‘Seems okay.’
She followed him up the stairs. There was broken glass halfway up: a window had fallen out during the bombing. The place felt deserted and there was a smell of smoke, perhaps from an air attack.
Kipling waited for her to open the apartment door with her key, and saw her hand go to her throat as she walked through to the bedroom, the sheets still on the floor after they had tried to get dressed.
She looked at the open windows, the flapping blind above the veranda rail. Oh God, Toby, I love you so.
Sue glanced at the untidy lieutenant and did not know if she had spoken aloud.
‘I’ll get my things. There’s not much.’ She looked at him again, the way he stared at her. Not hostile, perhaps not even curious. ‘Will there be an air raid, do you think?’
He took out some cigarettes marked Duty Free – HM Ships Only. ‘Christ, I hope not!’ He grinned. ‘Sorry. No manners, they tell me!’
‘They are right!’
His grin broadened. ‘That’s the ticket. Chin up, eh?’ He became serious again. ‘If there is a raid, we get downstairs and round the back against those other buildings. This chicken-coop would collapse like a pack of cards if a bomb dropped too near!’
She dragged out some shirts and her uniform jacket with its solitary blue stripe. She was angry with him, but it helped her not to cry.
‘I was happy here, can you understand that?’
Kipling looked at her legs as she bent over a chest of drawers. I’ll bet, he thought. But he was glad it had been Toby Calvert. It was not difficult to picture them here, in this bed.
He said casually, ‘I suppose so.’
She gestured to the other room. ‘There’s some Scotch in there.’
‘Hell, why didn’t you say so first?’
She jammed her few pieces of clothing into a blue grip and stared around the empty room. The picture of the shire horses was crooked, and she straightened it.
Just a room, Lieutenant Kipling might think. Sex and nothing more.
She touched the bed. ‘I love you, darling!’ This time she did say it aloud.
When she turned she saw Kipling watching her, a full glass in each hand.
‘Here. Do you good.’
She thought of saying something clever and refusing the offer. But she took a glass and swallowed some of the contents as he said, ‘Don’t worry. They’ll get you out. I heard mention of a ship. Certain people, you know?’ He drank slowly. ‘Bloody good stuff. Not had anything like that since . . .’ He tensed as a car backfired and said, ‘Getting past it!’
‘What about Serpent?’
He shrugged, as if it did not concern him. ‘The Skipper’ll fix something, I expect. A good bloke.’ He half smiled. ‘For a regular.’
The whisky burned her throat, but it was working.
He held up the bottle and shook it. ‘We’ll finish this an’ shove off, right?’ As he refilled the glasses he added, ‘I hope it all works out, Sue. Toby and the Skipper are the two best blokes I’ve met after . . .’
‘After you lost your friend?’
He studied her. ‘He told you, did he, the old bugger!’
‘He likes you too.’ She wiped her eyes with her fingers. ‘So do I, in spite . . .’
‘I know.’ He picked up her grip and downed the rest of the whisky. ‘Let’s go.’ He watched her swallow the last of it, her eyes smarting. But not from the drink, he guessed.
She said, ‘I thought there’d be soldiers everywhere. Putting up defences like the navy’re doing in the dockyard.’
‘The good old stable-door mentality!’ Probably all in the Peninsula getting pissed, he thought.
She put on her hat and stared back at the open bedroom. Then she turned and followed him outside on to the landing.
Kipling was saying, ‘There are some boats waiting at a pier to offload my stuff from the truck . . .’ He whirled round, his hand on his holster. ‘Christ!’
They both stared at the landing telephone, the bell of which seemed deafening.
Kipling relaxed, fibre by fibre. ‘Leave it. We’re going.’
She was still staring at the telephone. ‘It might be for me.’
‘Make it snappy, then.’
She picked it up, the sudden silence even louder.
‘Hello?’
Sue recognised the voice immediately. ‘Where are you, Ruth?’ She covered the mouthpiece and whispered, ‘It’s the army sister from next door!’ She saw him frown impatiently.
She turned her back. ‘What’s happening?’
