Torrance- Escape From Singapore

by Onbekend

  ‘And what were you doing from a month ago until Sunday?’

  ‘Liaison between Colombo, Seletar and Combined Ops at Sime Road. Satisfied?’

  ‘It’s plausible,’ Torrance said grudgingly.

  ‘Oh, you turned out just fine, didn’t you? How long have you been suffering from these feelings of paranoia?’

  ‘A little over two months now. I suddenly got it into my head there’s a whole country full of people I’ve never met who are trying to bump me off.’

  Torrance tore Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday off the calendar.

  Friday the Thirteenth.

  Something told him today was going to be a long day.

  * * *

  ‘You’re sure it’s the same one?’ asked Yashiro.

  Standing on the jetty, Sergeant Shimura gazed to where the wheelhouse of the fishing boat stolen from Lubang Kotoran projected above the dark waters. ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘So we know they got this far. The question is, where did they go from here?’

  Flanked by Corporal Toriyama and a couple of privates, Yashiro and Shimura began walking back along the jungle trail leading to Woodlands Road. It was just after dawn, not that anyone could tell beneath the ever-thickening pall of smoke from the burning petrol tanks.

  ‘The pipeline,’ said Shimura. ‘At least some of them are Scottish Highlanders, and we know that the Scottish Highlanders our Imperials Guards fought with near here on Tuesday night escaped past the Dairy Farm by following the pipeline.’

  Yashiro smiled. ‘You’re just guessing, Sergeant. But I have a way to be certain.’

  They emerged from the end of the trail just as another squadron of Chi-Ha tanks – larger than the Ha-Go tankettes already floated across the strait on rafts – rumbled up Woodlands Road towards Bukit Timah. The engineers had finally finished repairing the Causeway in the small hours of the morning, and now more troops and transport were pouring onto the island. The lorry Shimura and his men had commandeered to get here – an antiquated 1½-ton Dennis with rust patches showing through the fading red paint peeling off the cab, and little more than spit and good intentions holding the chassis together – was parked on the grass verge between the road and the railway line. Even as Yashiro and Shimura emerged from the trees, an Austin 10 utility vehicle with Japanese flags on the bonnet, which had been following behind the tanks, pulled off the road and parked behind the Dennis. The driver got out, marched across to stand in front of Shimura, and saluted. He wore the collar insignia of a sergeant major.

  ‘I am looking for Captain Yashiro?’

  Shimura indicated Yashiro.

  The sergeant major saluted the captain. ‘Forgive me, sir. Without your rank insignia—’

  Yashiro made a dismissive gesture. ‘You must be Sergeant Major Chosokabe?’

  The sergeant major bowed, and gestured for Yashiro to follow him around to the back of the Austin. The utility vehicle had a canvas tilt over the load space at the back, and Chosokabe pulled it back to reveal two dogs – like small wolves – in a cage. The dogs pranced as much as they could in the close confines of the cage, eager for exercise.

  ‘Dogs?’ asked Shimura.

  ‘Hunting dogs, from the island of Shikoku,’ explained Yashiro.

  ‘You had them brought here specially?’ asked Shimura. ‘But how could you have known…?’

  Yashiro shook his head. ‘U-Kikan had them brought to Kuala Lumpur a few weeks ago to track down some British stragglers who disappeared into the jungles with an important document. The soldiers were already captured by the time the dogs arrived, however. Rather than fly them all the way back to Japan, it was decided to keep them here. They will come in useful tracking down any prisoners who attempt to escape from our camps.’

  ‘You’ll need something to give them a scent, Yashiro-sama,’ said Chosokabe. ‘Something that belonged to one of the men we are tracking.’

  Yashiro pulled a slipper from his pocket.

  ‘One of the sultan’s?’ asked Shimura.

  Yashiro nodded. ‘I took it from Istana Mimpi.’

  Chosokabe put leashes on the two dogs and got them out of the back of the truck. He gave them both a whiff of the slipper, then led them to where the path emerged from the trees and let them have a good sniff around. It did not take them long to pick up the scent. They strained at the leash, and would have dashed across the road in their eagerness to follow it, heedless of another squadron of Chi-Ha tanks that rumbled around the corner, if Chosokabe had not kept a tight grip on their leashes.

