He moved his hands and was surprised that his wrists were not tied. There was light enough in this confined place to see the livid weals where the cords had been knotted tightly round his wrists. The Japs had dragged him to the truck, and the truck had carried them here. Them . . .
He peered around, almost afraid to lift himself in case they had broken his limbs. Where was Napier? At the same time he realized that there was frail sunlight coming through a small barred window. But no sound, except for his own painful breathing. Then he saw Napier. He was lying on his back, and for an instant more Tucker thought he was dead. He was quite still and his eyes were wide open, unmoving.
Carefully, waiting for the stab of agony, he took the weight on his knees. Then, inches at a time, he moved crablike across the bare floor until he was at the young officer’s side. He felt Napier’s chest and was almost moved to tears, something unknown to him. The eyes were on his face now, neither concerned nor frightened. Napier’s clothing, like his own, was torn from the rough handling when the Japs had searched them. Tucker felt his own head, the dried blood and the swollen lumps.
Napier tried to lick his dry lips. ‘What time is it?’
Tucker glanced automatically at his wrist, but his watch had been taken, like everything else. ‘Early morning, I think.’
Napier moved his head from side to side. ‘I’m so thirsty.’
Tucker pushed the hair from Napier’s eyes before crouching on his haunches while he examined the cell, and cell it was, not some makeshift prison. There was a pail in one corner, and an old wooden stool. Nothing else. They could be anywhere; he had no idea how long he had been unconscious in the vehicle, or over how much ground they might have travelled.
Napier said, ‘I hope Rice got away.’
Tucker looked down at him. ‘Maybe he did.’ To himself he thought, sod him, he ran away and left us like rats in a trap. Sod him.
Napier whispered, ‘What will they do? To us, I mean?’ He spoke so calmly, without even a trace of the pain he must be feeling from his wounded shoulder.
‘Probably ask us about the explosion.’ Who cares, he thought. The bastards will kill us anyway.
Napier said, ‘I knew they were beating you. I wanted to help, to stop them.’
Tucker grinned. ‘You weren’t in any position to help anybody.’ He patted his torn sleeve. ‘But ta, anyway.’ He stared at the small window. ‘I’ll bet they burned down the whole village because of what they did to help us. That poor kid.’
Napier tried to lift himself on his elbows, but fell back again. ‘I – I think they took that pill away from me.’
Tucker reached out and stretched his arm. They had enjoyed beating him. It would have killed a frailer man. He said, ‘You wouldn’t have swallowed it, you know.’
Napier said intensely, ‘Why do you say that? They might use force to get it out of us!’
Tucker thought about it. He found he could accept it, now that he knew there was no way out. ‘Get what out of us? What do we know? They’d be stupid not to put two and two together. I mean, we didn’t land by parachute, did we?’
He put his finger to his lips and jerked his head towards the door. There were shadows along the bottom of it, somebody’s feet, standing right against the outside. He whispered, ‘Company.’
Napier said very steadily, ‘Name, rank and number. That’s all I shall tell them.’
Tucker wanted to shake him. But where was the use of that?
Footsteps, but not the clipped sounds of soldiers. Slow and dragging, tired. They stopped outside the door.
Here we go. He sat up slowly and clenched his strong hands into fists. Not without a bloody fight, mate.
The door banged open, hard back against the wall. A soldier, his cap pulled down over his eyes and a bayoneted rifle levelled waist-high into the cell, planted himself in the entrance. His eyes flicked from Tucker to the sprawled officer in the corner, then he rattled his rifle bolt and screamed, ‘Koskei!’
When they remained motionless, he stabbed the air with his bayonet and repeated, ‘Koskei!’
Tucker did not understand, but he knew how to obey a command. He stumbled to his feet and stood defensively beside the helpless Napier. It seemed to satisfy the soldier, and he stamped quickly outside into an apparently sun-filled corridor so that another figure could get past.
