Sunset

by Douglas Reeman

  She interrupted, ‘I have been to England, Father!’

  ‘It is not what I meant and please do not intefere!’

  Brooke smiled. ‘Of a different race and culture, do you mean?’

  Charles looked into the distance. ‘Not exactly. Lian’s grandmother was French, you know . . . and her mother was so beautiful.’

  Lian shook her head. ‘Do not distress yourself, Father.’

  He turned towards her and smiled. ‘I am happy with her memory, my child.’

  Brooke said, ‘I would take good care of her, Charles. And if –’ He glanced at her, hesitating until he saw the encouragement in her eyes. It was as if she could read each word before he uttered it. ‘If there were children, you would be their only grandfather.’

  ‘Yes. In war, who can tell?’ He seemed to shake off the thoughts. ‘So let us eat now. Tell your girl officer Miss Knowitall, was that her name?’

  Lian exclaimed, ‘Oh, Father – this is only insulting nickname!’ She brushed the hair from her eyes. ‘I will find her.’

  Alone in the big room Charles Yeung said, ‘I could have gone against it, fought you, Esmond. I might even have used my influence to have you transferred. But you are a man of honour, I have never doubted that. And on occasions, when I consider it necessary, so am I.’ He reached out and took Brooke’s arm and said, ‘You have her heart. Do not break it.’

  They turned to greet Lian as she entered with the little Wren at her side. They both looked very happy, and somehow shy.

  Brooke watched them. So different, so far apart except for one thing.

  They had made their decisions. Now there was no turning back.

  Lieutenant Toby Calvert stood on the slipway and mopped his face with a grubby towel. Even with the doors wide open the sun on the corrugated iron roof made it like an oven.

  ‘Well, what d’you think, Paul? Will the brute ever get airborne, or is it all a waste of bloody time?’

  Kipling was stripped to his shorts and his bronzed shoulders were daubed with grease and oil beneath the seaplane’s twin floats.

  He grinned. ‘Like a bird, Toby. Boy, I envy you – I nearly had a go at the Fleet Air Arm but I’ve got no head for heights!’

  Calvert took a glass of juice from one of the Chinese mechanics who had been working with them.

  He could still scarcely believe it, or what he had done. That first time, in the light of early dawn, he had risen from the bed, choking back a scream as the nightmare had returned more vividly than ever.

  But it had not been the same. She had been with him, had held him, pressing his head against her bare breasts, murmuring and stroking him until the horror had receded into the shadows.

  It had happened again with her, and each time they had fought it together.

  He had discovered that while she had held him he had been able to speak of it. Tell her, as he had always needed to tell somebody who would understand. He had built up pictures of his crew, Bob Piper the observer and the telegraphist air gunner, ‘Muffin’ McDowall, a kid just out of training when he had been allotted to Calvert’s Swordfish. Always together, except when divided by wardroom and messdeck: runs ashore, spirits high even in the face of danger.

  Sue had told him once that she felt she had been there in the cockpit, that she could have recognised his friends, so real and clear had he made them.

  Even the old Swordfish, the Stringbag. He had described her with true affection.

  She had stroked his hair when he had come to the worst part, the realisation that the carrier, his carrier, was turning turtle, the heavy shells from the two battle-cruisers still dropping, destroying any hope of rescue for the struggling survivors.

  ‘Then she was gone. There was nowhere for us to go. Nowhere to fly, nowhere to land.’ There had been a long silence and he had heard her heart beating against his cheek. ‘So I went for the enemy. It was hopeless, I always knew that. They put a destroyer between us and the big ships. There was flak everywhere. Poor Bob got it first. He just hung in his harness, trying to speak, blood pouring out of him. I just watched that destroyer in my sights and kept on going. Then Muffin was hit – even above the explosions and the din I heard him screaming. They didn’t want to die, you know. I killed them.’

  She had hugged him. ‘Tell me about it.’

