Pride and the Anguish

by Douglas Reeman

  It was hard, no impossible, to picture Corbett as he had been for just a few moments at the New Year’s party. Once back aboard he had resumed his old isolated position of command. He showed no sign of having remembered any display of confidence with Trewin, nor did he ever mention his family.

  Mallory stepped across the gratings and said quietly, “We alter course in ten minutes. Course to steer is two eight zero.” He rubbed his eyes. “God, it’s as black as a boot!”

  Trewin turned quickly, just in time to see a far-off flare drifting down across the mainland. For a brief instant he saw a ridge of hilltop and heard the vague crump, crump of gunfire. Just a murmur. A mere hint of what lay beneath. Probably even now men were stalking each other through the dense jungle. Straining their ears, deafened by their own frantic heartbeats, fingers on triggers or groping for grenades.

  Corbett’s voice broke the train of thought. “This will have to be a slow approach, Trewin. Remember the sandbars. If we run aground it will be daylight before the tide lifts us off. By then it might be too late.”

  Trewin nodded. The Porcupine was already a floating bomb. Beached on a mudbank, it would not be a difficult target to find.

  The seconds ticked by. Then Mallory said flatly, “Ready, sir!”

  Corbett snapped, “Port fifteen!” He waited, his hands outspread across the screen as if to feel the ship’s sluggish response. “Midships. Steady.” He half turned, his face pale against the backcloth of land. “Well. Pilot?”

  Mallory repeated. “Course two eight zero, sir!”

  Trewin passed the course to the wheelhouse, and as he straightened his back he heard Corbett say sharply, “Well, tell me in future, Pilot! I’m not a damn mind-reader!”

  Trewin said quietly, “That was my fault, sir. He did tell me the change of course when…”

  Corbett interrupted angrily, “Oh, for God’s sake!” He swung back to peer at the darkening line of land. “You can save your defences of the navigating officer’s slackness for later!”

  It was unfair, and Trewin was tempted to say so. He looked at Mallory’s outline across the chart table and saw him shrug.

  It was very odd. Corbett was acting as if he had never made this approach before. As if he was troubled by the mass of explosives around him. Yet how could this be? Trewin tried to see his face in the gloom, but could only make out the outline of his chin and the insistent tapping fingers of one hand on the screen.

  While they had loaded the ammunition, each man expecting an air attack in every dragging minute, Corbett had stayed on the bridge, apparently indifferent, and more concerned it seemed with the damage done to decks and paintwork, by clumsily handled crates.

  Corbett rapped, “Slow ahead together!”

  The engines sighed and the motion increased as the ship wallowed heavily in her own bow-wave.

  Trewin heard the scrape of steel from aft and pictured the gunners crouching by their breeches, ears and nerves strained to breaking point as they waited for a sudden attack. Not that it was likely, Trewin thought. The Japs were apparently prepared to depend on daylight, and with good reason. Air superiority was the main weapon for attacks on surface craft.

  Corbett snapped his fingers. “Depth?”

  “Four fathoms, sir.” The seaman’s voice was hushed.

  Corbett nodded. “Port ten. Midships.” He was moving his head from side to side, like a terrier sniffing out its adversary.

  Mallory said suddenly, “We’ll run too close to the sandbars, sir! I suggest you stay on this course until…”

  “When I require your opinion I’ll ask for it!” Corbett slid from his chair and stooped over the compass repeater. He held his face so close that Trewin could see the luminous dial reflected in his eyes. He said, “Steer two seven eight!”

  Mallory sucked his lip. “Christ!” he said under his breath.

  Trewin thrust his head under the oilskin hood and peered at the chart. It was a very bad entrance. In some places the sandbars were above water at high tide.

  A voice said, “Three fathoms, sir!”

  Trewin studied the neat pencilled lines and the countless alterations which Mallory had entered on the chart. There had once been light buoys and a beacon on the headland. Now there was nothing.

  He stood up and walked to the front of the bridge.

  Corbett shot him a glance. “Won’t be long now.”