  ‘Get the rest of the men out of the lorry,’ Shimura told Toriyama.

  The corporal saluted and moved to the back of the truck. ‘All right, lads, let’s go.’

  The men clambered out of the back of the truck, and as soon as the last of the tanks had rumbled up the road towards Bukit Timah, Shimura and his men followed Chosokabe and his dogs up the side road to the wireless station.

  Fifteen

  Friday 1200 – 2105

  ‘Ye realise, of course, one of us will have to stay behind?’ asked Gibson. ‘There’s ten of us, and the assault boat only carries nine.’

  Torrance had been thinking about little else for the past few hours. During that time, they had crept out of the wireless station, cutting their way through the chain-link fence on the southern perimeter, crossed the plantation beyond as far as the Mandai Road, marched parallel to the pipeline and then angled off to cut through the jungle east of the Dairy Farm. ‘We can make two trips,’ he told Gibson. ‘When the rest of us reach the south shore, two take the boat back to pick up the last man.’

  ‘I volunteer to be the one left behind,’ the sultan said promptly.

  ‘Thanks, but no thanks. Three men have already died rescuing you; if you get captured by the Japs while we’re paddling back and forth across the reservoir, they’ll have died in vain. I’ll stay behind; you lot can decide if any two of you are willing to come back for me while the others take the sultan the rest of the way into town.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Varma. ‘You’re in command of this unit. It’s your job to get the rest of your men back to town.’

  They drew straws. Quinn lost. He chuckled ruefully. ‘Okay. Just let me have the Bren and plenty of ammo.’

  Varma returned one of the matches to the box, and cut a second short one. ‘This is to see who goes back for him.’ He held the remaining matches out to Rossi, Shapiro, Cochrane and Gibson. Shapiro picked first, and scowled when he did not get a short straw.

  ‘Ye want to stay behind?’ asked Gibson.

  ‘Bluey’s my cobber. I ain’t leaving him behind for the Japs.’

  Rossi picked next: another long one. He looked relieved.

  Then it was Gibson’s turn. The colour drained from his face when he saw he had picked a short one.

  ‘Swap you my long one for your short one,’ said Shapiro.

  ‘Is that allowed?’ asked Gibson.

  Varma shrugged. ‘It would seem foolish to send someone who is unwilling when there is someone willing.’ There were only two matches left now, and one of them was a short one. He proffered them to Cochrane. The sergeant picked one. His face betrayed no emotion when he saw it was long.

  ‘All right, then,’ said Varma. ‘Quinn stays on the north shore, Shapiro and I go back for him while the rest of you take the sultan, Miss Polyakova and Third Officer Killigrew into Singapore.’

  A dog barked somewhere behind them. The sound sent a shudder down Torrance’s spine.

  ‘Ye don’t think…’ wondered Rossi.

  ‘What?’ asked Varma. ‘That the Japanese are using tracker dogs to find us?’

  ‘That’s no’ a tracker dog,’ said Gibson.

  ‘How would you know?’ asked Torrance.

  ‘Tracker dogs don’t bark when they’ve got a scent. It would frighten off their quarry.’

  Quinn brightened at that. ‘Hey, he’s got a point there.’

  The dogs bayed again, closer now. ‘Anyone who w
ants to stay here and ask the Japanese whether or not their hunting dogs bark when they’ve got a scent is welcome to do so,’ said Torrance. ‘I’m for getting the fuck out of here.’

  He set off through the trees again, at the double. After he had gone a few dozen yards, he glanced over his shoulder just to make sure no one had taken his offer to let them stay behind literally. They were all still with him: Gibson might claim that tracker dogs did not bark while on the scent, but evidently he lacked the courage of his convictions.

  Fronds of sago bushes and swamp ferns lashed them as they scrambled up a slope beneath soaring seraya trees festooned with lianas. As they crested the brow of a ridge, Torrance heard the distant crackle of sporadic small-arms fire from somewhere up ahead. Through the trees below, he could see the waters of the reservoir. The shooting was coming from somewhere on the far side.