  He had continued without emotion. It was like being asleep. Continuing a dream. ‘Then the engine was hit, I could feel the old Pegasus coughing and spitting. There was no more time. I just flew straight in until that bloody destroyer filled the sea, the world. Then I dropped the torpedo. I don’t remember much else except that we just made it over the funnels. I thought we were going to smash into them. Next thing I was in the sea and I saw the old Swordfish dipping under. Then there was an explosion. I felt it like a boot in my guts. I was floating in my Mae West and I saw the destroyer for just a few seconds. She must have been going so fast and turning to try to get away that when it hit her the blast tore off half of the fo’c’sle.’ He had given a tremendous sigh. ‘After that I had the sea to myself.’

  ‘Oh, Toby, I do love you so!’ He had felt her tears on his arm and had tried to comfort her.

  ‘A trawler picked me up. God knows what she was doing there.’

  ‘Thank God she was!’

  Calvert had realised then that he was no longer shivering. No longer afraid.

  He had said, ‘So I met the King. Nice bloke, I thought. He said something about being a hero. I don’t remember exactly. I was all choked up because of Muffin and Bob.’

  ‘You didn’t ask to be a hero. But you are!’

  Lieutenant Kipling was watching him. ‘Penny for them, Toby?’

  ‘Just thinking about my girl. I’m going to marry her if I can.’

  Kipling’s teeth were very white through his tan and oil stains.

  ‘You funny old bugger! I thought you were bothered about this plane again.’

  Calvert touched the warm metal. ‘Not really. Mr Yeung’s going to get some Dutch pilot from Java to fly it.’ He patted it, surprised at himself. ‘I shall miss the thing when we leave.’

  ‘Have you heard something?’

  Calvert shook his head. ‘There was talk of Serpent being withdrawn to be converted into a long-range escort. But I gather the Skipper won’t discuss it. Not even with Number One. He loves that old lady, you know.’

  Kipling sighed. ‘I’m damn glad we’ve got him in command.’

  Calvert looked at him, aware of his sudden apprehension.

  But the mood changed as Kipling threw his rag in the water and exclaimed, ‘Shit!’

  ‘What?’

  When he twisted round Calvert saw the reason for his concern. A little procession was entering the hangar from the other end: Charles Yeung with his daughter on his arm while the commanding officer, accompanied by the urbane Chief-of-Staff, followed behind with the Wren called Sue.

  Kipling wiped his dripping chest. ‘Look at us, for Christ’s sake!’

  Calvert smiled. How close they had all become in the little destroyer Serpent. And how much they depended on one another. Because of the ship or because of her captain? They certainly belonged. Like one.

  The Chief-of-Staff, Bertie, sniffed the air suspiciously.

  ‘Well, I’ve explained to Tamar and of course the harbourmaster, but the responsibility must rest elsewhere.’

  Charles Yeung carefully put out his cigarette and smiled.

  ‘I understand that the Assistant Governor is willing to shoulder that!’

  The shot went home.

  Kipling shouted to the mechanics, ‘Jump about! Chop-chop! Let’s warp the kite to the end of the slipway!’

  Sue Yorke moved nearer to Calvert and whispered, ‘Is he really an officer?’

  Calvert grinned as sunshine flooded over the seaplane’s cockpit. Where he had been so terrified, and yet more afraid of showing it.

  Charles Yeung folded his arms. ‘Just the engines, Lieutenant Calvert.’ He was thinking hard. ‘Then
you may, er, become clean, gentlemen, and join me at my house.’

  Calvert nodded, his eyes on the cockpit. ‘Very good of you, sir!’

  She said, ‘I’d love to fly in it. With you.’

  He was amazed that he could treat it so lightly. ‘Not in this plane, Sue. It’s got no parachutes.’

  At the prospect of a party, Bertie Granville brightened up considerably.

  ‘We’ll make it an occasion, what?’

  Calvert was climbing into the cockpit while the mechanics were perched on either float ready for the start-up.

  Charles Yeung said, ‘It is an occasion, Captain Granville. I am going to offer my daughter’s hand in marriage to Lieutenant-Commander Esmond Brooke.’

  The hangar erupted in one combined roar of power until the very slipway seemed to shake.

  It was as if every friendly dragon in the harbour was showing its approval.

  16

  Prelude

  ‘Course to steer is zero-four-three, sir.’ Calvert’s voice was quite steady even though he was fully aware of the tension around him in the dark upper bridge.

  Brooke crouched by the gyro-repeater, his eyes glowing faintly in the compass light.