  A darker blotch of land moved leisurely across the starboard beam. It was the crouching hill. Trewin breathed out slowly. He could feel the deck jerking steeply in response to the fierce current from the Inlet and heard the wheel creaking below his feet as Unwin fought his personal battle with sea and rudder. He tried not to stare at the hardening line of land across the bows. It made his head ache, like that of a blind man walking towards a solid barrier in his path. Seeing nothing, yet knowing that it was there.

  “Two fathoms, sir!”

  Corbett swung round. “What? Repeat that!”

  The seaman replied uneasily, “Two fathoms, sir!”

  “It can’t be!” Corbett looked back at Mallory. “What the hell is he talking about?”

  Trewin stepped up beside him. “The sandbars may have shifted, sir. All that rain, and the tide-race through the Inlet.”

  He broke off as a look-out yelled, “Breakers ahead! Fine on the port bow!”

  Corbett sprang across the gratings. “Starboard fifteen!” He locked his fingers round the voice-pipe. “Increase to twenty!” He was shouting.

  Trewin saw a flurry of white spray, suddenly very close and stark against the darkness.

  “Midships! Steady!”

  Mallory said tightly, “Too fine, we’ll never make it for Chrissake!”

  The Porcupine swung awkwardly across the current, her bows chopping noisily on the swell.

  Corbett called, “Steer two eight five!”

  Trewin heard Unwin repeat the order and lifted his glasses to search for the other side of the Inlet. Then, just as the lenses settled on the hill’s blunt outline, the gunboat struck the sandbar. It was nothing more than a slight quiver at first, but as Trewin clutched at the screen and the deck tilted beneath his feet he heard Corbett shout, “Full astern together!”

  The telegraphs jangled, and from aft came a sudden surge of wash as both screws screamed urgently in response. The bows lifted, trembled, and then struck hard down, so that the ship shook from bridge to keel as if in a giant vice. As the vibration increased Trewin felt the deck canting heavily to starboard and heard sudden cries of warning and alarm from every side.

  Corbett said, “Stop engines!” He ran across the bridge, his glasses banging unheeded against the screen as he peered down at the swirling water alongside.

  There was a sudden silence, broken only by the steady sluice of the current against the hull and the occasional groan of steel.

  Corbett sounded as if he was short of breath, but his voice was controlled as he ordered, “Slow astern together!”

  The painful jerking started again, then as the engines stopped the silence was shattered by the buzz of a telephone. Trewin heard Corbett say, “if you think that, Chief, I’ll abide by your advice.” He replaced the handset and said, “Nimmo reports that the screws are drawing up silt into their tunnels. We shall shake the shafts out of the ship if we try again.” He took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. It was an unusual gesture for Corbett, and Trewin sensed his sudden anguish. “We will have to wait for that tide, after all, it seems.”

  Mallory’s voice was without expression. “That is at 0530, sir.”

  Trewin looked away. It would be daylight by then. Daylight, and the Porcupine would be squatting like a lame duck for all to see.

  “We could signal for a tow, sir?” Trewin was surprised how calm he sounded.

  Corbett shook his head. “Beaver is the nearest ship with shallow draught and the power to pull us off. She couldn’t be here much before first light, if then.”

  Trewin watched him in silence. Th
ere was no point in questioning Corbett’s reasons for taking the southern side of the Inlet. It was known to be a difficult entrance by any method, especially by night. But his refusal to accept Mallory’s suggested course was strange. He had a sudden picture of Corbett beside his son’s bed, and in his mind he seemed to hear his words: “… means everything to me. Him and the ship.”

  He heard himself say, “I expect we’ll slide off all right, sir. We might even try and kedge her into deep water.”

  Corbett sounded distant, as if his mind was elsewhere. “We must get the ammunition to the Army, Trewin. They were the orders. The hazards of the trade don’t come into it.”

  Trewin thought of the far-off Japanese guns. Even they might be preferable to what the admiral would do when he found out what Corbett had done.

  The Porcupine settled more firmly in her new berth, her stem still pointing towards the shore. Like the men who controlled her, she had nothing more to do but wait.

