Torrance- Escape From Singapore

by Onbekend

  Nagarkar glared at him. ‘The point, Jairam Bandhu, is that two men can move more stealthily than ten, and if we run into any Japanese between here and Istana Mimpi, we’ll come back and warn the rest of you.’ He shrugged. ‘And if we don’t, and there are none at Istana Mimpi, we’ll fetch the Sultan back here, saving these men a four-mile walk.’

  Torrance shrugged off his pack. ‘I’m all for that.’

  ‘If we’re not back within two hours, Sergeant, then you’re in command.’

  Cochrane blanched. ‘Ye’ll be back though, reet?’

  Nagarkar smiled. ‘I hope so.’ Following Zulkifli, the jemadar headed off along one of the avenues between the rubber trees. Torrance watched them until they were out of sight.

  Gibson turned to Cochrane. ‘What about sentries, Sar’nt?’

  ‘Eh? Oh, reet. See to it, Slugger.’

  Torrance sighed wearily. At least being the one who chose the sentries might give you the option not to be one of the sentries. Then he came up with a better idea. ‘Hoot, you’re on watch here. Take up position amongst the swamp ferns, where you can see the trail without being seen.’

  ‘I know how to stand sentry,’ growled Gibson.

  ‘Lefty, follow the trail back to where the mangroves begin. Bluey, find a place about fifty yards that way, where you can cover our right flank.’ Torrance pointed through the trees. ‘The rest of you, I saw a clearing about fifty yards back up this trail; we’ll rest there. No, not you, Smiler. You come with me.’

  The two of them strode through the waist-high swamp ferns growing beneath the date palms, MacRae humping the Bren by its carrying handle. When they were out of sight of the others, Torrance turned to face the Glaswegian.

  ‘I’ll have those tickets back, Smiler.’

  ‘What tickets?’

  ‘The two tickets for the SS Hsiu T’ung. You took them off me while I was kipping the night before last.’

  ‘What are ye talking about?’

  ‘Don’t play dumb with me! You think I haven’t worked out it was you? You’re the only one who knew I had them tickets on me, and the only one who had an opportunity to take them. Now they’re gone, I don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to work out who pinched them.’

  ‘You’re crazy!’

  ‘All the more reason for you to hand them over. Or do I have to take them off your corpse?’

  ‘I’d like to see ye try! For one thing, if ye touch me, I’ll carve ye up like a Sunday roast; and for another, I don’t have any tickets on me.’

  ‘Then where’d you stash them?’

  ‘I didnae stash them anywhere, because I don’t know what ye’re talking about, ye bampot!’

  Torrance took his flick knife from his pocket and pressed the stud on the haft so the blade jumped into view. ‘I won’t tell you again: hand over those tickets.’

  MacRae laughed. ‘What are ye gaunae do? Cut me up?’

  ‘If I have to. I’m getting off this island, Smiler, and neither you nor the whole Japanese Army is gonna stop me.’

  ‘Put the shiv away.’

  ‘Give me the tickets.’

  ‘I’ll no’ warn ye a second time.’

  ‘Neither will I!’

  MacRae swung the Bren forward, ramming the muzzle into Torrance’s midriff. Winded, the cockney sank to his knees. He managed to keep a grip on the knife, slashing wildly in MacRae’s direction. The Glaswegian caught him by the wrist and moved behind him, twisting his arm up into the small of his back, until the pain made him cry out and drop the knife. MacRae spun him back to face him, gripping him by the webbing straps and hauling him to his feet so he could bring his forehead down sharply against the bridge of Torrance’s nose. Stars exploded somewhere behind Torrance’s eyes and a wave of nausea swamped him. He tasted blood in his mouth. The next thing he knew, he was sprawled on his back amongst the swamp ferns and MacRae was standing over him with the knife in his hand. Instinctively, Torrance threw up his arms to protect his face, but the slashing bite of the knife never came: when he lowered his arms again, MacRae was still there, but the knife had disappeared and the Glaswegian stood stiffly to attention. Twisting, Torrance saw Cochrane striding through the swamp ferns, his face crimson with fury.

  ‘What the hell is going on here?’

  ‘Corporal Torrance fell over, sir,’ said MacRae. ‘I was just helping him to his feet.’

  ‘Is this true, Corporal?’

