The Hostile Shore

by Douglas Reeman

  `Is she all right? For God’s sake tell me.’ He sounded mad with anxiety.

  `She’s fine!’ Tarrou fumbled for words. `I’m bringing her up now!’

  `Well, get a move on, for Christ’s sake!’ There was a metallic click. `The bastards might try to work round us, but I’ll give ‘em something to remember us by!’

  Blair forced himself to watch the green front of the jungle, although everything inside him shouted with crazy elation. He wanted to throw down the rifle and run to help that poor, shivering half-caste. Right up to the last second he had thought Tarrou was not going to make it across the pool. Blair had shouted down curses which he alone could hear as, with his sights trained on the capering savage in the water, he had waited for Tarrou to get into position. Then, when he had seen him bob up beside the girl’s pinioned body, he had begun to sob with relief, the tears almost blinding him. It had been at that moment the Mota had rallied and had begun to shoot their little arrows at the two swimmers.

  He jammed his last rounds into the magazine and ran his fingers across his eyes. She was safe. Perhaps only for another hour, but she was safe and they would be together. It was strange that they had had to suffer so much to find what they wanted.

  `Lay her here by me.’ He reached out to smooth the hair from her face, and immediately she opened her eyes. For a long moment they moved without expression, their grey depths still clouded with fear. Then her hand moved across to his cheek, and he felt its damp skin rasp against his stubble.

  Tarrou took the rifle and squatted by the edge of the cliff. He had expected them to speak, to use some special greeting, but they only stared at each other.

  He sat quite still, waiting for the trembling in his limbs to stop. Around his observation point the sky seemed to be drawn upwards in a tightly knit cone of fire. The storm when it came, he thought, would settle everything. If it did not, how could they survive, anyway? No food or water, and only a few bullets left to fight off a maddened tribe of crazy natives. His thick lip curled in contempt. It was a pity Fraser could not see him now, he reflected sadly. He would have been both proud and ashamed this time.

  Behind him there was silence, like a temporary armistice with fate.

  12

  WITH the last of the feeble daylight gone, the wind mounted with steady strength, and beneath the scudding banks of clouds the sea, which had pitched and rolled all day in frightened anticipation of what was to come, broke open in a great mass of tumbling whitecaps and breakers. Unseen in the darkness, the rain sheeted down on to the writhing water, the sound of its power audible even above the roar of wind and sea.

  Far out to the south-east of the islands the full brunt of the storm swung in a mad circular dance, driving one wave into another and, without giving them time to recover, swept their combined strength on to the next, so that each successive barrier of waves rose higher and more terrible, the long curving walls of black glass moving in serried ranks across the barren ocean, their white crests curling and growing with each onrushing second.

  On the outer fringe of the revolving storm the old schooner parried each thrust of the mountainous water, and dug her sharp stem deeply into each successive crest, so that every plank and timber quivered as if being struck a mortal blow.

  Kari had lashed his bony body to the wheel and, alongside the streaming shape of Myers, who was lending his weight to the bucking spokes, he peered steadily at the dimly lighted compass bowl, his wind-deadened ears cocked to the sounds of the protesting sails.

  There was no longer any visibility outside the ship, and their world was confined to the pitching deck and the great cavern of wind and sea which surrounded and covered them.

  Myers allowed his weight to shift as with a grunt Kari swung the wheel hard over, and then, as the ship laboured back on to her course, he helped him to meet the onrush of water which tried to batter the vessel round, so that she would lie open and unprotected for the next great wave.

  Unsuccessfully he had endeavoured to shut his agonized mind to all this, had even tried to picture his neat little house, and remember it as he had left it so long ago. He thought of his wife, and a lump formed in his throat. After this, he told himself fervently, everything would be different. All their petty little differences seemed so unimportant, even unreal, in the face of the nightmare which now surrounded him. During the war he had seen a troopship lose her rudder in the Bay of Biscay, and drift as helpless as a child’s toy yacht before the fury of a storm, which, compared to what the Queensland Pearl was now approaching, had been a mere gale. He gritted his teeth, his throat thick with nausea as the poop dropped beneath him, and he felt his feet bracing against the deck’s new, impossible angle. He had lost all sense of time, and a new fear gripped his heart as he peered forward to look for Fraser. Suppose he had already been swept overboard and had left him and old Kari to steer the ship on for ever, or to its destruction? A surge of relief flooded through him as he saw the Australian’s yellow sou’wester bobbing towards him through the curtain of rain. He saw the flash of his teeth, bared in a snarl more than a smile.