Ruth Shelley’s voice was clear enough, as if she were standing in the room. Like that day she had been sunbathing. But it was different. Flat. Unemotional.
She said, ‘They’re here. At the dressing station. I just wanted to speak with somebody.’ There was a catch in her voice. ‘And you answered, dear Sue.’
She felt Kipling was right beside her although she had not heard or seen him move.
Sue held the telephone between them and watched his face as the voice continued, ‘They have no idea.’
‘What, Ruth? Tell me!’
‘We had a lot of wounded brought in. The Japanese burst into the place. They bayoneted all the men in the beds, and there was shooting outside.’
There was silence and it was as if the line had been cut. Then she tried again. ‘They took my nurses. All of them, and raped them again and again. An orderly tried to help but they . . . they cut off his head.’
Sue felt Kipling’s arm around her shoulders as she asked, ‘Can you get away?’
‘They locked me in here. Didn’t know about the telephone.’
There were bangs and shouts, muffled screams too, like something out of hell.
Ruth Shelley said in a whisper, ‘They’re coming for me now . . .’
The noise exploded on the telephone, sounds, blows and wild, inhuman shouting.
Then Ruth Shelley began to scream, piercing and terrible even as she was dragged away from the phone.
Kipling took it carefully and replaced it on its hook. Then he held the girl’s arm, his fingers surprisingly gentle.
‘You okay?’
She stared at him, her face like chalk. ‘She never married. Never really liked men, you see?’
They both looked at the silent telephone. The stairway still seemed to echo to those terrified screams.
They emerged into smoky sunlight and found two armed soldiers standing beside the truck.
‘This yours?’
Kipling eyed him calmly. ‘Sir.’
‘There’s an air-raid warning, er . . . sir.’ The word seemed to stick in his throat. ‘So all vehicles off the streets, right?’
Kipling could hear the distant drone of aircraft. He guessed they would not come here. After what he had just heard and witnessed, he knew the main target would continue to be the island, the so-called fortress.
He said, ‘In that truck is enough high-explosive to knock down seven streets. Are you going to stand here guarding it in the middle of a raid?’
The soldiers looked at one another. ‘Well, I suppose . . .’
Kipling held out his hand to help the girl into her seat.
He said shortly, ‘Just be a sec.’ He walked out of earshot and faced the soldiers again. ‘I see that both of you are carrying slung rifles. Safety catches on and nothing up the spout, right?’
One of them exclaimed, ‘Orders!’ The other one asked angrily, ‘What’s it to you anyway?’
They both gaped at the heavy Luger which had appeared in Kipling’s fist.
Kipling said, ‘Both of you would be dead if I was an impostor. You will be anyway, if you try to stop us again!’
They were still staring after the truck as it rounded the corner, spewing out dust and smoke.
She asked hoarsely, ‘Is that really what’s in the back?’
He grinned. ‘Sure is. Not dangerous though.’ He glanced at her grimly. ‘Like women. If you treat ’em all right!’
&nb
sp; At the pier where some naval boats were already gathered, Kipling leaned against the steering wheel and stared over at the Serpent’s pale shape framed against the dockyard. Almost to himself he said, ‘Laughed at us when we came here. Another relic, they said. Threatened the Skipper, if he didn’t toe the line. Well, it’s bloody different now, isn’t it?’ The bitterness and anger was flooding out of him and he didn’t try to stop it. ‘The bloke you love, and I must say I’ve never envied a man so much before, is trying to fix up a bloody seaplane because they say it must be done. I’m getting ready to blow up a few things simply because it’s all they can think of!’
He glanced over at the deserted streets, which were usually full of jostling people.
‘My guess is that the Japs will be where we’re standing in a couple of days, probably sooner.’ He gripped her wrist. ‘Go to that P.O. on the pier. He’ll take you over to the yard. Keep your head down, eh?’
She stood beside the dusty fifteen-hundredweight, her bag in one hand.
He eyed her steadily, picturing the room, hearing the screams.
‘Remember what they say in this regiment?’