  Torrance rose unsteadily. ‘Tha’s right,’ he slurred. What else could he say? Tell Cochrane he had threatened MacRae with a knife because the Glaswegian had stolen the boat tickets he was going to use to desert?

  The sergeant scowled. ‘Clean yourself up, Corporal. You’re a bloody mess.’ He turned smartly on his heel and hurried back to where the others were resting.

  Torrance wiped his mouth with his forearm and it came away covered in blood. He dabbed at his nostrils with his handkerchief.

  As MacRae moved past him to take up position amongst the swamp ferns, he leaned in close to mutter at him. ‘Ye try that again and I’ll fuckin’ kill ye. An’ I’m keeping yer shiv.’

  ‘What happened to you?’ Shapiro asked when Torrance came to where the Australian rested in the clearing with Cochrane.

  ‘I fell.’

  Shapiro grinned. ‘Did you land on someone’s fist?’

  Torrance scowled. ‘Where’s Varma?’

  Cochrane shrugged. He had not even noticed the Indian was missing, and apparently did not much care what had become of him.

  Torrance hurried back along the trail to where he had left Gibson on sentry-go and found him lying under a cluster of swamp ferns. ‘Hoot, have you seen Varma?’

  ‘Aye, he went to do his business.’

  ‘And you let him go?’

  ‘Aye, of course. When a man’s gotta do his business, he’s gotta do his business. Why would I stop him?’

  ‘Hoot, when have you ever known a man pass out of the cordon of sentries to take a shit?’

  Gibson blanched. ‘I didnae think…’

  ‘That’s the problem with you, Hoot. You never do.’ Torrance rubbed tired eyes. So much for getting a couple of hours’ kip… ‘Stay here,’ he told Gibson. ‘If I’m not back in an hour, tell Corky to get you all the hell away from here.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘How the hell should I know? That’s Corky’s problem.’

  Torrance headed down the same avenue across the rubber plantation that Nagarkar and Zulkifli had headed down. He could see where their boots had scuffed up the leaves strewn on the ground. He supposed Varma had followed the same trail.

  After marching briskly for about a quarter of an hour, he spotted a figure crouching at the foot of a rubber tree a couple of hundred yards ahead. Torrance moved into a parallel avenue between the rubber trees so their trunks would give him some cover, moving as stealthily as the leaves crackling underfoot would allow. He unslung his Thompson, slipped the safety catch off and pulled back the cocking handle. Drawing closer, he saw the other man crouched over a corpse. He got to within fifty yards before the crouching man heard him and stood up. It was Varma. Torrance turned the muzzle of the Thompson on him. Varma spread his arms wide.

  Keeping the Indian covered, Torrance advanced the last few dozen yards until he was close enough to see the body was Zulkifli’s.

  Ten

  Thursday 0900 – 1030

  Torrance felt wearied by a heavy feeling of sadness. He had liked Zulkifli: the Malay was one of the few members of Pigforce who actually seemed to know what he was doing. The sadness quickly gave way to anger and it was all he could do to keep himself from gunning Varma down there and then.

  ‘His throat’s been slit,’ said the sapper.

  ‘By you,’ said Torrance.

  Varma looked irritated. ‘Don’t be a bloody fool. If I did it, where’s Nagarkar?’

  ‘Maybe you killed him as well?’

  ‘If I killed Nagarkar, where’s his body?’

  Torrance took
his eyes off Varma just long enough to glance around. A rubber plantation offered few places to hide a corpse. ‘If you didn’t kill Zulkifli, then who did?’

  ‘Nagarkar, of course.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘It’s a long story. Do you mind if I tell you while we head back to where we left the others? I think Nagarkar’s gone to surrender to the Japanese, and if he’s going to do that, his best chance of getting decent treatment is if he gives them something.’

  ‘He’s giving them us?’

  Varma nodded.

  ‘All right,’ said Torrance. ‘But give me your bundook.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I’m still not sure I trust you.’

  ‘All right.’ Varma started to unsling his Lee–Enfield. As Torrance reached out to take it, he lowered the muzzle of the Thompson. The next thing he knew, Varma had braced the rifle’s butt to his shoulder and was pointing the muzzle at his forehead. Torrance cursed himself for a fool, but he did not feel as frightened as he would have expected at a moment like this. If anything, it was a feeling of calm that descended over him. Everything that had been so important to him a moment ago – getting the tickets back from MacRae, this mission to rescue the sultan, getting in Kay Sheridan’s knickers – none of that mattered any more.

