Pride and the Anguish

by Douglas Reeman

  Phelps said, “I can fix that for you, sir.”

  Trewin replied harshly, “Mind your own bloody business!”

  Corbett half turned in his chair and looked across at him. The expression was cold, and felt to Trewin like a douche of ice water. It was as if Corbett understood and was telling him to go on playing the game to its end.

  He thrust the broken pipe into his pocket and stepped up to the screen. By holding his body tight against the steel plates he could exclude everybody from his sight and his mind. Ahead there was only the sea, and the horizon which never got any nearer.

  15 | Unexpected Rendezvous

  TREWIN RESTED his hands on the vibrating voice-pipes and looked up at Corbett’s silhouette as he craned forward across the screen. “Both engines slow ahead, sir. Seven oh revolutions.”

  Corbett muttered, “Very good.” Over his shoulder he said, “We will head for the centre island. We should be more concealed there.”

  It was very quiet on the upper bridge, and every eye was fixed upon the widening spread of green islands and brown-backed reefs, which all at once seemed to reach out to encircle the ship. It had taken longer than most people had expected to reach the protection of this small group of isolated islands, but the deception in time and distance was only visual. Each of the islands was higher than one would have anticipated from its small area, with hills rising two or three hundred feet above the burnished blue sea.

  Corbett said calmly, “We’ll anchor in two fathoms. Put out a stream anchor from aft to stop us swinging. It’ll be a pretty tight fit in there.”

  Trewin saw Mallory exchange a quick glance with the yeoman. Corbett’s casual remarks about the islands and the dangerously confined anchorage had obviously impressed them. But Trewin knew that Corbett was no longer giving facts from memory. He had left the bridge for the first time just ten minutes earlier, as the ship had crossed the ten-fathom line and settled on her final approach towards the centre of the islands. Trewin had heard him slam the chartroom door, and minutes later when he had returned to the bridge he had seen the circular shape of the big magnifying glass inside Corbett’s breast pocket. Now, behind those expressionless eyes, he probably had a complete picture of the islands, imprinted there by a few minutes of desperate concentration.

  A flock of white sea birds rose in unison from a nearby reef and circled angrily above the slow-moving gunboat, their shrill cries only helping to add to the tension. Behind the bridge the Oerlikons swung outboard to cover the nearest islands, and on the forecastle the anchor party huddled together as if suddenly conscious of their vulnerability.

  The tallest hill on the centre island looked very green and cool in spite of the relentless sun, and Trewin stared with sudden longing at the wide sweep of trees which came right down the hillside to the water’s edge to cover the narrow strip of beach in deep shadow.

  Two more weed-covered reefs parted across the bows, and Trewin saw the proposed anchorage opening up like a small lagoon. There would be little room to manoeuvre, but the choice was a good one. He knew that the leaking fuel would stand little chance of spreading much beyond the protective rocks and sandbars, and any searching aircraft would have to fly very near to spot the tell-tale stain around the camouflaged hull. Provided their luck held, the wide slick of oil which had marked their passage for the past few miles would be carried away by the current, and it might be some time before some extra diligent pilot became suspicious.

  Corbett said, “Tell Hammond to stand by!”

  Trewin climbed up beside him and lifted his hand towards the bows. The men around the cable were intent on their work, and Hammond was shading his eyes to look up at the bridge. Around the upperdeck gunners and look-outs watched the land as Corbett guided his ship towards the tiny bay.

  At first Trewin imagined it was a shadow on the water or a strange trick of light. He blinked to clear his vision and looked again. Behind him a voice said, “Four fathoms, sir.”

  Trewin glanced quickly at Corbett, but he was still staring ahead, his features composed and impassive. When he looked forward again he knew he was not mistaken. He swung round. “Full astern together! Emergency!”

  It seemed to take an age before anyone moved or passed his order to the wheelhouse, and all the time the dark, rust-coloured shape loomed nearer to the Porcupine’s probing stem.

  Corbett leaned forward. “What is it? What’s happening?” For a few seconds he sounded startled, even unnerved.