He saw her chin lift. Defiance, guts, pride. It was all there. She even managed a smile. ‘I know, Paul. You shouldn’t have joined if you can’t take a joke!’
Esmond Brooke entered the makeshift office in the dockyard and found Captain Albert Granville seated at a littered desk, hemmed in by both regular and field telephones in their webbing cases. The yard itself was a hive of activity, and with all but the smallest ships moved or gone from the harbour there were plenty of sailors to dig defences and build up barriers of sandbags.
Tamar had been moved out to a spare mooring and Granville, with most of his staff, had transferred here to limited accommodation in offices and work-rooms.
Granville looked terrible. With so many others he had been invited to the great ball on the night before the attack. He was still wearing his white mess-jacket and the decorations he had brought out of temporary retirement for the occasion. There were stains on the sleeves, and his normally perfectly groomed hair was all over the place.
He pointed at a chair with a pencil, at the same time talking on a telephone.
But the chair was full of files, and in any case Brooke did not feel like sitting down.
He thought about Barrington-Purvis bursting into his cabin to break the news of the attack, the banshee siren and the roar of bombs from the little airport.
Then the news of Pearl Harbour.
He had heard the Buffer say, ‘Well, that’s brought the Yanks off the bloody fence for a change, eh, Swain?’
And Pike’s savage retort, ‘But too soddin’ late for us, isn’t it?’
Granville dropped the telephone. ‘No sooner you’re off the line and everything changes!’
He got up and walked to a big map of Hong Kong and the New Territories which his staff had already managed to mark with coloured pins and little sticky labels.
The Chief-of-Staff snapped, ‘The Japs are coming right through! If they meet any stiff resistance from the army they simply bypass it and mop up later at their leisure!’
Brooke recalled the few moments when he had held Lian in his arms while he had explained what was happening, and what might happen in the near future.
‘What about the evacuation, sir?’
Granville stared at him. ‘Boomerang was a mistake, a failure.’ He waved his hand over sections of the map. ‘We’ve got the Winnipeg Grenadiers, and the Royal Rifles of Canada. They came directly from either their own country or Bermuda, untrained for this sort of thing. They don’t even know this territory locally. Won’t stand a chance. There’s the Middlesex and the Royal Scots, but too thin on the ground for a prolonged siege. The Rajputs are up here . . .’ He let his hand fall from the map. ‘You know what they’re like.’
Brooke did not know. It was suddenly crystal clear. The whole line was crumbling even as they discussed it.
Granville shuffled through his papers and swore with disgust when he discovered that his cigarette case was empty. Then he seemed to hear Brooke’s question.
‘We’ll do all we can, of course. It’s all happening so fast. Islip will be coming back.’ He found a solitary cigarette and lit it gratefully. ‘Eventually.’
Something in his tone warned Brooke, and he found he was almost unmoved when Granville elaborated. ‘They ran into trouble. Dumbarton was sunk. Islip only just made it.’
Brooke heard more bombs falling somewhere, the raiders fired at by a mere handful of badly sited guns.
He pictured Stallybrass and this same captain when he had arrived here. Their secret amusement, contempt, perhaps, for his concern about the plans for defence.
‘I see that you’ve moved Tamar to a buoy?’ It was more for the sake of something to say than any other reason.
‘Er, yes. She’ll have to be scuttled if things get worse. All confidential books must be destroyed.’
A seaman messenger looked in. ‘Lieutenant Kipling brought the Wren out, sir.’
‘Good, that’s fine.’ The seaman glanced at Brooke and shrugged. He had realised that Granville had not understood a word.
Granville said vaguely, ‘I understand that General Maltby, the military commander, would prefer to withdraw completely to the island. It won’t do us any good here, though.’
Brooke looked down at his own hands but they were quite relaxed, even though he wanted to shout at him that when that happened the Japanese artillery would be over there in Kowloon, about eight hundred yards from this room.
Granville glared at another telephone as it jangled noisily, ‘But still, when Force Z gets amongst the buggers that’ll make the enemy landing-craft and their supply ships run like rabbits!’ He did not sound very convinced. He snatched up the telephone. ‘Yes?’