  ‘We’re nearly a mile from where the others are camped, right?’ asked Varma. So he wanted to talk? Maybe it was not all over after all. Maybe Torrance might yet turn the tables on him.

  ‘Maybe.’

  Varma rolled his eyes. ‘We’re more than a mile from where we left the others. That means if I wanted you dead, all I have to do is pull the trigger. Even if anyone else heard the shot, by the time they get here I could be long gone. Agreed? If I’m your enemy, the only sensible course of action for me is to kill you now.’

  ‘Look, if you’re gonna pull that trigger—’

  Holding the rifle upright, muzzle pointed harmlessly at the canopy overhead, Varma proffered it to Torrance. ‘I’m not your enemy, Corporal.’

  Half expecting another trick, Torrance took the rifle from him. He slung his Thompson across his back and checked the Lee–Enfield’s breach. There was a round up the spout. Varma had not been bluffing: all he had needed to do was pull the trigger.

  Scowling, Torrance threw the rifle back at the sapper, who caught it neatly and slung it from his shoulder. Torrance started walking back to where they had left the others. ‘Start talking.’

  Varma fell into step beside him. ‘Have you ever heard of a man named Subhas Chandra Bose?’

  ‘Of course I bleedin’ have. I was stationed in India before the war. He was president of the Indian National Congress.’

  ‘Until your government placed him under house arrest for advocating a campaign of mass civil disobedience after the viceroy took it upon himself to declare war on India’s behalf without consulting any Indians.’

  ‘Yeah. I don’t see why you Indians got so hot under the collar about that. You don’t think Neville Chamberlain consulted blokes like me before he declared war on Herr Hitler, do you?’

  ‘At least you have the opportunity to vote Chamberlain… well, Chamberlain’s party… out of office if you disapprove.’

  ‘Fat chance of that while we’ve got a government of national unity and no general elections for the duration. Not that I mind. Personally I think Jerry needs a good arse-kicking.’

  ‘On that you and I are in agreement, Corporal Torrance. Not every Indian sees it so, however. It’s not that they want to side with the Fascists, it’s just… well, for two hundred years the British have ruled in India without giving Indians the vote. To send us to war and tell us it is in defence of democracy, when we do not even get the vote in our own country? Surely you can see why that would stick in our craws?’

  ‘If that’s the way you feel about it, why fight at all? I mean, it’s not as though you have conscription in India yet, you must’ve volunteered.’

  ‘I volunteered, yes. It’s my hope that after we have helped you British to win the war, you’ll reward us by giving us independence, and by golly if you do not, we will take it for ourselves. But I believe we have a far better chance of getting independence from Britain than we ever will from the Nazis. But I had a choice: I come from a wealthy family. Many in India only join the army because the alternative is to starve. Make no mistake, that is all they volunteered for: not to starve.

  ‘But to return to Subhas Chandra Bose,’ Varma continued. ‘You know he escaped?’

  ‘I didn’t even know he’d been arrested. Must’ve happened after my mob was shipped to Singapore.’

  ‘Not the sort of thing the British would advertise on the Pathé newsreels. Bose reached Afghanistan and from there made his way to the Soviet Union. Stalin and Hitler were still friends in those days, so Bose had no trouble reaching Berlin. On Azad Hind Radio he’s been saying thousands of Indian soldiers captured in North Africa have now gone over to the Nazis and are fighting for the Germans in return for a promise of Indian independence after the war.’

  ‘Azad what?’

  ‘Azad Hind. It means “Free India”. They’ve been broadcasting from Berlin for a few weeks now.’

  ‘Nazi propaganda, I suppose.’

  ‘As opposed to the British propaganda we hear on the BBC?’

  ‘And they let you listen to it?’

  ‘We’re not supposed to, but…’ Varma shrugged.

  ‘You don’t believe it, do you?’

  ‘That thousands of Indians would be willing to side with the Nazis if it meant the overthrow of British dominion over India? Absolutely. That Hitler would ever honour such a promise? Of that I am more sceptical. Nagarkar believed it, though. We had an argument about it only the other day. So as soon as he said he was going to scout ahead with Zulkifli, I was suspicious. That was why I followed him.’

  ‘Too late for poor bloody Zulkifli, though.’

