Pride and the Anguish

by Douglas Reeman

  The man followed his gaze and asked, “Shall I fetch ’em down from there, sir?”

  Adair shook his head. “They’ll be here in time.” As the man walked away he added to himself, “That’s the least I can do.”

  BY THE TIME the sun had dipped behind the nearest hill the Prawn was edging away from the protective rocks and butting her nose into the first ranks of unbroken rollers. The wind had increased, but the rain had shown no inclination to follow the first quick downpour. Far out towards the horizon the sea looked broken and angry, with small tufts of white curling from the crests of incoming rollers, and the troughs which opened beneath the gunboat’s bows were already making themselves felt.

  Trewin clung to the bridge rail and watched Adair as he sat in his chair, his splinted arm resting on the screen for support.

  Adair said, “It’s going to be hard on the passengers. These little ships were not designed for deep waters.” He ducked as a burst of spray pattered over the screen. “But with any kind of luck we should be into the Banka Strait by midnight. There will be some shelter there.”

  Trewin felt the old ship lift and plunge forward over the back of a long roller and saw the water creaming back over the forecastle. Without her camouflage the Prawn’s battle-scarred bridge and decks added to her appearance of forlorn frailty as she headed away from the island’s small protection.

  He stared back towards the headland. It was already curtained with bursting spray as the waves swept jubilantly amongst the reefs and leapt to claw at that little piece of jutting cliff which he had left such a short while ago. Even the beach where he had waited beside Clare for the motor boat to collect them was covered by the inrushing water, and he could see the tall trees swaying and quivering as the waves thundered inland to the foot of the hill itself.

  Adair turned as a look-out reported, “Porcupine’s rounding the headland, sir!”

  Trewin watched the familiar shape turning end on as she butted into the swirling criss-cross of waves, a shaded signal lamp flickering across the narrowing distance between them.

  “Signal, sir. ‘Nice to have you around again.’”

  Adair showed his teeth. “Acknowledge. Make to Porcupine, ‘We are sending your first lieutenant across by life-raft.’” He grinned, “And tell them ‘Thanks for dropping by!’”

  He turned and looked at Trewin. “Sorry about the raft. But it’s too dangerous to lower a boat. You won’t even get your feet wet if you’re lucky.”

  Trewin climbed down the swaying ladder and stood beside the guardrail as the waiting seamen manhandled the life-raft alongside and paid out a line in readiness to drift him across the water where Porcupine had already moved to receive him. He looked around the spray-washed decks. Apart from the gunners, they were stripped for action and deserted. It was hard to imagine that beneath his feet were crammed all those people he had seen on the beach. People who were solely dependent on Adair and the battered little ship around them. He recalled his words to Clare as if he had just spoken them aloud. “Don’t try to see me when I leave. Just remember that I shall be thinking of you all the time.”

  A rating shouted, “It’s now or never, sir!” He was actually grinning.

  Trewin clambered down to the raft and felt it fall away beneath him as the seamen paid out the line. The raft lifted and dipped in great, painful swoops, and he caught sight of Adair watching him through his glasses. A gaunt shadow against the darkening sky holding the binoculars in his one good hand.

  When he turned his head again, the Porcupine was swaying above him like a grey cliff, and he saw Hammond and Dancy with the men by the rail and others staring down at him from the guns.

  He waited for the right second and then jumped, his legs kicking at air as the raft was hauled rapidly away. Even before he was properly aboard he heard the clang of telegraphs and saw the spray flying back from the stem as the ship gathered way towards the open sea.

  He touched Hammond’s arm as he reached for the bridge ladder. “She’s safe and well, Sub. So you can stop worrying.”

  Hammond did not seem to be able to speak. He just smiled and then walked quickly along the tilting deck.

  Corbett was seated on his chair, his body shrouded in a black oilskin. He peered at Trewin and nodded briefly. “Good show.” Then he settled down in his chair and stared over the screen, apparently indifferent to the spray which ran down his face like tropical rain.