  THE PORCUPINE’S SMALL DINGHY slewed violently in a sudden eddy and then wobbled back on course as Trewin, who was squatting uncomfortably on the transom, pushed the tiller hard over to the full extent of his arm. The two Chinese seamen at the oars were pulling with all their strength, and Trewin heard their combined breaths bursting with sharp gasps with each savage effort. In the bows, a boathook poised like a whaler’s harpoon, Ordinary Signalman Phelps peered ahead ready to thrust away any threatening sandbank or some of the many waterlogged branches swept down from the Talang River.

  He said sharply, “Pull harder! Not much further.” He could sympathise with the oarsmen, but any failure of effort now and the little boat would be carried out past the crouching hill on the far side of the Inlet to the open sea beyond.

  Still, it was better than just standing about and waiting, he thought. Corbett’s restlessness was almost more unnerving than his normal attitude of impassive calm. Quite suddenly he had said, “I think you’d better go ashore. Before the dawn comes up.” He had stared at Trewin’s face through the gloom. “There is an army signals post on the headland. Get through to Talang and rouse the army commander if you can.” He had sounded tired. “Tell him what has happened and why we didn’t get up there on time. He may think we didn’t start out at all.”

  Trewin had asked, “Is that all, sir?”

  “If he has some river craft at his disposal he can get them sent down to meet us. If the worst comes to the worst the troops may be able to unload some of the ammunition in midstream.” He had added bitterly, “If there’s any time for it!”

  Trewin stared up at the sky. The clouds had all but gone and the stars seemed much paler and more indistinct. Dawn was very close, and when it came it would be immediate, as it always was here.

  Phelps called, “Here we are, sir!” He lashed out at a small rock, and with a final thrust of the oars the dinghy grated on to a tiny sliver of beach below the headland.

  Hammond, who had been sitting in silence at Trewin’s side, stood up and jumped over the gunwale. He said, “Better pull the boat into those bushes, Number One. This might take a little time!”

  Trewin waded ashore, straining his eyes to separate the various dark clumps of hillside and tangled brush. When he looked back across the swirling water he was shocked to see that he could already determine the gunboat’s outline, even the darker line of weed and slime along her exposed bilge. He glanced at Hammond, “As soon as we’ve contacted the Army you had better make your way up the Inlet. They’ll need someone who understands the problem of unloading.”

  Hammond said quickly, “I’d rather go back with you!”

  Trewin smiled. “What about the girl in Singapore? She wouldn’t thank me for letting you get killed.”

  Hammond replied, “I hope you don’t think I’d stay ashore because of my personal feelings?” He sounded strained. “If I thought that…”

  He broke off as Trewin said, “Forget it, Sub, I was just pulling your leg. But all the same, you are going to stay ashore. That is an order!”

  He turned as Phelps said cheerfully, “Dinghy’s safe an’ snug, sir!”

  Hammond stared at the small boat and said quietly, “To think that I was sailing her in the regatta only a month ago. It feels like a lifetime!”

  Trewin peered up at the hillside. “We always seem to be searching for the Army!” He tightened his webbing belt and added, “Well, let’s get on with it.” He started up the slope knowing that the others would follow. He could almost feel Hammond’s mind working. But whatever he suggested, Trewin had already decided to hold to his original order. If the enemy opened fire in sufficient force the Porcupine would be hard put to reach the high-sided safety of the Talang River. And just a near miss would be enough to blast her to fragments. Hammond would be well out of it. And it was right that someone should be spared to talk about the futility of it all.

  He controlled his fresh wave of bitterness with a physical effort and increased his stride as if to drive the thoughts from his mind. You could not expect to live for ever. Today was as good a time as any other, he thought savagely.

  The higher they climbed the lighter it seemed to become. Already they could see the hazy outline of the horizon and the individual eddies and swirling currents which marked the hazardous approaches between the littered sandbanks outside the Inlet.

  Then Trewin saw the hut. It was very small and camouflaged from the air by netting and freshly cut branches. Faintly on the fresh dawn air he could hear the beat of dance music, and his mind rebelled at this impossible situation which could only be found in war. The soldiers were no doubt drowsing over their radio, while just a few hundred yards away the gunboat lay helpless, awaiting death from an invisible enemy.