  Trewin felt the churning screws dragging at the hull and kept his eyes fixed on the jagged, rust-covered wreck which lay directly across the ship’s path within feet of the surface. The distance became constant, and then as the screws took hold the ship began to move reluctantly astern.

  He said tightly, “There’s a wreck right ahead, sir.” Without moving his eyes from it he added, “Stop together.” The backwash from the screws churned up a surrounding froth of sand and disturbed weed, as well as a strong stench of leaking fuel to remind him of the gunboat’s hidden wounds.

  Corbett replied thickly, “Thank you.” He was looking over the screen, but it was obvious to Trewin that he still saw nothing of the wreck which in seconds would have torn out the Porcupine’s bottom like cardboard.

  Trewin did not wait. “Slow ahead together. Port fifteen.”

  With her rounded flank almost brushing the submerged hulk the ship swung into the undisturbed calm of the anchorage, and as she slipped past Trewin found himself staring down through the clear water at the listing, shattered wreck which had tried so hard to claim a companion for her lonely vigil.

  Corbett said, “I’ll take her now, Trewin.” He seemed controlled once more.

  Trewin stepped down beside the table and peered at the chart. Mallory whispered savagely, “It’s not marked, see for yourself! D’you think I’d have kept quiet about a thing like that, for God’s sake?”

  Trewin felt the sweat running freely down his spine. He replied, “It was probably missed when they surveyed the place last.” His voice sounded brittle.

  Mallory stared at him. “That doesn’t explain why he missed it.” He waited for an answer, then added stubbornly, “Well? What the hell is the matter with him?”

  Trewin said, “It was covered in weed.”

  “Well, you saw it!” There was defiance in Mallory’s eyes. “I’m not satisfied that…”

  Trewin faced him. He could feel his hands shaking from both shock and anger, but he could not stop himself. “I don’t give a bloody damn whether you’re satisfied or not! I’ve already warned you once! This is the last time, see?”

  Corbett called, “Slow astern together! Let go!” There was an answering splash from forward and the fast rumble of cable. Then he said, “Tell Mr. Tweedie to carry on aft with stern moorings and then lower the boats. I want the ship camouflaged within the hour.” He seemed to become aware of the tension behind him and added coldly, “When you are ready, gentlemen!”

  The telegraphs clanged once more, and below decks Nimmo and his sweating staff stared up at the demanding dials with relief.

  Trewin made himself walk around the upperdeck to make sure the shore party knew what to do and then returned to the bridge. As he ducked beneath the hastily rigged nets and painted awnings he saw that Corbett was waiting for him.

  Corbett said directly, “You were having an argument with Mallory!”

  “I lost my temper, sir.”

  Corbett removed his cap and sat down wearily on a flag locker. “I know. I heard most of it.”

  Trewin watched the nervous tick jerking at Corbett’s face. “Do you think I was hard on him?”

  Corbett gave a short, bitter laugh. “It is you I’m worried about, not him. I’ve been watching you, listening to you. You must get a hold on yourself!”

  Trewin gritted his teeth. “I’ll be all right, sir.”

  Corbett jumped to his feet. “For God’s sake, you’ve not understood a single word, have you? Didn’t you see what just happened?” He looke
d around the deserted bridge, his face suddenly filled with anguish. “I nearly ran her aground! Nearly wrecked her!” He did not seem to know what to do with his hands. “But for you I’d have ripped the heart out of her!”

  Corbett’s agonised outburst had the effect of sobering Trewin’s angry despair. He asked, “Your eyes, sir. Are they worse?”

  Corbett would not look at him. His head nodded violently, and Trewin saw him rubbing his knuckles against his face with something like madness. “Like a curtain coming down! There used to be long periods when I thought things were all right. Then the gaps got shorter and shorter.” He was speaking very quickly. “Just now it just closed in! I couldn’t see anything but blurred shapes!”

  Trewin said, “You’ve been too long on the bridge. In this sun, with the additional strain…”

  Corbett swung round, his pale eyes wide and staring. “Don’t talk like that, Trewin. I’ve been deluding myself enough, without your adding to it!”

