A Dawn Like Thunder

by Douglas Reeman

  She wanted to say something. To hear the signal again. He was safe. He was coming back. But nothing came.

  She vaguely heard Major Sinclair say, ‘I’ll escort her to her quarters, if you like?’

  No. No. But again, nothing came.

  Then there was another voice. The woman with the quick, nervous smile. ‘That will not be necessary, Major Sinclair. I’ll attend to Petty Officer Mackenzie.’

  Victoria reached out and grasped her hand. ‘Thank you.’ She almost called her Jane. Her hand was cold, as Jane’s had been that night. Or is it mine?

  Then she did faint.

  14

  A Good Show

  JAMES ROSS COVERED his mouth with his hand to stifle a yawn, and fought back the desire to look at his watch. By his elbow his favourite pipe lay, filled with tobacco but as yet unlit. Each time he had considered lighting it either Captain Pryce or Commander Crookshank had fired another question at him. It was unreal and oppressive, the surrounding darkness and the bright lights of the operations room making him feel as if he was on trial.

  When he had come ashore from the submarine depot-ship, he had hoped she might be there on some pretext or another. But it was Pryce’s car with its usual Royal Marine driver that had been waiting, and had brought him at a hair-raising speed to this debriefing.

  There were two other officers of his own rank present but they had not been introduced or, if they had, it must have slipped his mind.

  After the rendezvous with the submarine Tybalt, the apparent ease with which the tug Success had been able to contact and transfer them to safety had amazed them both. Perhaps neither of them had really expected still to be alive. Even then, things had almost gone against them. The submarine had been about to surface so that her skipper could make a signal reporting that the operation was over when they had been attacked by two Japanese patrol vessels. Luck, some hazy information as to their presence, they would never know; but it had been a close thing. Ross had served in submarines, and the suspense and fear of a determined attack by surface vessels had not changed. One pattern of depth-charges had been so close that they had heard the firing-pins click before the world exploded about them. Lights had shattered and paint chips had fallen like snow on the dazed and deafened watchkeepers. There had been one enormous crack, as if the pressure-hull had been crushed in a giant vice; then they had heard the sounds of engines fading, moving away, then going altogether. The hydrophone operator had reported all clear, and the young commanding officer had called each sealed compartment himself to make certain that all of his men were safe. Apart from a few nose-bleeds and a broken finger, they had got off lightly.

  Tarrant was probably an officer one would never really know, but although it was his first command he had handled the submarine like a true veteran. He must have had some good skippers along the way. Ross had shaken hands with him when they had left to board the depot-ship. The conning tower had been savagely buckled like a tin can, and part of the deck-casing had vanished altogether. It had been as close as that.

  Perhaps at any other time it might not have happened. It was a well-known fact that many submarines were lost when returning from patrol, and not at the height of some attack. Never relax, never take anything for granted.

  Tarrant had smiled. ‘At least it will mean a proper refit. You’ll have to take a different taxi for the next stunt, sir.’ He had gazed at the damage, probably recalling the typical submariner’s comment. The most expensive coffin in the world.

  A hand reached out for another note-pad, and Ross saw the Wren look at him for several seconds. The new second officer, the replacement. She made him feel awkward, uneasy. It seemed wrong to be discussing so openly what he and Charles Villiers had seen and done together. There was another Wren present, too, a Leading Writer from Crookshank’s department, a small, dark girl with freckles, whose pencil was flying now across her pad as she noted every comment, question and answer.

  If Victoria was here . . . He rubbed his eyes, angry that he was so tired. When he had stepped ashore, he had felt more alive than he could remember for some while.

  Then Pryce had told him about Napier and, of course, about Mike Tucker. Peter Napier had apparently sailed in the hospital ship. I must write to him. In the same instant he knew he would not. If or when they met, it might be different. He thought of Tucker, the warmth he had felt when Pryce had told him of his part in the operation. When Rice had been beheaded. It was still hard to stomach.

  Crookshank fiddled with his reading-glasses, and Ross had time to notice Pryce’s annoyance.

  ‘And you really believe this Richard Tsao chap is straight up?’

