about the others. The radio set you’re using: is it mobile?”

  “Yes, mate: one of those Yank panel vans with the trailer… full tank on the generator and plenty of fuel on the other trucks here if we need it.”

  “Excellent! I need you to find somewhere safe for the moment – inland if you’re able. Somewhere you can set up that radio van that won’t be easily found. Do you have a patch kit with you…?” He added, knowing that Langdale had been one of their group trained in the use and fitting of the device.

  “Yes, sir…!” Langdale shot back immediately, finally able to smile a little. “Right here in my pack. Take me about twenty minutes to wire it up…”

  “Get somewhere safe first, though – understand? How’s the charge on your belt radio?”

  “Sitting on about sixty per cent, but I’ve got two spares in my pack: enough to last me a few days at least if I don’t go too hard…”

  “Good show! Look…” Trumbull continued, pausing for a moment as he consulted the time. “It’s close to midnight now by my watch… If you’re able, report in at oh-four hundred for further orders: that should leave us enough time to think of something, and enough time for you to find somewhere secluded, hopefully. If you can’t make the call at that time for any reason, we’ll be listening every hour on the hour after that. Got all that…?”

  “Yes, sir: loud and clear!”

  “Excellent… Excellent…! Off you go now and find somewhere safe, and we’ll talk to you in a few hours… Keep your chin up…! Harbinger out…”

  “Understood, Harbinger… Trooper out…”

  Eight hundred miles away, Alex Trumbull lost all pretence of optimism and control at the same moment that radio transmission went dead. Finding himself suddenly weak at the knees, he leaned heavily against a chair to one side of the main radio console as he dragged a set of headphones from his ears and let them fall onto the top of the instrument panel with a clatter. He pulled the chair across and sagged heavily into it, his face a mask of horror and defeat as Harry Murray stared on with an expression of detached concern.

  “Corporal,” Trumbull began again, turning to the radio operator seated beside him, “could you please get me the palace: I’ve no doubt that they’ll want to know what’s going on. We may need to bring things forward after all…”

  “Bad news…?” Murray ventured superfluously.

  “Indeed… Captains Donelson and Lloyd didn’t make it to the evacuation…” Trumbull answered in a hollow tone, staring blankly at the back wall of the radio room. “They’ve been taken prisoner… confirmed by one of our NCOs who also missed the rendezvous.” He sighed audibly, not entirely sure what to do next.

  Delving deep into Hindsight’s computer-based records, Alex Trumbull had spent many hours researching histories of the Realtime Second World War over the last two years. As such, he’d gained an unpleasant and all-too-vivid understanding of the kinds of brutalities the Imperial Japanese Army was capable of both before and during that conflict. That two of his closest friends in the world had been captured was bad enough, but with the added inside knowledge he’d been privy too, what the Japanese might do to a woman under such circumstances didn’t bear thinking about.

  “That’s a real bugger, alright…” the colonel pointed out, under the circumstances somewhat unnecessarily in Trumbull’s opinion. “Max ain’t gonna like that either...”

  “Max… Oh Lord, Max…!” Alec exclaimed, his inner horror complete now as he contemplated what he might possible tell Thorne about what had transpired. “What on earth will I tell him…?”

  “Shit job and no mistake.”

  “It’s just… well… fuck…!” Alec Trumbull blurted in angry frustration, uncharacteristically left bereft of anything less profane to say.

  Having not known the RAF officer for more than a few days, Murray of course had no idea as to the great lengths Thorne and others had gone to draw exactly that kind of reaction from the man over the last two years, and he could therefore have no concept on the great irony that none of them were now present to hear that outburst.

  “Pretty much sums it up…” he agreed with a shrug.

  “Time to move…” Langdale announced as he turned the radio off and they both slid from the seat and climbed down to ground level once more, feeling more settled and reassured after speaking to Trumbull and knowing that Hindsight would be working on the problem.

  “Where are we to go?” Victoria asked, still frightened, tired and starting to feel the cold.

  “Somewhere…” Langdale muttered half to himself, not altogether helpfully as he turned and moved around to the van’s driver’s do
or and drew it open. “Not sure meself yet, but somewhere a bloody sight safer than here…! They want us to head inland and keep out of the way of the Japs for the moment, ‘til they have better orders for us…” he continued, sorting through a pile of discarded papers and notepads on the passenger seat. “Just need to find somewhere… here we go…!” He declared finally, dragging a large and badly folded map out from the bottom of the pile. “Figured an OP would have some bloody maps handy…”

  “‘OP’…?”

  “Observation Post,” he explained, flicking on the pistol’s tactical light once more and using it to illuminate the map as he unfolded it one-handed across the front seat. “Intelligence gathering… stuff like that…” He shrugged. “Observation…”

  “And what about me…?”

  “What about you?”

  “You didn’t mention me on the radio…”

  “Nup,” he confirmed without emotion, most of his attention focussed on the map as he found their position and ran a thoughtful finger along a number of tracks marked nearby that led back into the heights toward the centre of the peninsula. “No point…”

  “May I ask why not…?”

  It was the tone of her words that finally gained Mal’s attention; a tone that carried the faint undercurrent of superiority generally reserved for royalty and teenage girls. Without turning around, he lowered the pistol light, took a moment’s pause and released a soft, tired sigh.

  “I didn’t tell ‘em about you because if I had, odds are they’d have wanted to make some effort to get you out of here or, at the very least, order me to nursemaid you instead of doing what both of us want: finding some way to rescue your dad and the others…” he explained finally, mostly keeping his frustration in check. “You do wanna rescue ‘em, right…?” He added, turning to stare at her for the first time and fixing her with a serious gaze.