Send a Gunboat (1960)

by Reeman, Douglas

  Judith hurried in with a tray of dressings and darted a quick glance at her brother. “Only half a dozen more,” she murmured gently. “They are just minor injuries.”

  Rolfe watched her with a feeling of growing tenderness and a new sensation, which cleared his mind of weakness.

  As she moved softly out to the waiting-room, Felton remarked distantly, “Good girl, I don’t know how I’d manage without her!”

  “She’s beautiful!” The words came out before he could stop them, but for a moment he didn’t think the other man heard him.

  “Yin Fong Leung.” Felton’s voice was dreamy. “That’s what the people round here call her.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Felton paused in his work, his eye studying Rolfe’s face with close scrutiny. “Fragrant and Beautiful Flower,” he answered quietly.

  Rolfe dropped his gaze, and although his hands remained steady, his heart pounded uncontrollably. He knew now that whatever happened, the visit to Santu had been more than worthwhile. It was a hope for a new future.

  * * * * *

  Lieutenant Fallow watched the little man scurry across the gangway clutching the first-aid box. What the hell was happening at the hospital? he wondered. Perhaps the Captain would be back soon. He shook his head vaguely and tried to bring his attention to what Leading Seaman Davidson was saying about the baggage being stowed. Two shooting brakes had just arrived on the jetty and some of the seamen were loading an assortment of boxes and wooden crates into the open hatchway leading to the forward storeroom.

  It was an easy task, with no onlookers, as every single soul in the town seemed to be occupied elsewhere on other matters. He pulled at his ear impatiently as Davidson tapped at his pencilled list. “An’ if that lot’s personal gear, sir, I’ll eat my bloomin’ ‘at!” he said scornfully.

  “Well, I s’pect they’ve collected quite a lot of stuff over the years,” began Fallow severely, and then his eye fell on Chase, who was ushering Charles Masters and his young wife down from the jetty. He groaned, the first blasted passengers had arrived.

  Masters looked pale and was clutching his wife’s arm tightly. “Oh—er—I hope we’re not too early?” He gazed round him, as if seeking somewhere to hide. “We’ve sent our baggage along already.”

  Fallow forced a smile. “Captain says you’re to make yerselves at ‘ome. I’m afraid all the ladies will be sleeping together in the officers’ cabins and the men’ll ’ave to make do in the Chief Petty Officers’ mess. I ‘ope that’ll suit you?”

  He beckoned Chase urgently with his hand. “Show these people to the wardroom, an’ tell the stewards to fix ’em up!”

  As they moved away he heard Anthea Masters whisper loudly, “He looked very worried, darling! Do you think everything is going as expected?”

  Fallow cursed and removed his cap to mop at his perspiring head. Blast them! Why did his fear show so clearly? He peered at the town and saw that the flames had practically cleared. Only the black smoke remained to mark the attack. High on the cliff, the fort stood aloof and untouched, the banner still fluttering limply. Fallow shook his fist in sudden anger. “Damn you, too!” he mouthed. “If it wasn’t fer you, we wouldn’t be ’ere!”

  He dropped his arm in embarrassment as he caught sight of the telegraphist, Little, gaping from the wheelhouse.

  “Signal from C.-in-C., sir.”

  “Well, read it, boy!” Fallow brought out his gruffest tone to cover his agitation.

  Little frowned at the signal. “From Commander-in-Chief. Re your one-one-three-six, stroke zero nine,” he read, “concur. Your request re other duties denied.”

  Fallow pieced the jargon together in his aching mind. So the Admiral didn’t want the Wagtail to get mixed up in any air battles, eh? Thank God for that. Let ’em fight their own bloody wars! he thought savagely. Always runnin’ down the British, and yet they always whine fer us when they’re in a bit of trouble! A feeling of remorse struck him, as some new scream of anguish rose from the direction of the town. He rubbed his hands together worriedly. If only we can get out of here without something else happening! It was like a prayer from inside his heart.

  He stared along the jetty as Herridge and his small party marched wearily into view. Their white uniforms were stained and blackened and the eyes of the Chinese seamen were downcast and dull with shock. Even Herridge was tight-lipped and strained.

  Fallow tried to find comfort from Herridge’s return, to seek some small feeling of security. But instead, he found only the sickness of fear.