  Pryce snapped, ‘For God’s sake, John, Commander Ross is not under oath at a bloody court martial!’

  The little leading Wren lowered her head to hide a smile. Second Officer Blandford glared at her.

  ‘I do believe that, sir. He is taking a lot of chances, but he knows that, and so are his people. The U-Boats are there, and have been on and off for months.’ He saw Pryce staring at the little cockade on his shirt: he had not even found time to change into clean clothing. ‘The group called Monsun intends to take vital materials through our blockade. Not in any vast quantity, of course, but it will mount up.’

  Crookshank rubbed his chin. ‘In the Great War the Jerries had a big cargo submarine named the Deutschesland. She ran the Atlantic blockade to the U.S.A., but of course she was built for the job, not for fighting.’

  Ross said, ‘I take your point, sir. These U-Boats are long-range IX D-class. They carry all that they can, raw rubber, wolfram, zinc, ballbearings, but they’re still able to hunt well enough. As I’ve put in my report, with Lieutenant Villiers’ help, the Germans also have two Arado seaplanes at their disposal. Their headquarters is at Penang and under the command of Fregattenkapitän Dommes.’ He recalled Richard Tsao’s rare display of amusement when he had explained that the overall Japanese commander was a Vice-Admiral Uozumi, the vast difference in rank being another chasm between the unlikely allies.

  Pryce said, ‘This list Tsao made out. Weapons, transmitters?’

  Ross attempted to focus his thoughts, already drifting towards images of a bath and a long drink. Villiers was probably in bed by now, dreaming of his unreachable girl in England, or recalling that small moment of peace in the ruined garden where he had once played as a boy.

  ‘He wants to fight, sir.’

  Pryce grunted. ‘Don’t know what Whitehall will have to say about that.’ Then he was his old brisk self again, all doubts dispelled. ‘That’s their problem. As soon as I get clearance from D.N.I., the admiral can make the right noises to South-East Asia Command itself. Go right to the top.’

  Crookshank looked worried. ‘Lord Mountbatten?’

  Pryce gave a thin smile. ‘Of course. He usually gets what he wants.’

  Ross said, ‘The new depot-ship will arrive any day, sir. A Japanese merchantman, but now properly converted with the right machine-shops for servicing U-Boats. That was another stumbling-block between them, apparently.’

  Pryce said sharply, ‘Would be. I wouldn’t want to entrust my old sub to a bunch of bloody coolies.’

  He walked to a shuttered window and back again. ‘I think this is exactly what we want.’ He almost reached out to touch Ross’s shoulder, but changed his mind. Perhaps the gesture seemed too intimate to him. ‘You did damn well, Jamie. I’ll see that it all goes in my report.’

  Ross looked away. Like poor Peter Napier and his promotion; a medal too, Pryce had said. Mike Tucker would pull no punches. He would tell him what really happened.

  As if reading his mind, Crookshank said helpfully, ‘Your Petty Officer Tucker insists it was a submarine that put paid to Turquoise.’

  Pryce stared at the wall-maps. ‘I shall enjoy having a word with Brigadier Davis. So much for his chain of secret agents!’

  Crookshank said, ‘But some of his information . . .’ He got no further. Pryce was leafing angrily through his private
file, to prove or disprove something.

  Ross turned as the second officer spoke to him for the first time. ‘It must have been a fearful risk.’

  Ross smiled. ‘Not so bad once we got started.’ He saw the doubt in her eyes. ‘The only time I was really worried was when the Tybalt was attacked. I suppose I’ve grown used to being on my own, being free to act in my own way.’

  She smiled briefly. ‘If you say so.’

  Pryce glanced at them, frowning. ‘By the way, Jamie, I’ll want you to keep your head down for a while. The admiral’s got that damned war correspondent Howard Costain back again.’ The same irritation, as if he did not approve of someone else holding the apron-strings, not even the admiral.

  Ross picked up his pipe, but found that he no longer wanted a smoke. ‘Whatever you say, sir.’

  Pryce glanced through his papers again. ‘And this Tsao has promised recognition signals, boat-markings, everything?’