  `How’s she makin’ out?’ His voice was plucked away by the wind, and he hung to their crouched bodies, cradling them with his arms. `I’ve set a few reefs on the old girl, but we shall have to try an’ shorten sail some more in a minute!’

  Myers cupped his hand. `Will it get worse?’

  `Christ, I hope not!’ He waved vaguely across the weather rail. `Storm centre will be out that way, to the sou’east I reckon.’ He made a clockwise movement with his fist. `The eye of the storm‘11 be about eight miles across, an’ the winds

  around the sides are sheer murder!’ He ducked his head as a solid sheet of white spray swept over their bodies, making them choke. `I shall heave to, on the port tack, unless I can beat it!’

  Myers kept asking questions, his words lost and distorted, but Fraser no longer listened. He watched every straining movement of the stays and halyards, and listened with mounting apprehension to the thunder of the sails. She can’t take much more, he thought. Must get under the shelter of the island again. If I can find it. Bloody madman, that’s what I am!

  A wave, more powerful than the rest, rose to challenge the schooner like a solid barrier, its presence revealed only by the curling white fingers which towered high above the bowsprit. The ship lurched, and Myers cried out as the spinning spokes grated across his ribs. The fo’c’sle vanished under the great wave, which thundered along the deck like a waterfall, cascading across the hold-coaming, and creaming around the masts, before hissing with baffled anger into the lee scuppers.

  Fraser was already staggering along the deck, his hoarse voice rallying the others like a trumpet.

  The thick canvas tarpaulin which had rested snugly over the deep hold had been plucked away like paper, and as Fraser scrabbled with his hands on the oak planks which covered the ten-foot opening he saw that the fastenings had been bent double by the force of the water.

  Wabu and Yalla were with him, and as he passed a fresh line around the side of the coaming he saw another wave poise itself over the bows.

  He felt the blow of the wave against his shoulders, and then he was buried beneath it, his fingers and feet slipping and scraping across the planking as he was borne helplessly along the deck. When he thought that his lungs would burst, he suddenly found himself marooned in the scuppers, with one leg being sucked through an open wash-port by the escaping water. Wabu still clung to the hold-coaming, and Yalla was already creeping back along the slanting deck, shaking his sleek hair like a dog.

  Fraser struggled to his feet, and sobbed aloud as a shaft of agony lanced through his ribs, ‘Bust§’ His fingers faltered over the pain in his side. Every breath burned him like fire, but he forced himself to stagger to the hold. With something like despair he stared down at the wide gaping hole where the thick covers had once been. As he watched, he saw a while shape move lazily beneath him, and he started back, sickened.

  Hogan’s body, torn
loose from its lashings, floated with macabre abandon in the water which surged about the hold, and pounded noisily against the bulkheads.

  Must be tons of water down there. He stared aghast at the new threat, his brain too bludgeoned by the storm to work properly. He turned to the others. `Get on the pumps, lads! Jump to it!’

  He desperately wanted to go below to consult his chart, and yet he dared not leave the deck. His depleted crew was almost beaten, and he had only to watch their sluggish movements and despairing gestures to know that they could not hold out much longer.

  Myers greeted him with a forced grin. Fraser thought that it had cost him a good deal.

  `We doin’ all right, Vic? Surely we’ll make the island soon?’

  `Yeah. Maybe we’ll sight the headland before dawn, an’ then I aim to take her over the reef!’ He winced as another pain explored his ribs. `We might be able to ride it out there. If not,’ he shrugged, `we’ll have to get ashore an’ wait to be rescued!’ His mouth twisted with bitterness. `What a joke, eh?’

