The Pride and the Anguish

by Douglas Reeman

`Very good. Bring her round now.’ Corbett twisted in his chair and beckoned to Trewin. Then he said, `Singkep Island is the last one in the group. I had hoped to head straight G at into the open sea for the Seven Islands and be there before dawn. But these enemy patrols make it too risky. Any fool could see our wash miles away. We must reduce speed for the rest of the night and lie inshore off Singkep until tomorrow.’

  `That will mean losing a day, sir.’

  `I know.’ He removed his cap and ran his hand over his hair. `There’s a lighthouse around the point. It’s not in use, of course, but I do know that there is a reliable keeper in charge of it. I met him once. We might be able to find out from him

  what the Japs are doing.’

  `Is it safe, sir?’

  `No, of course it isn’t!’ Corbett sounded tense. `We don’t have any damn choice!’

  Singkep Island was small, barely twenty miles across, but it was more than formidable. The coast was high and rocky, and in many places the cliffs fell away on to steep barriers of reefs. The chart showed the whole area to be littered with wrecks, mostly unfortunate traders caught in past storms which swept down from the South China sea with neither warning nor mercy.

  Trewin stood beside Corbett, listening to the echo-sounder and watching the writhing barrier of tossing breakers which girdled the point with everlasting spray. At one moment the ship seemed to be entirely surrounded by white-dashed rocks, and he tried to stop himself from holding his breath and waiting for that final impact.

  But the Porcupine’s small draught saved her, when any other ship would have long since foundered. Corbett could see no more than any look-out, probably much less, yet he seemed to be feeling his way towards the wedge-shaped bay beyond the point, building up a picture in his mind from Mallory’s stream of information and the imperturbable echo-sounder.

  At three in the morning they dropped anchor, with the spray from the nearest-reef drifting across the upper bridge like tropical rain.

  Corbett wasted no time. `Lower the dory and send Hammond ashore to the lighthouse. It’s at the top of that ridge. The only building there, so he should be able to find it.’

  Men scampered to the davits, and within minutes the small boat was bobbing uneasily in the surging tide-race alongside.

  Corbett said to Hammond, `Make it quick. The man you want is Javanese, but he speaks good English. Find out all you can. Ask him about enemy ships.’ He seemed restless. `Anything which you think can help.’

  They watched the boat as it curtsied over the creaming backwash from the foot of the cliffs, and then Corbett said, `I’m not Lappy about all this.’

  Trewin waited, but Corbett again lapsed into silence. He said ‘Ididn’t know you had been down here before, sir. That was a fine piece of navigation.’ He could not disguise his admiration.

  Corbett shrugged. `The last time I was here was ten years ago.’ He ignored Trewin’s quick intake of breath. `We were doing a survey at the time. I was navigating officer.’

  Trewin stared at him. `And you mean you remember from that far back?’

  Corbett sounded indifferent. `I have not been wasting all my time out here, you know!’ He added, `You have to learn to use all your faculties, even when some of them fail you.’

  Trewin walked across to the opposite side to watch for the dory. He saw Mallory leaning against the chart table and wondred what he would say if he knew Corbett had conned the ship through the reefs and breakers with little more than his memory to help him.

  An hour passed, and then they saw the dory pulling back towards the ship, the oars dipping and slicing as the small hull bounced across each succeeding line of retreating waves.

  Hammond panted on to the bridge even as the falls were hooked on and the boat returned to its davits. He said breathlessly, `I found him, sir. He says that there was a Jap destroyer and some small patrol boats here yesterday afternoon.’ He gulped painfully. `And he thinks that there are some troops on the other side of the island.’

  `He only thinks?’ Corbett’s voice was toneless.

  `Well, sir, they were there in the morning. Searching for anyone who might have escaped from Singapore.’ He continued more calmly, `They did capture some soldiers who had got away in a yacht.’

  `I see’ Corbett slipped from his chair and walked absently across the gratings. `Anything else?’

  Hammond said tightly. `They shot them, sir.’ He paused, as if expecting Corbett to speak. Then he said, `There is a small fishing village here too, sir. The soldiers were hiding there after their boat capsized on the rocks.’

  Corbett stopped his pacing. `And the fishermen betrayed them, I suppose?’

  `Yes, sir.’

  Corbett nodded slowly. `The natives will be more afraid of the Japs than of us.’ He squared his shoulders. `We shall have to leave immediately. Stand by to break out the anchor.’

  Hammond walked towards the ladder, his limbs moving like a man under drugs.

  Trewin asked quietly, `The Seven Islands, sir?’

  `What else can we do?’ Corbett was watching the men on the forecastle, their bodies dark against the distant surf. `If we are caught here we can neither run nor fight. We would be in the jaws of a trap.’ He became suddenly brisk. `Ring standby on the engines.’ To Mallory he snapped, `As soon as we clear the reefs I want a course direct to the Seven Islands.’ He did not wait for a reply but picked up the engine room handset.