  Ross saw Tsao’s composed features, the inner steel of the man and the knowledge he carried with him. While they had been lying at Penang, surrounded by the enemy, and had watched the submarines at their moorings, Tsao had come and gone with the cool confidence of a professional agent, not the junior clerk Villiers had once known. And yet at any hour, day or night, the door could burst open and he would be dragged away to endure the Kempetai’s hideous tortures, or forced to watch his family and friends die at their hands.

  Ross said, ‘I would trust him with my life again if need be. He is a man who believes in victory, not just against the Japanese, but against anyone who tries to dominate his country, his people.’

  Blandford asked gently, ‘Even against us, Commander Ross? Or the Dutch in Java and Sumatra and their dependencies? Will they not be allowed to recover what was rightly theirs?’

  Was she laughing at him? Perhaps his simple explanation seemed shallow here, where there was no danger.

  Pryce interrupted rudely, ‘Not our concern. Our job is to hit them where it hurts, not to worry too much about the price!’

  Just for an instant, it seemed as if he and Pryce were quite alone. Ross heard the unspoken words in his mind, like all those other times. Did we ever, sir?

  And somewhere back there in the shadows, the young Peter Napier, so eager to please. A piece of cake.

  It was dark when Ross finally escaped from the operations building, and it seemed even darker because of his immense fatigue after the endless questions, the explanations required for the benefit of the Wren who had been taking shorthand.

  Two sailors strolled past, only their white caps giving a hint of identity. Ross could smell the heady aroma of rum, and guessed they had been celebrating with an illegal bottle of hoarded tots. It seemed so long since he had been here, months rather than weeks. It was like being a stranger. Charles Villiers had thought the same.

  And then he saw her. She was standing quite still beside one of the khaki vehicles parked in the compound. It could have been one of the other Wrens, but he knew instantly that it was Victoria.

  She came to meet him, shaking her head as if with disbelief before she threw her arms around him.

  He held her tightly and whispered, ‘I’m a mess. I haven’t been able to change for days!’

  She did not appear to hear. ‘I knew you were coming. I was sent to fetch some documents from Colombo.’ She was trying to smile, to hide the strain and the past anxiety. ‘I – I think Captain Pryce did it on purpose. To have you all to himself!’

  Then she seemed to realize what he had said, and rubbed her hands across his shoulders. ‘I don’t care. You’re back, you’re safe.’ She leaned against his arms. ‘You are safe?’

  He pulled her closer, remembering all the times when he had thought of her like this. Now that it was happening it was different, unbelievable. ‘Yes. Good as new.’ He touched her hair and, very gently, her face, aware of her warmth, her eyes which, even though in shadow, were exactly as he had seen them in his thoughts.

  ‘Was it bad?’

  He glanced up at the clouds behind her, and the solitary star which was drifting among them. ‘I believe it was worth while.’ He thought of all their intent faces, Pryce’s rare satisfaction at Tsao’s information and lists. ‘But I kept thinking of you, what it must have been like when you left there as a child.’

  She lowered her face against his chest, and ignored his protests. ‘I have waited for this. You are a man. You smell of ships, that other world you described to me.’

  She allowed him to lead her away from the compound, to the path that led to the sea. She said quietly, so quietly that her words were almost lost in the regular swish of fronds overhead, ‘I prayed for you. I was so afraid you would be hurt, that you might not come back.’ A small hesitation, ‘To me.’

  Somewhere else doors banged and there was a burst of noisy laughter. Perhaps Mike Tucker was one of them. Getting over it.

  He stopped and faced her. ‘Colombo? You drove there and back?’

  She stared up at him, her black hair lifting in the warm breeze from the sea. He could feel her studying him, and remembering too. She shook her head. ‘It was all right. I had a marine driver. It was quite safe.’ She waited for him to hold her again. ‘You never forget, do you, Jamie?’

  It was the first time she had used his name since they had met in the compound.

  He said, ‘I never forget. You are so very precious to me.’

  She started, and for a moment he thought she was unwilling for him to speak his thoughts.