  ‘Starboard ten. Midships. Steady. Steer zero-four-three.’

  Calvert could barely hear the coxswain’s response from the wheelhouse.

  Serpent was returning to Hong Kong after two escort passages to Singapore. Days and weeks of watchkeeping just so that some big troopships and supply vessels could reach harbour unmolested. Not that there was much chance of that.

  Calvert raised his head from the chart table and stared at the final approach to the harbour. He could feel a lump in his throat and was surprised at his own emotion. The blaze of dancing lights, the great sheen of various colours thrown across the dark waters of the harbour: it was like a home-coming.

  ‘Dead slow, both engines.’

  Calvert thought he could detect the same need in the captain, despite his level tones. It was so unlike him to enter harbour at night, and Calvert guessed it was because he could not wait until dawn.

  He thought of Singapore, the great wave of excitement and optimism that had welcomed the arrival of the promised reinforcements. The new battleship Prince of Wales and the veteran battle-cruiser Repulse had dwarfed everything else in the anchorage. Symbols of true naval power and superiority, a boost to servicemen and civilians alike.

  For Singapore, and indirectly the Crown Colony of Hong Kong, the great capital ships could not have arrived at a better moment. At home in Britain, where most of Serpent’s people had left their hearts, the news would barely raise any comment at this stage of the war.

  For the losses they knew and understood had been real and terrible. The aircraft carrier, Ark Royal, the public’s darling, not only because of her exploits against the enemy but also because of her ability to survive after being ‘sunk’ so many times by the German propaganda machine and morale-hitting broadcasts, had at last run out of luck. Near Gibraltar she had been torpedoed, and after two days of trying to save her, she had been abandoned to her fate.

  The hateful German radio question, ‘Where is your Ark Royal now?’ was another bitter memory.

  It was not over. In this, the closing stage of November, while people shivered in unheated shelters or sorted out belongings from yet another raid, came another blow at sea. The battleship Barham had blown up after being torpedoed in the Eastern Mediterranean with a terrible loss of life. The great ships like Royal Oak and Courageous, Hood and Glorious, explored by parents and children alike at the peacetime Navy Weeks and Reviews, had been joined by two more legends. It was a wonder that Singapore had been allowed the protection of two valuable warships of such importance when losses in contested waters were so bad.

  ‘Pilot boat, sir.’

  Brooke’s voice was sharp. ‘Where, man? I’m not a mindreader!’

  ‘Sorry, sir.’ It was Leading Signalman Railton, Onslow’s trusted assistant. ‘At Green four-five, sir.’

  Brooke said, ‘No. I’m sorry. Rank has privileges, but that wasn’t one of them.’

  ‘Signal from Tamar, sir. Secure to buoy as indicated.’

  ‘Acknowledge.’ Brooke rubbed his eyes. The slow approach, through moored vessels and avoiding moving ones, was strain enough. Now this, picking up a buoy in the dark. But Kerr would be ready as soon as he got the message. The motor-boat would be lowered to dash ahead of the ship and offload a luckless rating on to the buoy. A buoy-jumper, as he was known. He would cling there watching Serpent’s knife-like bows looming over him across the stars and hope to catch the picking-up wire before the ship ran right over him. It would not be the first time.

  Even as the thought crossed his mind Brooke heard the pipe.

  ‘Away motor-boat’s crew! Buoy-jumpers to muster!’

  Kerr was down there now with the fo’c’sle party and their leading seaman, Bill Doggett. He could see their faces as if he were with them. In only a matter of months he had come to know a lot about most of them, and a little about all of them.

  At least this approach would keep Kerr busy, might take his mind off the news of his young cousin, who had gone down in Barham.

  ‘Signal the pilot, Yeoman. We’ll follow him in.’

  He thought of the escort duties they had just performed. Compared to the Atlantic or the Med it was like yachting.

  He touched his old jacket and felt the silver frame in the inside pocket in its waterproof bag.

  ‘Signal from Tamar, sir. You can return alongside after Islip has sailed at oh-seven-hundred. Report on fuel and general supplies when convenient.’

  Calvert said, ‘Damn nice of them.’

  Brooke ran his fingers along the top edge of the glass screen. The caked salt there felt like baked sand.