  Herridge entered his mess and hung up his cap and pistol with slow, deliberate movements. He glanced round at the familiar objects, the austere arm-chairs and bookshelves, Louch’s fishing rod, and a small selection of garish pin-ups over Chase’s locker.

  Louch eyed him steadily from his prone position on the couch. He grunted and heaved himself upright, his skinny shoulders hunched over the table. Still without speaking, he removed a clean napkin, which had served as a cover for three glasses. Three glasses of rum for the Wagtail’s Chief Petty Officers.

  Herridge slumped in a chair and picked up his glass, staring moodily at the dark contents.

  “Here’s looking at you, Bill!” He tossed it back, enjoying the rich power as it ran through him.

  “Reckon you needed it!” Louch’s beaky face creased into a wry smile. “What was it like ashore?”

  “Bloody! The poor devils didn’t know what hit ’em!”

  “I suppose they’ve never had a touch of real civilized warfare before?” Louch sipped his rum pensively. “There’ll be a lot more where that came from, I’m thinking!”

  Herridge tensed as the door banged open, and Chase clumped noisily to the table. He grabbed his glass and smacked his lips. “Cor! Just wot I need! I’ve ’ad a bellyfull up there, I can tell yer!”

  “It must have been hell!” nodded Louch sarcastically.

  Chase perched his plump body on the table and frowned. He always frowned when he was trying to gauge the contents of his colleagues’ remarks. “Poor ol’ Jimmy-the-One is fair bustin’ a gut up top!” he added with obvious relish. “As an orficer ’e’d make a ruddy fine plumber, I should think!”

  “Well, keep those thoughts to yourself!” Herridge’s blue eyes flickered menacingly. “Old Fallow’s got a lot on his plate at the moment!”

  Chase stared at him in surprise. “Gettin’ in with the orficers already, eh? You ’aven’t got your bit of gold lace yet, yer know!”

  Herridge’s sturdy body bounded from the chair in one quick movement and his leathery face was only inches from the other man’s sweating forehead. “Say that again, Tom,” he said conversationally, “and I’ll ram that bloody book of rifle drill down your fat, stupid neck!”

  They stayed motionless until Chase flushed even redder and sidled off the table. “’Ere, stow it, Wilf!” he muttered uneasily. “Take a joke, can’t yer?”

  The crow’s-feet round the Cornishman’s eyes wrinkled suddenly, and he winked at Louch, who had been watching the battle of wills with bird-like interest. “Fine one to criticize old Fallow, eh? The Admiral won’t even let him fire his pretty guns! Reckon he must know what bloody poor shots his gunners are!”

  “Now let me tell you!” Chase began to bluster, but his words were cut short by the violent clangour of the alarm bells.

  All three men sprang for the door, Herridge grabbing his pistol from its hook, and Chase already bellowing for his gunners. Louch trotted to the circular steel hatch from which issued the constant trickle of steam, and taking a last look at the blue sky and the green water, he plunged below.

  Herridge ran to the bridge, overtaking and dodging the scurrying figures of the seamen. He found Fallow leaning right out on the rail, his glasses trained along the harbour wall. Hearing footsteps at his side, he spoke thickly from the side of his mouth. “There’s some sort of mob comin’ out of the town!” He darted a quick glance at Herridge’s impassive face and then peered through h
is glasses again.

  Herridge followed the direction Fallow had indicated and he saw that from behind the first row of buildings a straggling crowd of people was indeed hurrying for the wall. As they watched, a group of soldiers ran out of their hut and waved their rifles menacingly at the approaching mob. The mingled voices of the people merged into a sullen roar as the confined space of the harbour entrance brought them together in a tightly packed mass.

  “Christ! What d’you reckon they’re up to?” Fallow’s voice shook.

  “Us!” Herridge spat out the word. “They know we’re off to Hong Kong, everybody does now! It must be this year’s worst kept secret!”

  The gunboat’s decks were bare of running figures now and voice pipes whistled and cracked as the various parts of the ship reported their readiness for whatever lay ahead.

  “Oerlikon closed up!” A/B Ferguson settled himself in his harness and swung the slender gun barrel in a practice arc.

  “Six pounder closed up!” The gunlayer, Leading Seaman Clinton, spat on the deck and rubbed his horny hands.