They stared at one another. He was tall and gaunt, his sunburned arms little more than skin-covered bones, and he wore khaki rags. Stitched to his tattered shorts was a faded red cross, probably once part of an armband. He had sparse grey hair and he was very unsteady on his feet, but his eyes, like his voice, were clear enough. ‘I’m to examine you.’ He looked at Napier. ‘I am Captain Newton, Royal Army Medical Corps.’ He knelt down and, helped by Tucker, loosened Napier’s deeply stained dressing. ‘There’s not much I can do. I have no medicines and no drugs, nothing. I’ve lost so many here – malaria, dysentery, ulcers.’ He spoke in short, quick sentences as if every breath were precious. ‘They’ve cleared most of the camp. Some have been sent to Rangoon, others to some new working party, I’m not sure where.’ He was peering closely at the wound and apologized. ‘They broke my glasses a few weeks ago.’
Tucker licked his lips. A few weeks ago. This man and skeletons like him were being allowed, or encouraged, to die. Newton said, ‘The only people remaining are here because they cannot walk.’ He looked up as more feet clattered in the building. ‘Captain Nishida is in charge here, but he will be leaving soon, I understand. He speaks English very well, but sometimes pretends not to. The one to watch is his sergeant, Ochi. His English is quite good, but he is a savage.’ He stood up very slowly. ‘This wound is not good.’ He looked at Tucker. ‘You will have to help him. I told you, there is nothing I can do.’
Tucker asked quietly, ‘Is there no way to escape from here? Surely after all this time . . .’
Newton gave a small, twisted smile. ‘I’ve been here for over a year, I think. There is no escape but the final one.’ He faced the door, suddenly erect but pathetic in his eagerness. A Japanese soldier, taller and more powerful than most, filled the open doorway. Somehow Tucker sensed that it was Ochi. The savage.
He saw Newton bend over in a low bow, almost losing his balance in the process. The soldier’s eyes, like bright black olives, swivelled to Tucker, and he jabbed at him with his cane.
Tucker bent in a similar low bow, hating it, sickened by what he had seen and what he was doing.
The soldier nodded importantly. ‘So! So! You pay respect to Nippon fighting men!’ He slashed the air with his cane. ‘Otherwise . . .’
The doctor’s voice dragged on the name. ‘Sergeant Ochi, this officer is wounded and cannot walk.’
It was Newton’s way of warning them of what was about to happen.
The sergeant strode across the floor and looked down at Napier. ‘Nippon soldier never surrender. Die first.’ He made up his mind. ‘You.’ He jabbed at Tucker again. ‘Pick him up, carry like mule. Yes?’ He laughed, and Tucker saw that the guard at the door was standing like a ramrod, his eyes staring at the opposite wall. He was frightened of the sergeant.
‘Up we get.’ Tucker bent over Napier and grasped his uninjured shoulder. Then he gasped as the cane slashed him across the spine.
Ochi barked, ‘No talk. No speak. Here you are nothing!’
Napier gritted his teeth against the pain as he was hoisted over Tucker’s broad shoulder. ‘Sorry to be a bother, Mike.’
Ochi raised his cane, but Napier said, almost sharply, ‘Would brave Nippon soldier strike wounded officer?’
Perhaps the affirmation of rank had done the trick. The cane dropped harmlessly.
It was a short walk to the end of the corridor, but by the time they had reached another guarded door they were both sweating. Tucker noticed dark stains along the floor, and guessed they were his own blood when he had been dragged here. But he could recall none of it.
It was, or had been, some sort of office. There we
re a few chairs and an empty table, and a view through an opened window of what looked like a parade ground, iron-hard earth, stamped or flattened down over the years to defy even monsoon rain. There were logs scattered at one side of it, and a large blackened area as if there had been fires at one time. A few soldiers were standing about, and beyond them more ragged figures like the R.A.M.C. doctor named Newton. They cannot walk, he had said.
Sergeant Ochi shouted, ‘Officer sit!’ The cane moved again and came to rest on Tucker’s arm. ‘You are non . . . commissioned . . . rank. You stand!’
Tucker bobbed his head after making Napier as comfortable as he could. ‘Yes, sergeant.’ As their eyes met, he added to himself, you fat-gutted pig!