  Letting Rossi take the lead, he let the others go past and glanced back down the slope they had just ascended. He saw a Japanese soldier practically being dragged along by a couple of dogs that looked like small wolves, while Yashiro – unmistakable in his leather jacket – and a squad of soldiers followed behind.

  As they started up the slope, Yashiro glanced up and saw Torrance standing above them. Reaching inside his leather jacket, he pulled out a pistol and aimed it. The bullet whined past Torrance’s head a second before he heard the crack of the pistol’s report. Unslinging his Thompson, he braced the butt to his shoulder and fired it at the Japanese crowded on the trail below. They scattered, taking cover amongst the trees and bushes, leaving one of their number sprawled on his back, clutching at a wounded shoulder. The dogs did not know to hide and the man holding their leashes struggled to get them out of sight. Torrance was tempted to shoot them but he did not approve of cruelty to dumb animals and besides, the damage was done: the dogs had enabled Yashiro to pick up their trail. Killing them now would serve no purpose.

  Another bullet whined past Torrance’s head, followed by the crack of an Arisaka. He did not tarry to try to spot who had fired at him, but after firing a burst at some bushes where he suspected at least three of the Japanese had taken cover, he turned and hurried down the slope on the other side of the ridge.

  He caught up with the others as they burst out of the trees onto the shore of the reservoir. He could make out the golf course on the far side, soldiers in domed steel helmets making a bayonet charge across one of the fairways only to be cut down by a hail of fire: Torrance saw muzzle flashes in the shadows under some trees. A puff of white smoke on a putting green denoted a mortar round bursting. No wonder Hamilton had ordered them to head for a point a mile to the east of where they had launched the collapsible assault boat the night before last: they would have been heading into a battle otherwise.

  They followed the shore, running around a headland at the foot of the hill. The inlet where they had come ashore the night before last opened up before them. Dragging the assault boat out of the undergrowth, they unfolded the sides and fixed the struts that held up the gunwales.

  ‘Better let me have that Bren now,’ Quinn told Shapiro.

  ‘With the Japanese so close behind us, you know there’s no sense any of us coming back for you now?’ asked Varma.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Quinn. ‘We drew straws…’

  As Shapiro held the Bren out to his cobber, Cochrane snatched it from him.

  ‘What are you doing?’ demanded Quinn.

  ‘I’m staying behind.’

  ‘Don’t be a bloody drongo, this is no time for a heroic last stand.’

  ‘This is exactly the time for a heroic last stand. I let ye all down on this mission. Mebbe this way I can make up for it.’

  ‘Hey, don’t argue with him.’ Torrance knelt at the water’s edge with his hands on the transom, holding the boat in place for the others to board. ‘Someone’s gotta stay behind, it might as well be him. Lefty, you get in the front end. Bluey and the Prof behind him, take a paddle each.’

  ‘Who’s “the Prof”?’ asked Varma.

  Grinning, Quinn handed him a paddle. ‘I think he means ye!’

  ‘Miss Polyakova and the sultan,’ continued Torrance. ‘Then Hoot and Solly – take a paddle each – and you in the back with me, ma’am.’

  ‘It’s called “the stern”,’ said Kitty.

  ‘If you say so, Admiral!’ Torrance climbed in after her. ‘If anyone has any Bren magazines left, throw ’em to Corky!’

  They came up with about three more magazines between them and tossed them to Cochrane, who picked them up and stuffed them in his pockets, before taking cover amongst the foliage on the left-hand bank of the inlet. Varma, Quinn, Gibson and Shapiro started paddling the boat down the inlet. Torrance half expected that Quinn would have to show Varma how to use the paddle the way Piggott had taught them, but the sapper seemed to know exactly how to ply it. Of course he does, Torrance thought sourly. He knows everything else, why wouldn’t he know how to use a paddle?

  They had almost emerged into the main body of the reservoir when Yashiro and his men came around the headland at a run. Torrance had been waiting for them to appear and fired a burst from his Thompson that sent them diving for cover in the undergrowth. A couple of rifles cracked, the shots whining over their heads, but then Yashiro shouted an order in Japanese and the shooting stopped.

  ‘They’re afraid of hitting the sultan and me,’ said Kitty.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ asked Torrance.