  Phelps stepped on to the gratings. “’Ere’s an oilskin, sir.” He held it out for Trewin, his body swaying easily in spite of the motion. “By the way, sir. I fixed yer pipe.” He grinned. “Nice to ’ave you back.”

  Trewin smiled and hauled himself to the bridge wing where he managed to wedge his body against a flag locker. When he looked astern he saw the Prawn’s blunt shape swaying dizzily from side to side, a long banner of smoke streaming from her funnel as she swung on to the other ship’s wake. Behind him he heard Phelps whistling a little tune and wondered how he managed to stay so cheerful.

  Phelps readjusted the signal halyards and glanced at Trewin’s back with a small, secret smile on his freckled face. He was glad he had mended the first lieutenant’s pipe. Apart from anything else, it helped to ease the guilt from his uncomplicated mind. Briefly he wondered what Trewin would have said if he had known that he was still on the top of the hill with his powerful binoculars when he had met the girl by the pool.

  Masters growled, “Quit makin’ that row, Ginger! You’re like a cat with a sore arse!”

  But Phelps was unmoved. He had a secret, and in a ship of this size, that was hard to come by.

  IN SPITE OF the deep swell and a steadily rising wind the two ships somehow managed to maintain their southerly course towards Banka Island. The motion aboard the Porcupine was both savage and frightening as Corbett used every trick he knew to hold his ship on her corkscrewing track, and the fear of being discovered by the enemy seemed to fade in the face of the sea’s probing anger.

  Trewin clung to his corner of the bridge wing and watched the water come surging back over the bows to thunder around the superstructure and leave the forward gun isolated on its small steel island. It was bad enough heading into the long, dark-sided rollers, but when they began to turn around Banka Island into the Strait they would have a diagonal attack to contend with, and the danger of capsizing would have to be considered if the weather persisted in worsening.

  The silence from the radio room added to the sense of complete isolation. No warnings, no messages of guidance from some far-off friendly weather station. It was as if the whole world was in the grip of the enemy forces and the moment the ships touched any part of it they would be destroyed.

  Once, just before darkness finally blotted out the misty horizon, he saw the mountains of Sumatra far to the south, aloof and unreachable, as if suspended above the sea, and he wondered grimly if the Japs were already there too and if there were other refugees from Singapore hiding and dying in the jungles, fugitives already forgotten by the world they had abandoned.

  He gripped the wet steel and watched a long hummock of water as it rolled out of the gloom on either side of the bows. Just before it reached the stem its smooth crest curled and broke into a sharp-edged wave, as if caught in a strong wind, and then crashed across the forecastle with a booming roar of triumph. He felt the ship shudder, and watched fascinated as the whole of the foredeck became buried beneath the onslaught of water and the leaping white spray as it burst above the bridge and stung his face like hail.

  After what seemed like minutes the ship pulled herself wearily above the surface, the water streaming in rivers from decks and guns and draining noisily from the scuppers as she lifted her bows before crashing down again into the greedy trough beyond.

  Every piece of the bridge seemed to be squeaking and groaning in protest, and above the hiss and boom of the sea Trewin heard the steady clank of pumps as they too fought their battles from within. Some of the fuel oil had leaked into the bilges, and no doubt the pum
ps were unwillingly adding to the trail which still floated astern, defying even the fury of the sea.

  If only they could increase speed, but Trewin knew it was impossible. The Prawn was holding her own in spite of the crazy rolls of her gaunt superstructure and masts, but only just. And to maintain her six knots in this weather her stokers must have sacrificed the very last standards of safety. Down in the tiny boiler room her men would have their work cut out to avoid being thrown bodily into the demanding furnaces as they struggled to maintain steam and answer Adair’s needs.

  Corbett asked sharply, “Is it time to turn, Pilot?”

  Mallory was clinging to his table, his head and shoulders beneath the hood, his buttocks and legs soaked with spray as he fought to work out the ship’s approximate position while the world went mad around him.

  “Five minutes, sir!” His voice was muffled. “Then alter course to two three zero!”