  Two seamen swung the machine-guns round on the bridge rails, the bullet-studded belts glinting evilly.

  The soldiers had fallen back a bit now and the crowd was getting more daring. One or two had climbed up on the side of the wall and were trying to by-pass the sentries. A shot rang out and one of the scrambling figures pitched out of sight into the water.

  The crowd halted and then, as the subdued murmur of voices swelled to an enraged scream, they surged against the soldiers like a tide breaking over a rock, and then they were running wildly towards the end of the jetty.

  Herridge tore his eyes off the terrible spectacle and turned to Fallow. There must be about two thousand of ’em there, he thought. If they get aboard here, we’re done for. He watched Fallow’s thick lip working wetly, it seemed he was unable to take his eyes from the glasses, although heaven knows, thought Herridge desperately, they’re near enough to be seen by a blind man now!

  “Sir?” He nudged Fallow’s elbow gently. “Shall I carry on with the Captain’s idea?”

  Fallow stared at him blankly, his eyes flickering wildly. He didn’t seem to hear properly, and his mouth opened and shut noiselessly.

  “You know, sir,” Herridge clenched his teeth as the screaming roar thundered along the jetty behind him. “Move the ship out with the cable?”

  Fallow nodded slowly and swallowed hard. “Yes, yes! Do that!” It was not an order. It was a sob.

  As Herridge ran to the rear of the bridge to see if his anchor party were still crouching by the stern capstan, Fallow whispered after him, “For God’s sake, why doesn’t he come back?”

  The Captain, thought Herridge bleakly, as he cupped his hands. Well, we’ll manage, old fellow! His voice rose above the din like a trumpet call. “Deck there! Slip all lines and wires! Start the capstan!”

  The sentries ran like madmen along the deck, their axes flashing above their heads as they hacked and slashed at the ropes and mooring wires. From the quarterdeck a thin spiral of steam burst from the ancient capstan, as with a metallic clink, the first pawl dropped into its nitch and took the strain of the anchor cable.

  The ship trembled, and with a painful jerk her stern began to swing out from the jetty. Slowly the gap widened, although the bows were still resting against the stonework.

  The mob swarmed suddenly into Herridge’s view as he ducked round the wheelhouse and he saw one man run wildly across the canting gangway, an iron bar raised above his head. Below his feet he heard the sharp click of a rifle bolt and he leaned out to stop the seaman from firing. At that moment, another piece of cable clattered through the stern fairleads, and the ship swung a few more feet, dropping the gangway into the water with a loud splash. An angry bellow rose from the crowd as the man in the water swam miserably back to the jetty, and then, as if of one mind, they heaved back to the only piece of the gunboat within their reach.

  “Stand by in the bows there!” Herridge wished he could jump the three ladders in one go, but he knew he was needed on the bridge. Fallow hadn’t even moved.

  A rush of seamen ran to meet the frantic group who had managed to scramble up over the stem, and as they grappled savagely for handholds, a rain of stones and pieces of brickwork rained down on the decks. Herridge winced as a sharp stone glanced off his shoulder and watched anxiously as the tiny strip of green water around the bows suddenly widened to a ship’s breadth and then, all at once, the stones were falling short and the cries of the mob grew more indistinct. He frowned as the seamen unceremoniously heaved the boarders over the side. But he knew it was useless to interfere, weakness now could do plenty of harm.

  The mob was streaming back into the town, and as he stared after them he saw the glint of sunlight on several jeeps which were racing down the cliff road. There was a crackle of rifle fire, and a few screams, and seconds later, the jetty was jammed with soldiers who occasionally, and apparently without orders, dropped on to one knee and fired into the town.

  “What a shower!” muttered Herridge bitterly, and glanced round at the shimmering harbour. The gunboat rode easily at her new mooring, plumb in the centre, swinging at her stern anchor. He grinned and nodded at the seamen by the capstan. “Well done!” Their oriental faces smiled back gravely, pleased with the small compliment.

  He somehow knew Fallow would still be staring at nothing, and he coughed noisily as he mounted the ladder. But he needn’t have worried—Chase was already there, making his report.

  “No casualties or damage, sir, ‘cept one pantry winder smashed!”

  Fallow nodded painfully, “What about the passengers? The, er, Masters couple?”

  “Fine, sir!” Chase scowled round the harbour. “Should ’ave let ’em ’ave a bit of three-oh-three!”