Another door was opened by an unseen soldier and an officer Tucker assumed to be Captain Nishida entered. After returning Ochi’s salute, he seated himself very carefully on the chair opposite Napier. Tucker thought he was the neatest person he had ever laid eyes on. Very slim, probably in his twenties, and dressed in such a perfectly fitted uniform that the open shirt collar looked as if it had been pressed over the tunic with an iron. He ignored Tucker and asked simply, ‘What were you doing here?’
Napier steadied himself against the chair-back. ‘I can give you my name, rank and number. According to International Law . . .’
Nishida raised one hand. He seemed neither angry nor particularly hostile. ‘Do not waste time. The laws are not made by God, and they are broken by men. You have no place of safety hiding behind such . . .’ he hesitated and searched for a word. ‘Futile deceptions.’
Napier said, ‘I do not understand.’
Sergeant Ochi unrolled a blanket on the table. Napier’s silver flask, some papers, one of the revolvers and, to Tucker’s fury and dismay, his own small oilskin pouch with all the rest.
‘You are an officer. You must know what you were doing. You are terrorists, saboteurs, cowards, is that not so?’ He did not wait for an answer, but pushed something across the table and watched Napier’s reaction with mild interest. ‘What is this?’
Napier said, ‘A compass.’
Tucker swayed forward and saw the guards raise their rifles instantly. It had to be Rice’s compass; he and Napier had buried theirs. Rice must have used it to buy cigarettes. He tried not to recall the boy’s burned and mutilated body, left like so much rubbish on the track.
Napier said steadily, ‘I did my duty.’
Nishida touched his chin. ‘Nippon soldier never surrender. Why did you?’
Napier shrugged and winced. ‘I was injured. There was no choice.’ He added hoarsely, ‘Your men murdered that helpless boy.’
‘I have my duty also. He was known to be helping you. He refused to co-operate.’
‘So you killed him.’
‘Tell me again. What were you doing? How did you blow up the ship?’
Napier asked, ‘Can I have something to drink, please?’
‘Certainly. Presently. I know you were brought by submarine. I know also that the submarine was destroyed, yes? But how did you sink the ship? What kind of explosive, that kind of matter?’
Napier shook his head. ‘It’s no use.’
Nishida rapped out three words, and two of his men seized Napier’s arms and dragged him on to his back on the floor.
Tucker lunged forward to help him, but two bayonets pricked his chest. The soldiers’ intent faces showed no reluctance; they wanted to kill him.
Napier cried out to him, ‘I won’t! Tell them I didn’t!’
Tucker nodded heavily, and felt the bayonets’ unwavering touch. Napier was losing his strength; one of the soldiers was kneeling on his torn shoulder while the others held his arms and legs. Ochi waited while one soldier pinched Napier’s nostrils and then, with obvious concentration, he began to pour a can of water into Napier’s mouth.
Tucker had seen men drown before, by accident or design. It made little difference if you did not have the strength to fight it.
Napier was choking, his eyes staring wildly while Ochi continued to pour from the can.
Tucker glanced desperately at Captain Nishida. ‘Stop them!’
But Nishida had opened the oilskin pouch and was studying the little photograph. He looked up. ‘Wife? Soldier-woman?’
Tucker wanted to scream, to kill him. Evie in her clippie’s uniform, a soldier-woman.
A man appeared in the doorway and muttered to his captain. Nishida raised his hand. ‘Enough! Put him in the chair!’
Napier was somehow still alive, choking and retching, water pouring from his mouth.
Nishida looked at the raised bayonets and they were instantly withdrawn.
As Ochi gripped Napier’s hair and dragged his head up to revive him, he said to Tucker, ‘My men have found one of the diving suits. The rest is for someone else to decide.’ He turned towards Napier and raised his voice. ‘You are stupid, not brave. You will be taken to Rangoon where the Kempeti will attend to you.’
Tucker said bluntly, ‘To be killed, is that what you mean?’
‘Eventually, yes. I think you will pray for death for a long while!’ He handed the oilskin pouch to Tucker. ‘Brave woman go fight for her men!’
Tucker carried Napier back to their original cell where, surprisingly, a small amount of rice and tea was brought for them.
Napier said between fierce bouts of coughing, ‘They should have done for me.’