  Corbett shouted, “Good.” He settled down in his reeling chair and wiped his face with a sodden towel. “Banka Island must be about three miles ahead. We will run down the northwest coast as close inshore as we can.”

  Trewin lifted his glasses and stared beyond the distorted spectres of broken wavetops. Corbett was doing the right thing. No enemy destroyer would risk being caught near the great mass of Banka Island with its treacherous shallows and eager reefs. The gunboats’ shallow draught and the weather were their only true allies, he thought.

  A voice called hoarsely, “Land, sir! Dead ahead!”

  Trewin squinted through his glasses, and before the lenses were again shrouded in spray he saw the darker shadow which stretched away on either bow, a solid link between the tossing water and the racing clouds above.

  Corbett snapped, “Stand by to alter course!” To Masters he added, “Signal the Prawn, Yeoman!”

  Masters wrapped his arms around Phelps’ slim body and held him against the bridge wing as the boy trained his shaded lamp astern for that one brief message. It was dangerous to show a light, no matter how well it was concealed. But the danger of Prawn running headlong on to the shore was far more serious. Adair’s small bridge lacked even Porcupine’s scanty protection, and Trewin imagined that watchkeeping in this sea must be like clinging to a half-submerged rock.

  Corbett watched Masters and the signalman reel back together in an untidy heap and then ordered, “Carry on, Number One!”

  Trewin gripped the voice-pipes. “Starboard fifteen!” He tried not to think of the straining rudders and Nimmo’s hasty repairs. “Midships!” He peered at the blurred figures on the luminous compass repeater. “Steady! Steer two three zero!” He heard Unwin’s voice from the wheelhouse, followed by a shouted obscenity as one of his telegraphsmen stumbled and fell headlong on the tilting deck.

  The Porcupine swayed alarmingly on the surging criss-cross of rollers and hung suspended over a deep trough. She seemed unwilling to right herself, and as the water lifted and thundered along her submerged sidedeck Trewin heard Dancy yelling at his damage control party to put more lashings on the motor boat.

  “Breakers on the port beam, sir!” The look-out’s voice was neither surprised nor fearful. Like the rest of the men, he was too bruised, too stunned by the weather and the dreadful pitching to have any emotion left.

  Corbett grunted. “Good. That’ll be Bulu Bay. The entrance to the Strait is about twenty miles ahead. It will be more sheltered once we reach there.”

  Trewin rubbed his eyes and then cursed as he was hurled against the voice-pipes. His body felt as if he had been at sea for months. Even the matter-of-fact tone Corbett had used did not disguise the reality that the worst part of the voyage was still ahead. The Strait was one hundred miles long and sometimes only ten miles in width. Perhaps Corbett no longer cared. He was trying to do what he had promised, but his words and actions seemed automatic and without feeling.

  He looked round as another figure lurched on to the bridge and pulled himself towards the chart table. Trewin realised that he had forgotten completely about Fairfax-Loring, or perhaps he too had forgotten how to care.

  The admiral was wearing an oilskin, but his bared head was streaming with blown spray, and in the small chart light his eyes looked angry and wild. He shouted, “Where are we?” He pushed Mallory aside and thrust his head down to the chart. Then he climbed up beside Corbett and said, “For God’s sake, can’t we get a move on?”

  Corbett’s face was hidden in the upturned collar of his coat. “In three hours we will be turning around the headland and into the Strait, sir. By daylight we should have reached the narrows, and with luck I hope we can shelter behind some small islands there.” He ducked below the screen as a solid sheet of bursting spray hissed above his head and swept across the look-outs behind him. Then he said calmly, “Another night like this one and I think we will be all right.”

  The admiral wiped his streaming face with his hand. “That bloody Prawn! She’s holding us back, just as I said she would!”

  Corbett shrugged. “Unless you want me to keep going in daylight, I don’t see that she makes much difference, sir.” There was no hiding the contempt in Corbett’s voice.

  The admiral said suddenly, “There may be Japs on Banka.”