  “What do you want me to do, sir?”

  Corbett took a deep breath as if to calm himself. “I just want you to understand what this means to you, personally.”

  “I think I do.” Trewin watched the motor boat returning loaded with palm fronds. “I thought I could get this ship to safety, with or without your help. I know now that I was wrong. You’ve already proved that you are the one, the only one who can do it. If I had accepted your offer and taken command at Singapore, this ship would never have got beyond the Durian Strait. Right now we’d all have been sharing the same grave as the Beaver.”

  Corbett was watching him unwinkingly. “Don’t undersell yourself, Trewin.”

  “I’m not, sir. I’ve had experience of war, but this is something else again. This sort of thing calls for more than just guts and determination. It goes right back, deeper than maybe even you understand.” He looked past Corbett’s intent face, seeing himself as if from the outside. “Before the war, when I was trying to find some sort of life to suit me, it was all going on, and I didn’t realise it. Then the war came, and because I was a part-time sailor I thought I knew all the questions, and most of the answers, too. But I was wrong, and I realise it now. Any man who has the will and the determination, courage if you like, can be taught to pull a trigger and stand his watch, even be led to oblivion if the time calls for it. But it takes something extra to mould a ship and men into one entity, to give them that reserve to hold them together when by all just rights they should be running like rabbits.” He dropped his gaze. “So if my eyes are all you need, then you have them, sir.”

  Corbett fumbled with his pockets. “I shan’t speak of it again, Trewin.” He held out his hand. “But thank you.” He looked round the bridge and gave another short laugh. But it was no longer bitter. “The Porcupine is a very lucky ship.” He picked his cap off the locker and walked towards the hatch. Then he paused and looked back at Trewin’s grave face.

  “What other gunboat has two captains, eh?”

  PETTY OFFICER BILL DANCY pushed his cap to the back of his head and looked across the flat water towards the anchored gunboat. Beneath his shoes the beach felt cool and damp, and he had a great desire to sit down with his back against one of the tall, salt-stained trees which hung over the gently lapping wavelets at the edge of the beach.

  “That about does it.” He put his head on one side and stared critically at the ship’s crude camouflage. Some of the men were putting final touches to it, but as far as aircraft were concerned the ship was as well hidden as she could be. Below the netting he could see the low hull, and felt strangely saddened by its dirty and unkempt appearance. Scars and unexplained dents, and around the hawsepipes there were long streaks of naked rust.

  Ordinary Signalman Phelps was standing at his side, a heavy pair of binoculars slung around his neck. He said, “D’you reckon we’re goin’ to get away from ’ere, P.O.?”

  Dancy nodded slowly. “Of course I do.” He turned his head as Trewin and three seamen appeared through the trees walking in a tight, silent group. The men carried shovels, and Trewin’s face was grim.

  Dancy said, “They’ve buried him, then.” It was strange that he did not even recall the man’s face. The marine bandsman who had died as the flying boat’s bomb had exploded had been brought ashore to be hidden inland in a crude grave with neither ceremony nor any of the usual rites.

  Trewin stopped beside him and Dancy asked, “All done, sir?”

  “Yes. I made a note of the place as best I could, Buffer, and we put some stones on the top.” He stared at the dog-eared book in his hand. “I read a few lines. It wasn’t much.”

  Dancy studied the shadows of strain around Trewin’s eyes. “Never mind, sir. He’s none the worse for it.”

  Trewin sighed and looked at the anchored ship. Corbett would be waiting to hear about it. It was obvious that he had wanted to bury the man himself, but as Trewin had pointed out, the islands were not so safe that the captain could leave the ship for more than a few minutes. He kept thinking about the man he had helped to bury. Then the embarrassed aftermath with the three sailors leaning on the shovels while he read from the ship’s prayer book. They had not known the man. It was difficult to find the right sort of words.

  Phelps said, “Well, I’ll be off to the top of the ’ill, sir. I’ll come runnin’ if I see a ship gettin’ near.”