Kipling entered the room and waited for Brooke to see him.
‘Got all the gear, sir, no bother.’ He glanced over at Granville without expression. ‘Sue Yorke, our Wren . . .’
Brooke waited. She had indeed become our Wren. Like a mascot.
‘She got a call from the new dressing station while I was with her. The Japs bayoneted all the wounded and raped the nurses. It was like a slaughter-house from the sound of it.’
‘How did Sue take it?’
He grinned. ‘Bloody marvellous, sir!’
Brooke said sharply, ‘I want her out of this mess.’ In his mind he could see Lian’s face, desperate, pleading.
‘I won’t go and leave you here, Es-mond! Something terrible will happen!’
It was happening right now.
He asked, ‘Does the army want the truck back just yet?’
Kipling smiled. ‘They’re like our lot, sir. You just sign for it and it’s all yours. I’m bringing it across on a ferry today.’ His eyes hardened. ‘Might come in handy, I thought.’
‘Good thinking.’ He touched his arm. ‘And thanks, Paul.’
Kipling walked out of the room. It unnerved him when people were nice to him.
He saw Barrington-Purvis mustering a working-party on the pier.
He would soon change all that!
Granville had put down the telephone. ‘Any cigarettes, old chap?’ He looked worn out.
‘Smoke a pipe, sir.’
‘So you do.’ He rang his bell. ‘Just had a signal about Islip. Her damage was worse than reported. Had quite a few casualties, but we can replace them from here when she arrives.’ He was looking at his map again. ‘Those pins will have to be moved. They’ve come another six miles.’
Brooke asked quietly, ‘What about my ship, sir?’
The captain shook his empty cigarette case and passed it to a messenger.
‘And bring me some drinks, Campbell. You know what I like.’
He looked at Brooke gravely.
‘Whatever happens, Serpent will be the last to leave. Or will be destroyed to prevent her falling to the enemy.’
Brooke picked up his cap. ‘She�
��ll not fall to the enemy. Be certain of it!’
Granville watched him stride out. He said wearily, ‘I’m relying on it!’
John Chau, Serpent’s interpreter, paused for breath on the steep, winding road and removed his glasses, which had misted up in the heat. Then he looked around at the rough, craggy hillside. It was almost bare of trees. For once the sea was out of sight and the sounds of battle so muffled and faraway that they seemed unreal.
He had expected to be stopped by the ferry dock when he had crossed over to Kowloon, but nobody had seemed interested. In another hour he would be safe in the village where he had been born, the son of a hard-working carpenter who had been determined that he should have a life with prospects. One in which he would earn the respect of his employers and customers. John Chau had been packed off to college. He was industrious, and would not bring shame on his father’s house. His eventual position at one of Hong Kong’s most influential banks had been his reward.
He had learned well the complex but rewarding lessons of banking as well as the social side, when he mixed with visiting European bankers. He had even been recommended for service in the Volunteer Reserve.
His mind was sharp and clear when he decided to leave the naval base. He had done it without shame or remorse; it was the sensible thing to do until the fighting was over.
In the village there would be those who would conceal his presence until life returned, if not to normal, then to something in which banking would still be the dominant force. His widowed mother would do the rest.
All the same, he had been loath to rid himself of his smart white uniform and put on these dull working clothes.
As he shaded his face from the sun Chan thought of his short employment aboard the Serpent where he had been accepted as an equal.
He wondered what would become of the navigating officer, the one named Calvert who had won the Victoria Cross but never spoke about it.
That, too, had been so easy. He had shared Calvert’s cabin. It had taken no time at all to read through the lieutenant’s log book, the patrol areas, how long they would be away and how far they extended.
When the SS Kiang Chen had been torpedoed by a Japanese submarine he had spoken with her master, the only survivor. Just before he died he had managed to whisper to him that the arms cargo had been delivered to the Nationalists as arranged, like all the other secret shipments.
Sunset Page 26