  `Chief? Captain speaking.’ He paused as from forward came the steady clink of cable. `I shall ring for full speed in about fifteen minutes. But I want more than that.’

  Trewin could not hear Nimmo’s face, but Corbett’s reply was flat and final. He said, `We have sixty miles ahead of us. It will be daylight in two hours. Do I have to say more?’ He slammed down the phone and added, `Now we shall just have to see, eh?’

  Daylight found the Porcupine pounding steadily south-east, her wake creaming astern in a ruler-straight line. When the sun finally rose above the hazy horizon the men on watch saw that they had the sea to themselves. Instead of dark shadows and pale stars the air was crisp and very clear, and the sea a flat, glittering expanse of deep blue, the surface throwing back a million reflections and tiny mirrors from horizon to horizon. It was then that many of the ship’s company came to realise for the first time the smallness and frailty of their ship and the vast, latent power of the sea around them.

  Trewin felt the heat beating back from the steel plates at his side and pitied the gunners who waited beside their weapons

  unprotected from the sun and salt-dried air. He saw that the soldiers had been true to their word and had mounted their Bren guns below the bridge under the watchful eye of Sergeant Pitt. The marine bandsmen were not being wasted either. Pitt had detailed one for each bren as loader, and Trewin wondered if they had brought their instruments aboard, too.

  He glanced up at the quivering funnel and watched the smoke pumping astern in a steady stream. The bridge was shaking and groaning, and his own body felt as if it was in the grip of some mechanical fever. The gunboat was bursting her heart, and Trewin imagined that even the meticulous Nimmo had long given up watching the red gauges of warning.

  He walked to the uncovered table and glanced at the chart. Mallory did not look up but laid the points of his dividers on the diagonal pencilled line. The Seven Islands were only miles away. It was incredible. At any minute the masthead look-out would actually see them, and every man would draw a small comfort from the sight of land. Not that these islands represented much in the way of salvation. The whole group was only ten miles wide, and some of the islets were little more than humps which had somehow managed to avoid sinking be low the surface. Some fluke of nature had thrown them there. The last cluster of visible land at the southernmost extremity of the South China Sea. Beyond them there was another stretch of open, hostile sea and then the Banka Strait.

  Once through that and they would be in the Java Sea. Trewin licked his dry lips. With luck they would find the remnants of the
Far East Fleet there. Big ships, order and stability. They

  would be alone no longer.

  Almost as the thought crossed his mind a voice yelled, `Aircraft, sir ! Red four five ! Angle of sight two oh!’

  Corbett seized his glasses. One second he had been sitting as if in a doze. Now he was craning forward, his whole body tensed and rigid.

  Trewin fought back the sudden feeling of despair and trained his own glasses over the screen. Around and below him he heard the bark of orders and the crisp snap of metal as the bridge tannoy intoned, `Repel aircraft ! Repel aircraft !’

  He blinked rapidly to clear his vision. For a moment he thought the haze and distance were playing games with him. The small hovering shape seemed to be stationary, like a flaw on the backcloth of empty sky.

  Tweedie’s voice came up from the bridge speaker. `Flying boat, sir. Turnin’ towards us now.’

  Corbett nodded. `Very good.’

  The solitary aircraft was moving very slowly __indeed, its high-mounted engines giving it an awkward top-heavy appearance which reminded Trewin of a toy glider.

  Tweedie spoke again. `Permission to open fire, sir?’

  Corbett snapped, `Hold it!’ He gestured to Trewin. `This pilot is behaving very strangely. He must have seen us.’

  Trewin viewed the approaching plane from a different light. It was true. The seaplane should be hauling off now to wireless the Porcupine’s course and position to the searching ships and bombers. It was holding the same height and bearing, and unless something happened very quickly, would fly directly over the gunboat’s port bow.

  Corbett said, `Stand fast “A” and “X” guns! I want all short-range weapons to fire when I give the order.’ There was no emotion in his voice. He might just as easily have been disc cussing a point of discipline.

  Several times he lowered his glasses to wipe his eyes, and Trewin saw something like anger on his face as he rubbed vigorously with his knuckles. He saw too that the glasses were set at full power.

  Corbett said slowly, `He’s probably never seen a gunboat before. My guess is that he doesn’t even know about us yet.’ He curled his lip. `Well, he is about to find out!’

  Trewin gripped the vibrating screen and watched the flying boat through narrowed eyes. He did not need glasses any more, and the air throbbed with the plane’s high-pitched engines as it flew doggedly towards the ship.

  Corbett reached out and rested his hand on the red button.

  He was staring straight at the aircraft, his eyes running and blinded as he refused to turn away from the sunlight beyond the glittering fusilage.