  ‘Yashiro just shouted: “Cease firing! You might hit the sultan or the woman.”’

  ‘You speak Japanese?’

  She nodded. ‘My father was the Tokyo correspondent for the Manchester Guardian: when I was a little girl I lived out there for three years.’

  ‘You think you’ve escaped?’ Yashiro’s voice called after them in English. ‘In a few hours, all of Singapore will be in our hands. See you soon!’

  Cochrane’s Bren fired across the inlet, tearing through the foliage and, it was to be hoped, at least some of the Japanese who had gone to ground there. When some of the soldiers returned his fire, Yashiro did not remonstrate with them. Torrance fired a few bursts from the Thompson over the boat’s transom to give the sergeant a little support, but his magazine was soon empty, and it was his last one. Not long after that, Cochrane’s Bren also fell silent.

  The boat was in the middle of the reservoir. Now the only sound of firing came from the south shore, where the Japanese attack against the British positions on the golf course still raged. ‘Prof, Hoot, stop paddling,’ ordered Torrance. ‘We’ve got to bring the nose around, head towards the eastern end of the reservoir.’

  ‘It’s called “the prow”,’ said Kitty.

  Torrance was about to suggest – albeit sarcastically – that as the senior naval officer present, she might like to take command, when Gibson stopped paddling and slumped forward. His paddle slipped from his fingers. Torrance dropped the Thompson in the bottom of the boat and managed to snatch the paddle out of the water before they had to turn back for it. He was about to remonstrate with the lance corporal for being so clumsy when he saw a carmine stain spreading across his shirt under the left armpit. ‘Hoot’s hit!’ he told the others, starting to paddle. ‘If you want to make yourself useful, ma’am, perhaps you could patch him up.’

  Shapiro produced a field dressing and Kitty tore it open. Betraying no distress at the sight of so much blood, she seemed to know exactly what to do, emptying the phial of iodine into the wound, slapping the gauze over it and expertly bandaging it in place.

  ‘Hold on, Hoot!’ said Torrance. ‘We’ll be back behind our lines in a few minutes. They’ll have a lorry waiting to take the sultan to the docks, we’ll drop you off at a hospital on the way.’

  Up ahead, they saw a figure in a white suit and a panama hat standing on a little concrete pier with iron railings jutting out from the trees on the south shore of the reservoir. They paddled around the far end of the pier to find a grassy embankment, and a couple of so
ldiers in Brodie helmets appeared, holding the boat steady while they stepped ashore.

  Hamilton sauntered across from the end of the pier. ‘Third Officer Killigrew!’ he exclaimed. ‘My dear girl, thank heavens your safe! And you’ve brought Mr al-Jawziyya with you. Good show, good show!’

  Kitty cut short his congratulations. ‘We’ve a wounded man, sir. He needs to be taken to hospital.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Waving his malacca cane over his head, Hamilton signalled for a three-ton Bedford parked under the trees to approach. Torrance recognised ‘Blanco’ White at the wheel. When White had parked by the shore of the reservoir, Torrance lowered the tailgate, then he and Rossi climbed aboard, pulling Gibson up after them as Quinn and Shapiro lifted the wounded lance corporal up to them. Once they had made Gibson as comfortable as they could on the floor of the lorry, Kitty helped Irina and the sultan up into the back, before permitting Varma to help her up in turn. Varma was about to climb up after her when Hamilton laid a hand on his arm, holding him back.

  ‘I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.’

  ‘Varma, sahib. Sapper Jairam Bandhu Varma, Twenty-Third Field Company, Royal Bombay Sappers and Miners.’

  ‘Varma, d’you say? I say, aren’t you the chap who was court-martialled for that debacle near Ipoh last month?’

  Varma coloured. ‘Yes, sahib.’

  ‘We’d none of us have made it if it hadn’t been for him,’ said Quinn.

  ‘Is that so?’ said Hamilton. ‘Then we shall have to see what we can do about getting your commission reinstated. But since there isn’t room for all of us to ride in the back of this lorry, perhaps you’d be good enough to ride in the cab with Private White?’

  ‘I suppose I should be grateful,’ Varma said ruefully. ‘If this was a bus in the United States, you’d be ordering me to ride at the back.’