  The schooner rolled slowly on to her side, the twin booms digging into the racing water. Another breaker surged against her round bilge and struck her with the force of a giant boulder, so that she staggered still further on to her side.

  They were all shouting at once, Fraser like a maniac, as he swung his whole weight against the wheel, heedless of his broken ribs and the terrified cries around him.

  With something like a prayer he called out to the old schooner: `Come on, girl! Don’t go like this!’

  With infinite pain she climbed back on to her worn keel, the sails billowing immediately to a fresh blast of wind.

  It was Dinkila, the terrified Malay cook, who saw the island first, his fearful eyes and quavering hand directed towards the mass which, like another great wave, seemed to move towards them out of the night.

  Myers clutched Karl’s bar-taut arm. `The ‘eadland! We’ll be sheltered there, won’t we, Vic?’ He imagined that he could smell the land. He did not care what happened to the ship, or anything else. Just let us get ashore, an’ wait to be rescued, as Vic said. He stared with disbelief at the black mass of land as it slid past the creaming hull. Fraser had all but lost his voice, but his very desperation seemed to drive the others to do his bidding.

  The Phalarope Reef was completely hidden by the madly tossing whitecaps, but the lonely pinnacle of rock which he used as an aiming mark stood out clearly against the black land mass, its base shrouded in spray.

  Their fingers torn and bleeding, cursing and praying alternately, they fought with the salt-hardened canvas, and heaved desperately at the swollen ropes which seemed determined to defy every effort, until with a great scream of blocks the ship went about, and staggered rather than sailed towards the maelstrom of short, steep waves which surged across the narrow entrance.

  Fraser found quite suddenly that he was able to think about finding Tarrou again. Even Blair might have managed to survive. He shied away from the thought, his red-rimmed eyes raking the seething white mass ahead of the ship. Perhaps they would be able to ride out the storm behind the reef. His father had always said that next to plenty of sea-room the Phalarope Reef was the best place to shelter.

  Myers was shouting excitedly, `Be able to get a better idea of what’s ‘appenin’ wiv a bit er daylight, eh?’ He clung to the wheel, his round face transformed. `God, I never thought I’d see the ruddy dawn like that.’

  Fraser tore his eyes away from the reef and glanced irritably in the direction of Myers’ pointing hand. With complete horror he stared at the long thin line which Myers had mistaken for the probing light of the dawn.

  Across hundreds of miles of the Pacific the wave had relentlessly built itself into a mountain of water which, driven by the wind and tide, now thundered towards the reef with the speed of an express train. For as far as he could see on either side of the horizon the tidal wave extended in an impossible dimension.

  With a bellow like a wounded bull he flung himself at the wheel, screaming at the petrified seamen as he did so.

  Queensland Pearl seemed eager to answer the helm, as if tired of running away. Her bilges heavy with water, and with practically every plank spouting leaks, she wallowed heavily in a deep trough. On one side lay the reef, beyond which the comparatively calm water glinted with tempting malice, and on the other, with its mile-long crest already curving with anticipation, the tidal wave thundered to the end of its long journey.

  The rain, which had been falling steadily for several hours, splashed over the sides of the rock cliff in a thousand small waterfalls and gurgled amidst the countless gullies and crevasses, covering the weather-beaten floor which sloped dangerously towards the seaward side. At the far end of the cliff, some three hundred yards from their original position, the three small figures crouched in a shallow alcove, cut long ago in the solid rock by wind and weather, and which now afforded some small protection from the driving wind. The wind, deflected by the cliff and its uneven barrier of stone teeth, seemed to come from all directions at once, so that their soaked bodies were left feeling bruised and breathless, and their hearing had long been deadened by the sighing roar of its power as it lashed the sea into a frenzy of trapped anger and drove the rain into their hiding-place in short, savage gusts.