  “Who? Masters?” Fallow seemed vague and distant.

  “No, sir, I meant—” Chase began again, but Herridge interrupted sharply.

  “Permission to fall out the hands from Action Stations, sir?”

  “Oh er, yes. What about the Captain?” The thought which was uppermost in the man’s mind burst from his loose lips.

  “I’ll take care of it, sir. I’ll take the motor-boat and a couple of armed hands, and wait by the jetty. It’ll be alright now. The soldiers seem to have the situation in hand!” He ran lightly down the ladder, as Fallow, with a terrific effort, turned to Chase.

  “Double the sentries, Chief! Make sure no swimmers come nosin’ around!”

  As Chase stamped importantly to the main deck, Fallow let out one great big sigh, and sat down heavily on the gun mounting, unconscious of the sun beating across his fat shoulders, and aware only of the distant town, with its sullen noise and terrible menace.

  * * * * *

  John Laker pounded the veranda rail with his fist, a vein throbbing in his forehead. Silhouetted in the bright sunlight, and the green sheen of the neat trees, he seemed to dominate the view with his trembling anger.

  “Damned Reds didn’t fly over the estate! Did you notice that?” he shouted. “They mean to make use of all this, of all my work!”

  Lieutenant Vincent watched him lazily, his back comfortably cradled in a deep cane chair. Poor chap, he thought sympathetically, but it’s not going to help him any more.

  Laker bounced back into the room, as if unable to torture himself with the sight of the rich estate. “I tell you, Vincent, they’ll hear about this in Whitehall!” He slopped a large drink into his glass, and his face was suddenly sad, “Might as well drink it all now! Can hardly call this personal baggage!” His lip curled contemptuously. “That Captain of yours, where the hell is he?”

  “I gathered he’s gone to the hospital,” Vincent answered slowly.

  “Hospital, eh? That damned shack, you mean! I suppose he’s listening to that blasted Red, Felton, or snivelling up to that little bitch of a sister!”

  “Now, dear!” Mrs. Laker’s voice was thin and tired. “She’s a very nice girl I’m sure. She
can’t help what her brother is like!”

  “Stuff and nonsense!” He glared at her. “Anyway, I’ll give this Captain of yours a towsing when I get in the right quarter!”

  “Really, sir?” Vincent listened quite affably, enjoying the peaceful house and the excellent brandy.

  “Yes, dammit! Still got a few friends in the right places, y’know! My cousin is in the Colonial Office, and there are one or two fellas I know at the Admiralty who’ll take care of this, this bloody upstart Captain!”

  Vincent’s eyes sharpened, and he saw Laker in a new, and more interesting light. “I wish I’d been able to do more for you myself, sir!” he said carefully.

  “I’m sure you’d have seen things differently, m’boy!” Laker eyed him grimly. “Not enough of your kind about nowadays. Don’t worry, I’ll put in a word for you. I shan’t forget!”

  Vincent’s heart sang, and he lowered his head hurriedly to hide the triumph in his eyes.

  The door banged, and Ursula, fresh and cool in a pale green frock, and carrying a wide straw hat, sauntered across the room, her face flushed from the sun.

  “Well, well! Another visitor!” She smiled softly at Vincent, her lashes masking her green eyes.

  “I’ve just been visiting your manager, and so on. I expect you know about the plans for leaving the island?”

  She pouted her warm lips. “Can’t be too soon for me! I’m quite looking forward to the voyage.”

  “Huh! No fuss or panic, eh? Leave without making a scene! Is that what that idiot Rolfe said?” Laker was still smouldering. “I’ll show him!”

  Ursula’s eyes hardened. “Leave off, Daddy! He’s got a rotten job to do, and you know it!”

  Laker glared and downed his drink. Then, picking up a full bottle, he stamped to the door. “I’ve told the boys to get the car round the front for us. I imagine our gear will have been stowed on that ruddy gunboat by now! I’m going for a last look round the estate. I’ll show him!” He disappeared, and Mrs Laker wandered vaguely after him. “I hope Father doesn’t do anything foolish!” she murmured.

  Vincent stared appraisingly at the girl, the brandy warm in his stomach. She was a picture alright. And what a perfect figure! He patted the seat beside him. “Come and join me in a drink!”