  “There may.” Corbett’s mind seemed to be elsewhere. “But I should think it more likely they’ll be dealing first with Sumatra, eh?”

  Fairfax-Loring dragged his heavy body across the gratings, still keeping one arm tucked inside his oilskin, and Trewin wondered if he had allowed Baker, the sickbay attendant, to treat his injury yet. In his heart Trewin tried to find some sort of pity and understanding for the admiral. After all, he was probably more valuable to the Japs as a prisoner than the small victory of sinking the two gunboats.

  Masters shouted, “Prawn’s signalling, sir!”

  The admiral whirled round, his head jutting forward as he followed the petty officer’s arm. “The bloody fool! What the hell does he think he’s doing?”

  But Trewin did not listen to him. He was watching the faint, stabbing light as it rose and fell in the darkness astern, and he could feel something like fear growing with each painful flash.

  Masters said gruffly, “Hull leaking badly. Previous repairs not standing up to sea. Must reduce speed immediately.”

  No one spoke for several minutes, and Trewin imagined that he could hear a note of savage triumph in the chorus of sea and wind which buffeted the bridge without mercy.

  Corbett said slowly, “Acknowledge, Yeoman.”

  The admiral was leaning towards him. “That settles it! We shall have to leave them behind!”

  Corbett ignored him. “Make to Prawn, ‘Can you maintain speed until we enter Strait?’”

  The admiral asked harshly, “What good will that do? There are still one hundred miles to go before we can see any hope of getting through.”

  Corbett touched his arm and slid from the chair. “If you will excuse me, sir.” He walked past the admiral, his slight figure somehow retaining its balance while the deck swayed from one impossible angle to the next.

  Masters said at length, “Prawn says she will try, sir.”

  Corbett sounded satisfied. “Good. Now tell Prawn that we will continue as before, but will reduce to four knots as soon as we alter course.”

  He looked at Trewin. “We may be able to help with repairs once we find shelter.”

  The admiral stepped between them, his voice lowered so that the others would not hear. “I’ll go along with you, Corbett, but only just so far! I feel as worried as anyone about those people in Prawn, but for the most part they are civilians, and lucky to have got this far under the circumstances!”

  Trewin clenched his fists so hard that the pain helped to steady his mind against the admiral’s words. Any pity he might have felt for the man had gone completely. The admiral was the man who was responsible for many of those civilians even being here in the first place, and but for the Porcupine’s arrival at the Seven Islands would be over there now sharing their mise
ry and fear while the little gunboat tried to carry them to safety.

  Corbett merely said, “I don’t think we should rely too much on luck, sir.” He walked back to his chair. “For any of us.”

  The admiral looked as if he was going to follow him but said, “I shall go below. I’m still a bit weak.” He glared round the bridge, as if expecting someone to comment. “But call me if the weather gets any worse.”

  Mallory peered at the ravages done by the spray to his chart and muttered, “He won’t need to be told! If the weather does break he’ll have the bloody sea in his flaming cabin!”

  Trewin dragged his eyes from the darkness behind the bridge. He could picture the frightened women below the Prawn’s decks, the whimpering children and the air of helplessness as the waves pounded against the hull and fought to break into their last refuge.

  Corbett said, “Tell the cook to get something hot for the men to drink. It might take their minds off things for a while.”

  Trewin stared at him. How could Corbett find the time to remember all these small details? Was it determination or hard self-discipline? Or was he just saying anything he could think of in order to delay some inevitable decision?

  He looked at the leaping spray and listened to the labouring beats of the engines. It was as if they had never been intended to get away, and all the past sufferings and disappointments were linked to some final disaster.

  There no longer seemed to be any point in planning and calculating. Time and distance were meaningless. There was just the ship and the endless, destructive cruelty of her common enemy.

  THE DAYLIGHT was slow in making an appearance. There was no dawn at all, just a sudden transition from night to a searing pewter brightness which made the men on the bridge look at each other as if surprised to find that nothing had changed from the previous day.