  Blair had propped his back against the slippery rock and had cradled the girl into his shoulder, the small warmth of their bodies giving him comfort, and enabling him to think with surprising clarity. It had been a painful crawl along the cliff in search of this small shelter, but the feel of his arm about her waist, as they clung together beneath the pounding weight of the rain, and bowed against the mounting wind, which threatened to brush them over the side of the cliff, had made him forget the agony in his foot and all else but the fact that they were together.

  As her sanity had returned, Blair had felt her tight body move against his, as if she was exploring her surroundings and still unable to believe that she was alive.

  With her mouth close to his cheek she had tried to explain what had happened before Spencer had met his death, and what he had told her about Blair’s sister.

  Blair was even more surprised to find that he no longer felt any, pain at the memory of what had haunted him for so long. He gently quietened her halting efforts to comfort him, and marvelled at the strange feeling of happiness which possessed him. To hear this girl who had suffered such terrible handling, and had yet retained the strength and courage to comfort him, filled him with humility. He had tried to tell her his thoughts, as the storm bellowed around them and their bodies glistened with the continuous rain.

  Tarrou sat close to Blair, strangely silent, yet he, too, seemed more relaxed, even assured, and Blair felt strangely moved by his unaccountable loyalty.

  He stared across his outstretched legs and down at the great heaving mass of the sea. Viewed from above it presented a moving pattern of white and silver, which, trapped by the reef and harried from every angle by the wind, surged dementedly in a wild criss-cross tangle, thundering eventually at the foot of the cliffs so that he could feel the very rock vibrate and quiver beneath his stiff body. He strained his eyes across the dark, tossing waste at the distant semicircle of creaming surf which marked the reef, and gave it the appearance of the hanging under jaw of a nightmare shark. The reef; which had brought him so far to discover himself. He tightened his grip about the girl’s shoulders, and felt her eyes watching him through the darkness.

  Gillian wriggled her body slightly and tugged away the remains of the crude kilt of water-leaves. Beneath Tarrou’s long jacket, which hung down almost to her knees, she could feel her naked body still soft and pliable with its coating of scented oil. She wanted to strip off the jacket and stand out on the unprotected rock to wash away the filth and the terrifying memory which hovered in the background of her mind. She flung the broken garment over the cliff and watched it torn away by the wind.

  She still could not believe what had happened, nor would she allow herself to c
onsider the future. She had the sudden urge to cry, but instead she pushed herself closer to Blair, shutting out the storm and ignoring the desperate efforts of the sea below.

  Blair noticed the movement and lifted his arm slightly as if to shield her from the storm. He was conscious of the growing pain in his chest, and the sudden quickening of his breathing. He thrust away his reserve, which he had used in the past to protect himself from ridicule and envy alike, and with gentle firmness moved his other hand through the opening of her jacket. He pressed his hand against her breast and held it there, hardly daring to breathe, and aware of the shiver which ran through the soft oiled skin beneath his touch.

  Gillian moaned aloud and, unable to help herself, lay trembling against him as the warm, gentle hand caressed her aching body, and seemed to transmit better than speech the message which Blair had concealed for so long.

  Blair’s voice, when it came, was thick and unsteady. He spoke hurriedly, as if afraid that she would move away and exclude him.

  `After this is over we’ll go away somewhere together.’ His hand moved tenderly across her smooth shoulder and rested momentarily beneath her chin. `I’ll get things sorted out somehow, but no matter how long it takes I want you with me.’

  She nodded, unable to trust her voice.

  `What a journey it has been.’ He sighed deeply. `One day we might realize just how slender was the chance which brought us together!’

  She lifted her chin and rubbed her cheek against his. ‘Rupert, we were a pair of fools to waste so much time.’ She gripped his wrist and pulled his hand down to her breast again. `We will be good for each other, my darling.’

  Tarrou’s voice broke in on them like a disturbed bird. `Look! Look, Major!’ The dark arm wavered with incredulous excitement towards the sea. `A ship! It’s the schooner, I’m sure of it!’ He rocked to and fro, his arms clasped around his knees. ‘Vic came back, Major! He did need me, didn’t he?’ There was pleading as well as delight in his voice.