  At the last second the pilot seemed to realise what was happening. Maybe a long flight had tired him, or perhaps he was expecting to rendezvous with a ship similar in his own mind to the British gunboat. But as the bell screamed• above the roar of engines and the air was filled with the jubilant bang and rattle of Oerlikons and machine-guns, the flying boat swung dizzily into a steep climb, its great shadow blotting out the sun as it lifted drunkenly up and over the bows.

  Trewin saw the bright orange flashes ripple along its fat underbelly and the quick bursts of smoke from one of the engines. The plane carried two bombs, one on either wing, probably for use against submarines, but as the smoke thickened to envelop the tail and floats he knew it would never get the chance to use them.

  Men were cheering and shouting like children. Even the gunners, strapped and jerking with their weapons, were mouthing unheard words with the rest.

  Bullets and cannon shells were following and ripping pieces from the flying boat, and even more ammunition was streaking uselessly towards the sun. Nobody cared about wastage any more. They were hitting back. For once they were winning.

  Then, surprisingly, the flying boat levelled off, one of its engines well alight and its perspex cockpit cover shining from fires within.

  Masters shouted, “E’s goin’ to ditch ! Look at ‘im go!’,

  They could hear the plane’s motors coughing and roaring like the sounds of a dying beast, but somehow it stayed airborne, and as the guns fell silent Trewin felt Corbett’s fingers on his arm like a steel vice.

  `Hard aport! Put the helm over!’

  Trewin dragged his eyes from the burning plane and threw himself at the voice-pipes.

  He heard Unwin’s crisp reply, `Hard aport, sir! Thirty-five of port wheel on, sir!’

  The whole ship swayed as if about to capsize as the rudders clashed with the racing screws and threw the.gunboat into a savage turn. The startled shouts and curses gave way to other cries when some saw what had made the captain act so desperately.

  The flying boat was turning, the pilot using all his skill and strength to hold it above the water as it belched flames and black smoke and glided nearer and nearer to its own reflection.

  A man shouted, `It’s coming straight for us !’

  Corbett’s voice was like a knife. ‘Midships! Steady!’

  The ships sudden turn took her slightly away from the aircraft’s desperate attack, and as the bell rang again every gun which could bear opened up to challenge the pilot’s suicide attempt to drop his aircraft directly on the Porcupine’s hull like one giant bomb.

  A wing crumpled like paper, and with a great bellow of noise the aircraft lifted its nose, staggered and fell into the sea within fifty feet of the quarterdeck.

  But it was not quite finished. While blazing fuel spread around the sinking fuselage and two figures tried vainly to free themselves from their private furnace, one of the bombs exploded.

  The explosion was below the surface, but Trewin felt the ship lurch as if hit by a shell. Splinters whined above the sidedeck and whimpered away over the sea, and one of the marine bandsmen who had run from his gun position to watch the plane fall was picked from his feet and hurled back against the unyielding steel like a piece of rubbish in a strong wind. Trewin tore his eyes away as the man’s blood ran across the canting deck and splashed unheeded down the side of a ventilator.

  Corbett was shouting, `Slow ahead together! Report damage !’

  Trewin knew what he was thinking but made himself stay silent as he stood watching the engine telephone.

  Corbett snatched it from its hook before it had finished ringing. `Yes?’ His pale eyes were fixed on Trewin’s face. `I see. Right!’ He strode back to his chair. `Rudders are intact and

  functioning perfectly.’ His chest was heaving beneath his smoke-stained shirt. `Bring her round on course. We must get a move on.’

  Masters said humbly, `Masthead reports sighting the islands sir. Fine on the starboard bow.’

  Corbett did not reply. He looked hard at Trewin and then said, `Number three fuel. tank has been punctured. There’s no risk to the hull as yet, and I’ve you to thank for taking on a full fuel load before we sailed.’

  He walked to the bridge wing and stared fixedly astern. Trewin followed him and saw some of the seamen at the rails, they too were peering back along the sharpening wake. There was no sign of the flying boat, and for a moment longer he wondered what they were looking at.

  Then he saw it. A long, unbroken silver line, spreading and mingling with the wake, but staying to mark their passing long after the latter had faded.

  Corbett said distantly, `There are twenty tons of fuel in that bunker, Trewin. That’s a lot of oil.’ He turned and walked back to his chair.

  Trewin stayed by the rail, his eyes watching the spreading trail of fuel which followed the ship like blood from a hunted animal.

  Far astern there was a small haze of smoke to mark the flying-boat’s grave. Trewin stared at it until his eyes smarted with pain. Why didn’t you kill us properly? Did you have to prolong the suffering this way?

  He turned and saw Phelps, the signalman, watching him. He tried to smile at him but his mouth refused to move. He walked to the opposite side and groped for his pipe. But when he took it from his pocket he remembered the soldier in the burning village. A man with a shooting stick and a pipe he was unable to fil
l because his hands refused to obey him. He felt the nerves screaming at the back of his mind, like voices from a cave. There was a sudden snap, and when he looked down he saw that the pipe had broken between his fingers.

  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 brownbacked 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.