  He quickened his pace again. Over his shoulder he said, “Go and wake those bastards, Phelps!” As the signalman ran across the flattened ground he added to Hammond, “Were you surprised when the captain decided to make his approach the way he did?”

  Hammond shrugged. “We always used to take that channel, Number One. When I first joined the ship I’ve seen him con her right into the Inlet within yards of the south bank.” He sounded troubled. “But I can’t understand why he did it this time, and in the darkness.”

  Trewin nodded. “Thank you, Sub. I have a feeling there will be questions asked about it.” He thought of the stranded gunboat and thought, What the hell does it matter now?

  He saw Phelps’ pale shape outlined against the hut. He seemed to be bending over as if studying the ground. Then Trewin heard the young signalman retching uncontrollably.

  Suddenly all the dangers and frustrations seemed to give way to an icy calm. Trewin pushed Hammond aside and called, “Stand still, Phelps!” To Hammond he snapped, “Stay here!”

  Ignoring him and the two Chinese seamen he strode across the small clearing and seized the signalman’s arm. As he stood by the half-open door the dance music seemed deafening and obscene. “Easy, boy!” He shook his arm. “Easy now!” He reached out and very slowly pushed the door back on its hinges.

  There was a single lantern flickering from the top of a steel locker, but the light was sufficient. It was more than sufficient.

  Two soldiers lay spreadeagled on the dirt floor amidst the remains of the radio transmitter. Trewin felt the bile rising in his throat as he stepped inside the hut, his mind and being rebelling against the horror around him. Each soldier had been impaled on the floor with his own bayonet. One of them, a corporal, had his fingers wrapped around the bloodied hilt, his mouth and eyes wide with agony and terror. He must have died trying to tear the bayonet from his own stomach while his murderers stood and watched him.

  They had taken their time with the other soldier. He had been hacked in so many places that it was hard to recognise the corpse as a man. The hut’s walls were splashed with blood, and in the flickering lamplight it looked like the mural of some bestial maniac.

  He heard a cry of horror and turned to see Hammond’s face by the open door. Trewin said harshly, “Ge
t outside! There’s nothing you can do here!”

  Hammond gasped, “My God! How could they do that?” His body began to shake uncontrollably. “To see them lying there!” He clapped his hands over his ears. “And that damned, bloody music all the time!”

  Trewin saw the two Chinese staring at him, their eyes like black stones. Phelps was squatting on his knees, his face in his hands as if in prayer.

  Trewin shook Hammond’s arm. “Get a grip, Sub! For God’s sake, control yourself!” He shook him harder. “Whoever did that cannot be far away!” He let the words sink in. “So we’ve got to see that it doesn’t happen to us!”

  Phelps looked up, his eyes wet in the growing light. “Shall I turn that radio off?”

  Trewin looked down at him. “Leave it, Bunts. Those murdering bastards will be safer if they can hear the music.” He swallowed twice to control the nausea which threatened to engulf him with every word. Then he gripped Hammond’s arm again. “Get their rifles, Sub. They’re by the table.” He thought he saw rising panic in Hammond’s eyes and added coldly, “Force yourself! If you give way now you’re no use for the future!” He shook his unprotesting arm and added, “You can take my word for it!”

  He walked across the clearing, unable to watch the young officer dragging himself back through the door. He shut his ears to Hammond’s vomiting and to Phelps’ quiet sobbing. He had to think. Had to think!

  It was four miles upriver to the settlement. They could never get there in time to rouse the Army and collect boats to unload the Porcupine’s lethal cargo.

  He rubbed his palms across his face. The skin felt like ice.

  The dead soldiers had been tortured and killed quite recently. The blood was still wet. Probably a small raiding party behind the lines, or a dedicated group of guerillas with some particular object in view.

  Hammond walked from the hut and laid the rifles on the ground. There was blood on his hands and shirt. He said in a flat voice, “Anything else?”

  Trewin stared at him fixedly. He wanted to explain, to sympathise, but the words held back. “We’ll get some real daylight in a moment, Sub. Then we can signal the ship from up here, right?” He raised his voice, “Do you read me?”