  But she answered softly, ‘Each night I prayed for you.’ Her teeth showed in a quick smile. ‘Several gods, but the same prayer!’ She touched his hip and he felt her shiver. ‘You carry a gun?’

  He did not want to release her. ‘Orders.’ He did not elaborate. It all seemed so far away, hard to accept that right at this moment men were risking everything, and many were paying for it. In the past, it had been easier to disguise. A bad show, or somebody-or-other had bought it. Not just the hardness of young men at war, but a necessary shield, a forced callousness to allow the survivors to carry on. From what his father had told him, it had always been like that. Instead, he said, ‘I’ve been told to lie low for a bit. Three days, Pryce said. The famous war-correspondent is back, apparently.’

  She held his arm with both hands. They felt hot, almost feverish through the borrowed shirt with its black and yellow cockade. ‘I know. He has been asking questions. The security people don’t like it.’

  He smiled. ‘Careless talk. But in his case it will more likely be another of his “At last the story of this secret and dangerous war can be told. A spokesman said . . .” et cetera.’

  She looked away. ‘My father wants you to use the house. You can call the base every day, even the section operations.’

  He sensed the doubt in her voice. ‘I met your Second Officer Blandford, by the way . . .’

  She shrugged. Even that small movement made him want to share all of it with her, his doubts, his fears . . . His mind lingered over it. Fears came in all guises. He knew he would never share it with anybody else.

  She said, ‘She will learn. Perhaps.’

  A car started up very noisily and some birds clicked nervously in the undergrowth. She paused and looked at him. ‘You could bring Lieutenant Villiers. My father would like that.’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ He hesitated, hating his own shyness. ‘People might take it the wrong way, although I can tell you now that I’d deal with anybody who tried to make trouble for you!’

  She seemed to relax. As if she had been unsure of his reaction. ‘Three days? Captain Pryce wanted me to take some leave. But I needed to be here, in case you wanted me.’ She touched her eyes with her fingers. ‘All those miles of ocean, but you were never far away, not from me, Jamie.’

  So Pryce accepted it, even if he did not agree. He tried to picture Pryce as the young submarine commander, loving someone, being loved. But the picture refused to form.

  ‘I’ll speak with Charles
Villiers. I’m sure he’d jump at it.’

  She said gravely, ‘It was hard for him, I expect. His Singapore is gone.’ She looked down. ‘Perhaps mine, too.’

  He held her against him again. Supple, warm and so trusting. ‘I’d never hurt you, Victoria.’

  ‘I knew that was what you were thinking. My name, my honour, my father’s feelings – you worry about everyone but yourself!’

  Some headlights flicked on and off, and she said, ‘I must go now. Commander Crookshank is leaving. I am working for him also now.’

  He protested, ‘I’ll wait! Please let me do that!’

  She released herself and said, ‘Tomorrow. Now you sleep, have a drink maybe.’ She tried to laugh. ‘But not with Second Officer Blandford, she might steal you away!’

  More doors slammed and she put her hands on his shoulders again and kissed him on the mouth. ‘There now, I must go.’

  ‘Victoria!’ He saw her hesitate as she walked along the same path. She said nothing. ‘I love you, Victoria. I’ve never said that to anyone before.’ He repeated it: it was like hearing someone else. ‘I love you!’

  Then she called, ‘I know!’

  He waited, his heart pounding while he listened to the voices in the compound, Crookshank’s thick whisky laugh, Pryce’s cool brevity. He ran his fingers through his hair. I love you.

  He thought suddenly of all those young faces which had been lost, had bought it. For this one precious moment in his life perhaps they were able to share it.

  Ross stepped down from the big staff-car and looked around in the bright sunshine. From the imposing frontage of the Mackenzie house, to the scarlet flowers and the clattering palms, still fresh from an overnight rainfall, it was a perfect welcome.

  He signed a chit for Pryce’s marine driver, all very official, to show that he and Villiers had been delivered safely and without incident. It seemed almost absurd after what they had done together. Even the driver had been too attentive to his duties to speak, and had not appeared to be listening to his passengers behind him.