  Dancy nodded. “That’s right, son. The whole island is only a mile and a half long, so you should get a good view all round.”

  Trewin realised that Phelps was beside him and said quietly, “I’m sorry I barked at you, Bunts. As a matter of fact, I do miss my pipe, so if you have a moment later on?”

  The boy’s face lit up. “Sure, sir. No trouble at all.”

  He walked away whistling, and Dancy said admiringly, “God, to think I must have been like that once.”

  Trewin smiled. “I know. He’s a good lad. I was wrong to fly at him because of my own worries.”

  Dancy grinned broadly. “Well, you said it, sir!”

  “We’d better get back aboard.” He watched the dory being rowed slowly towards the beach. It made a thin clear channel through the thickening spread of oil, and there was a tell-tale black stain around the boat’s small hull.

  Dancy said, “Pity we can’t do something to stop that leak.”

  “No chance of that.” Trewin shaded his eyes as a brightly coloured bird flashed between the trees like a fiery dart. “The only way would be to beach her again, and there’s no suitable sandbars around here. Apart from which, the captain would not allow it. The ship would be bloody helpless stuck on a wedge of mud!”

  Dancy reached out slowly and took Trewin’s arm. His face was still relaxed, there was even a smile on his lips, but his voice was tense and sharp. “Keep talking to me, sir! Just stay as you are now!”

  Trewin stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

  Dancy said, “I saw something move in the trees behind you, sir.”

  “Are you sure?” Trewin felt his spine go cold. “Was it Phelps?” He was conscious of the sudden menace and the gentle, uninterrupted splash of oars from the dory.

  Dancy’s hand moved very casually until it rested on his holster. “Not Phelps. He’s gone the other way.”

  Trewin stared across Dancy’s shoulder. The three seamen were squatting by the water’s edge talking together in low tones. They were unarmed, and he realised with sudden despair that he had left his own revolver aboard the ship.

  Dancy slipped the flap of his holster and then said evenly, “I think we’re all right. They’re making too much noise to have seen us.”

  It was true. Trewin could hear the occasional crackle of dry brush and the rattle of loose stones as the advancing footsteps came nearer and nearer.

  He snapped, “You three, hit the beach!” The sailors stared at him and then threw themselves sideways on to the sand. Dancy whipped out his pistol and sprinted towards the trees and then dropped on one knee. The dory swung unsteadily below the beach as t
he oarsmen realised that something was happening, and from the gunboat’s deck came the sharp bark of orders and the sound of running feet.

  Trewin stood where he was but facing towards the steep slope beyond the trees. Whoever it was would see him first, and while they reacted to what they saw Dancy would get a chance to use his pistol.

  The petty officer moved first. Trewin saw him jam the revolver back in its holster and then start running towards the slope. He yelled, “It’s all right, sir! It looks like two of our chaps!”

  Trewin shouted at the men beside him, “Tell the ship! I’m going with the Buffer!”

  Some more poor devils from Singapore, he thought. Probably soldiers who had managed to get this far only to have their ship shot from under them.

  He burst through the bushes and stopped dead. Dancy was on his knees beside one of the figures, his arm cradling his shoulders, while the second man stood leaning against a tree, his chest heaving from exertion, his shirt almost black with dried blood.

  Dancy looked up, his face dazed. “This one is Lieutenant Hughes, sir!”

  But Trewin was still looking at the other man. Despite the blood and filth on his clothes, the scratches on his unshaven face, he recognised Fairfax-Loring. He wanted to go to him, to help him down to the beach, but his limbs refused to move.

  The admiral peered at him and said thickly, “I knew it was you, for God’s sake! I was afraid you’d weigh anchor before we could get here!” He pushed himself away from the tree and gasped, “My Christ, when I saw you heading for the islands I thought I was going off my bloody head!”

  The flag-lieutenant was staring up at the trees, his eyes wide and vacant. His mouth was moving in quick jerks, but no sounds emerged.

  The admiral said, “He’s all in. Had a bad time of it.”