  He said quietly, ‘She did well.’

  Calvert watched him. Would they ever meet again when it was all over? He would never forget the Skipper and men like Onslow and the Chief, and the formidable coxswain with his grief bottled up inside him like hoarded rum.

  ‘Watch it now!’ Brooke was staring across the port bow as a shaft of torchlight flashed out from the drifting motor-boat. The buoy-jumper and his companion were like cut-out figures in the beam, eyes wide as they peered at the slow-moving ship. The second man was to hold his mate in position if the ship accidentally rammed into them.

  ‘Stop both!’

  An arm moved in the wavering beam and a heaving-line splashed into the water.

  A voice snarled, ‘Another line! You want to leave them girls alone, Tom! You must be goin’ blind!’

  ‘A touch ahead starboard.’ Brooke watched the buoy pivot closer to the port anchor. ‘Stop engine!’

  The next line was seized and hauled to the buoy, the pickingup wire following it, bobbing above the water like a magician’s snake.

  There was a metallic thud and Kerr yelled through his cupped hands, ‘All fast forrard, sir!’

  Brooke waved to him as a heavy cable was prepared for the buoy until first light.

  Brooke stared across to the Kowloon side and then exclaimed, ‘The Dumbarton! She’s getting steam up!’

  He thought of the jokes they had made about the old cruiser. Her anchor cables painted to hide the rust, the framed pictures lining the cabin flats, all of which would have to be moved. Stallybrass must be furious.

  Calvert said, ‘They’ll miss the big party at the Peninsula, sir.’

  Brooke clapped his shoulder. ‘Too bad.’ But he felt a certain uneasiness. Where bound? An exercise to impress people? Or was Dumbarton going to join all the others at Singapore?

  ‘Cable secure, sir.’

  ‘Very well. Ring down finished with engines. I’ll try and find out what’s going on.’

  Calvert looked up as a huge pattern of fireworks exploded over Kowloon. Sue might be watching them, like that first time when he had held her on the balcony, had felt her rise to match his need of her, to give herself again and again. They co
uld get a special licence and be married here, perhaps at the cathedral. The Skipper would put in a word, and a naval wedding would be quite a change after all the grim news. But she would probably want to wait and get married in England. For their parents’ sake. He smiled. We are married now.

  The pilot boat passed down the side and a voice called, ‘Welcome back, Serpent! Try and stay for Christmas!’

  Onslow chuckled, ‘That’ll be the day, mate!’

  Calvert heard Kipling clipping up the chart table and remembered how they had cheered and danced together like two filthy urchins when the seaplane’s big engines had fallen silent again No, they were not the sort of people you would ever forget. Nor the two girls. Prepared to risk happiness, everything that war could tear down in seconds.

  He craned his neck as another burst of lights, great feathered plumes, burst across the night sky followed by crackling explosions like machine-gun fire.

  Kerr clattered on to the bridge and said, ‘I’ve posted an anchor sentry, sir. Don’t want some bumboat merchant slipping alongside to pinch our life-buoys!’

  ‘Good. Call up Islip for me while I change, there’s a good chap, Dick. If convenient I’ll go across and see her skipper before they shove off.’

  Kerr kept a straight face. Always calls me Dick when he’s anxious or worried about something. He’s really going over to use the shore telephone line.

  So would I if I had a girl like that.

  Brooke was hesitating on the top of the bridge ladder.

  ‘We should have a party, Number One.’ He did not see Kerr’s secret smile. ‘I think we deserve it. I’ll leave it to you.’

  Calvert grinned. ‘I know a girl who’d like to come, Number One!’

  Kerr smiled, holding the depression at bay. At least his cousin’s parents and sister would be spared the ponderous ceremonial of a naval funeral, with a firing party and all the trimmings.

  His cousin Tim was still with his old ship, with his friends all around him.

  He looked at the stars. Who could ask for better?

  Captain Albert Granville, the Chief-of-Staff, lit a cigarette and regarded Brooke with thoughtful gravity.

  ‘Nobody’s certain, of course, but Japanese naval activity is on the increase. Thank God Admiral Tom Phillips and his Force Z are at Singapore to discourage any hot-headed moves, what?’