Tucker said, ‘We came together. We’ll stick that way.’ He pushed the rice-bowl on to his lap. ‘My guess is we’ll be moved today.’ He tried to smile. ‘The room’s been booked by another guest!’
He saw Napier’s head nod with exhaustion. Poor little bugger, he thought, you’ve just about had it, haven’t you?
He watched the sunshine and tensed as he heard the sound of marching feet. Very quietly, he climbed on to the only stool and gripped the window-bars to support himself. There was a squad of soldiers in two lines in the compound, a firing party, perhaps. Then he saw Nishida and the squat sergeant, standing in the shade of an overhanging tree.
Tucker touched the oilskin pouch in his pocket. She was with him. Now two soldiers were dragging an inert shape across the beaten ground. He knew immediately that it was Nick Rice. Even at this distance he could see the blood on his face, the way he was groping at the soldiers as if he could not see, as if he did not know what was happening.
Napier sensed the silence. ‘What’s going on?’
Tucker made himself watch as they dragged Rice to one of the abandoned logs and threw him across it. The onlookers, in ragged scraps of khaki, did not even appear to notice. They were beyond caring, beyond every human emotion.
Only then did Rice show some sign of agitation, as he was rolled on to his back with his shoulders across the log. Sergeant Ochi strode into the sunshine and stood over him.
Tucker watched, nauseated, but rendered helpless as if he had been drugged.
The big sword rose above the sergeant’s head and shoulders, and seemed to remain motionless in the bright sunshine like glass. Then it dropped.
The black stain Tucker had noticed earlier had not been from fires. It was blood.
He made himself kneel by Napier’s side, and without speaking he took his hand. After a long time he said, ‘It was Rice, sir. They just killed him.’ He sounded very calm. ‘I don’t know any proper prayers . . .’
Napier stared luminously at him; at his pain and his anger.
‘I’ll say one for the two of us.’
It was all they had left.
11
A Bloody Miracle
THE LAUNCH TURNED in a wide arc and headed directly towards the big submarine depot-ship, which was moored bows-on to the shore. The two passengers, dressed in light khaki drill with only their shoulder-straps giving any display of rank, watched the passing array of troopships, oilers and fleet escorts in silence. Ross was not sure how he felt: there was, he thought, a certain relief that he was doing something again, rather than merely supervising others.
He had noticed the marked change in his companion during the last frantic preparations for the mission to Singapore. Villiers seemed strangely relaxed, with none of the expected signs of strain or anxiety. Like somebody anticipating a return home after long absence.
They would be taking passage in the submarine Tybalt, the outboard boat of the only pair remaining alongside the depot-ship. She was a sister boat of Turquoise, a grim reminder, if one was needed. Her skipper had been a close friend of Bob Jessop, so it was likely that their presence aboard might be regarded as yet another unnecessary risk factor.
The dapper Brigadier Davis, who had attended the last briefing before taking off for Bombay and eventually London, had been definite about it. ‘Of course there are risks, gentlemen. Four years of war have proved that repeatedly. This Richard Tsao is trustworthy, according to our Intelligence sources, but only up to a point. If he has information of true value, the risks will be justified. If not, Mr Tsao can be given to the Japs with my blessing!’
Ross looked at Villiers. This morning, while they had been waiting to meet Captain Pryce and the brigadier, he had said quite suddenly, ‘I had another letter.’
Ross did not need to be told from whom. He had been aware of Villiers’ anxiety during that last dinner with Colonel Mackenzie, when the girl had waited to drive him back to the unit H.Q. When he had held her and they had kissed. Now, more like a dream than ever. But he had sensed that Villiers had been putting up a brave front throughout the meal, and now the reason was very clear.
‘She wants to break it off, Jamie. She was hoping for a divorce, but now she thinks it’s impossible. Even her father seems to think she should stick with Sinclair.’ He had hesitated. ‘She’s afraid of him, you see.’
‘And what about you? Do you still feel the same?’ Villiers nodded, and had looked very young and vulnerable. No wonder she had fallen for him. ‘I love her. I can’t think of anybody else.’
Sinclair was not being sent to England after all. Not yet, anyway, and it seemed increasingly possible that Pryce might want to use his particular skills if the Singapore venture proved to be more than a red herring.
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