  ‘The thought had occurred to me.’ Varma’s voice carried an undercurrent of anger that boded ill for Nagarkar if the two of them ever ran into one another again.

  They made their way back to where Gibson was on watch. ‘Fall in, Hoot,’ said Torrance. ‘Fetch Smiler. Varma, fetch Bluey and Lefty.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Gibson.

  ‘We’re moving out.’

  ‘Are we no’ waitin’ for Nagarkar to come back?’

  ‘No, Hoot, we’re not. Go and fetch Smiler: he’s on the left flank, fifty yards that way.’

  The remaining men of Pigforce assembled in the clearing where Torrance had left Cochrane and Shapiro. ‘Nagarkar’s gone over to the Japs,’ Torrance told the sergeant.

  Cochrane blanched. ‘Are ye sure?’

  ‘We’re sure,’ said Varma.

  ‘We’ve got to move out,’ said Torrance.

  ‘Should we no’ wait till Nagarkar comes back, hear him out?’

  ‘No, Corky, we should not wait for Nagarkar to come back. When he comes back, he’s coming with a platoon of Japs and they will be ready to shoot on sight. He’s gone over to them, he’s going to betray us, and that means you’re in charge and you’ve got to lead us out of here.’

  ‘Lead you where?’

  ‘I dunno. You’re in command now, that’s for you to decide.’

  ‘Ah… er… uh…’

  ‘Bloody hell, Corky! It’s not complicated. Either we press on with our mission to rescue the sultan, in which case we proceed to Istana Mimpi but by a more roundabout way than the one Nagarkar and Zulkifli took; or we turn back now and head back to Singapore Town.’

  ‘Where is Zulkifli?’ asked Rossi.

  ‘He’s dead,’ said Varma. ‘Nagarkar murdered him.’

  ‘What? Are ye sure?’

  ‘Yes, we’re sure,’ said Torrance. ‘Look, Nagarkar has murdered Zulkifli, he’s gone looking for some Japs to surrender to and the moment he finds them, he’s gonna lead them straight back here. I suggest that when they arrive, we be somewhere else. Corky, you need to ma
ke your mind up whether that somewhere else is Istana Mimpi or somewhere on the other side of the Kranji Creek.’

  ‘What should I do, Varma?’ For some reason, Cochrane turned to the sapper. ‘I don’t know what to do!’

  ‘It’s only two more miles to Istana Mimpi,’ said Varma. ‘You’ve come this far. And this Colonel Hamilton you mentioned must’ve thought it was important to keep the sultan out of Japanese hands if he sent you all to rescue him. You’re in command now, Sergeant, so it’s up to you, but if I were you I would push on for Istana Mimpi and try to complete your mission.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cochrane. ‘Complete the mission. We’ll do that. Which way is it? Who’s got the map?’

  Taking a map of western Singapore from Piggott’s map case, Torrance unfolded it and spread it on the ground, and the others crowded around to see it. ‘We’re here.’ Torrance indicated a spot on the map. ‘And Istana Mimpi’s there. We’ve got to get from here to there. There’s a good chance we’ll run into Nagarkar coming back with a platoon of Japs if we take the direct route, but if we head south as far as this stream here, then follow it east, we should strike this road at this bridge here, then we can follow the road north to Istana Mimpi.’

  ‘Reet,’ said Cochrane. ‘Good. Er… uh…’

  ‘Lefty, you lead off,’ ordered Torrance. ‘Bluey, you’re getaway man. Do you have getaway men in the Aussie infantry?’

  Quinn nodded. ‘If you fellers walk into an ambush, my job is to scarper back to Colonel Hamilton and tell him the mission’s come a gutzer.’

  ‘The rest of us at five-yard intervals,’ said Torrance. ‘No talking. Right, let’s go, jildi! At the double!’ He chivvied them out of the date palms and swamp ferns and they set off along a lane through the rubber trees at an angle to the one Nagarkar and Zulkifli had followed.

  They had been marching for about five minutes when Varma fell into step beside Torrance. ‘This your idea of a five-yard interval?’ he asked the sapper.

  Varma nodded to where Cochrane marched beyond Shapiro. ‘How long has the sergeant… well, been a sergeant?’

  Torrance grimaced. ‘Corky was a good man once. He’s been pushed too hard for too long, that’s all. We all have.’