Torrance- Escape From Singapore

by Onbekend

  His wolfish smile only grew broader. ‘Go ahead and shoot, you fool! Do you not know that death on field of battle is the ultimate way for a Japanese to merge spiritually with the emperor? That is why your empire is doomed. A Japanese who dies for his emperor never truly dies. You will only make our cause stronger. Are you willing to shoulder the responsibility for—’

  ‘Cobblers,’ Torrance interrupted him, and squeezed the trigger. Forgetting his training, he fired a long burst, twenty bullets or so slamming into Yashiro’s chest, his blue eyes registering astonishment before he toppled back to sprawl unmoving on the flagstones.

  Torrance turned the Thompson to where Shimura was still trying to choke Kitty. He dared not fire for fear of hitting her. ‘Let her go!’ he ordered.

  The Japanese seemed to obey, taking his arm from her throat and staggering back. Torrance noticed the front of Shimura’s shirt was slick with blood. He glanced down at his Thompson. He did not remember firing it at the sergeant. Shimura staggered back until he bumped against one of the stone lions, then slumped to the ground, his head lolling, eyes glazed, blood and spittle dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Did I do that?’ asked Torrance.

  ‘No.’ Kitty turned and he saw she had Shimura’s bayonet in her bound hands, the sixteen-inch blade ruddy with the sergeant’s blood. ‘Cut my bonds.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Slinging his Thompson from one shoulder, Torrance took the bayonet from her and sawed through the rope binding her wrists.

  She untied what was left and rubbed chafed wrists. ‘Is Alex—?’

  ‘He’s fine. At least, he was a few minutes ago.’

  Footsteps sounded on the steps leading up to the temple. Torrance threw away the bayonet and unslung his Thompson, swinging the muzzle to meet this new threat, but it was only Rossi, one half of his face covered in blood that might not have been his own, gripping a Nambu light machine gun in both hands.

  ‘Thanks for leaving me to tackle a machine-gun nest single-handed.’

  ‘I knew you had the situation under control.’ Torrance turned to Kitty. ‘Is that the first time you killed someone?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’ she responded evasively.

  ‘It’s okay if you want to spew. The first time I bumped someone… Lefty here spewed his guts up.’

  ‘How many times do I have to tell ye?’ protested Rossi. ‘It was that goat’s meat I ate, my stomach had been churning all day.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Kitty assured Torrance. ‘I don’t need to spew.’

  The three of them were halfway down the steps to the jetty when they met the two Australians running up to meet them. ‘You blokes okay?’ asked Quinn. ‘Solly and me were on our way to see if you needed a hand.’

  ‘Widnae have said no about five minutes ago,’ said Rossi.

  When they reached the jetty they found the sampan had sunk in the shallows alongside it. Varma stood guard over half a dozen prisoners, all of them wounded, four badly, the two who were not hurt so badly tending to the injuries of their comrades with the help of the Taoist priest.

  A Japanese corporal who was not too badly wounded stood to attention and saluted when Torrance approached. ‘You surrender,’ he said slowly in thickly accented English.

  ‘Not bloody likely, chum.’

  The Japanese grimaced, shaking his head. ‘General Percival surrender. Ceasefire at eight-thirty. You my prisoners!’

  Torrance checked his watch. ‘Not for another ten minutes.’

  ‘Then give me a knife.’

  ‘What, so you can commit hara-kiri?’

  ‘If I do not atone for my failure, I will bring great dishonour on ancestors!’

  Torrance shook his head. ‘Listen, mate, if you want to top yourself, you go right ahead. But don’t expect any help from me.’

  ‘We’re going to win this war in the end,’ Varma told the corporal. ‘Oh, you may have won today. But it’s only by failing we learn how to succeed. If every Japanese is expected to kill himself if he fails, then no one in Japan will ever learn anything.’

  ‘Hear that?’ asked Torrance. ‘Sounds to me as if you should say “bollocks” to your ancestors.’ He glanced at Kitty. She was looking at Varma. Torrance looked at him, too. Stripped to the waist, most Indians had a physique George Formby would not have envied. Seeing Varma through Kitty’s eyes, he noticed the Indian looked more like a mahogany Errol Flynn. ‘Put your bloody shirt back on,’ Torrance told him. ‘This isn’t Bombay lido.’

  Shapiro gazed down to where the sampan’s awning still showed above the water. ‘Well, we’re not going anywhere on that.’

  ‘So what?’ asked Quinn. ‘We’ll take the lambo.’

  ‘What about these poor devils?’ Hamilton indicated the Japanese. ‘We can’t very leave them stranded to starve. I mean, I know they’re Japs and all that, but even so…’

  ‘I left Irina’s wireless up at the temple,’ said Kitty. ‘Once we’ve gone, they can radio for help.’

  ‘Supposing they whistle up a squadron of Jap torpedo bombers to chase us down?’ asked Shapiro.

  ‘We’ve got eight or nine hours until dawn. That should be more than enough time for us to reach the coast of Sumatra. No shortage of creeks and inlets there where we can hole up, camouflage the lambo and lie low until nightfall. Besides, I’ve an idea that any squadrons of Japanese torpedo bombers hereabouts will have bigger fish to fry over the next few days.’

  Hamilton, Kitty, Torrance, Varma, Rossi and the two Australians boarded the Mahsuri. ‘Coming, Alex?’ Kitty asked the sultan.

  He shook his head. ‘I’m staying.’

  ‘Are you crazy?’

  ‘I was crazy ever to contemplate leaving. All my life I’ve had pretentions about being a leader of my people, but it’s easy to be a leader when all is well. The true test of leadership comes in difficult times, and I fear Malaya has never known such hard times as the ones that lie ahead.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ protested Torrance. ‘Do you know how many good blokes have died over the past week to help you get out of Singapore? If you think I’m gonna let you change your mind about leaving now…’ He turned to Hamilton. ‘Want me to grab him, sir?’

  The colonel shook his head. ‘It must be his own choice.’ He gazed sadly across at the sultan. ‘That’s the difference between us and the Japs, Your Majesty. We give you the choice.’

  ‘And the difference between you and us Malays, Colonel, is that you can leave if you want. But Malaya is my homeland.’

  ‘You’ll find it difficult, living in an occupied country. Are you quite sure you wouldn’t rather come with us?’

  The sultan smiled. ‘Thank you, Colonel, but I have some experience of living in an occupied country. I hope to see you again, after the war. When Malaya is free, you will always be welcome to return there. Provided you come as a private citizen, that is.’

  * * *

  After months of bombing, weeks of artillery bombardment and days of small-arms fire, a sudden silence had fallen over the island of Singapore. In the cells of an abandoned police station the Japanese were using as a prisoner-of-war holding cage, Jemadar Nagarkar stood on a bench so he could see out of the high, barred window. There was little to see outside except the flood from a busted water main rushing down a storm drain. He glanced at his watch and, jumping down to the floor once more, turned to one of the other two dozen prisoners, a havildar of the Royal Garhwal Rifles. All the prisoners in the cell were Indians: for some reason the Japanese were keeping their Indian prisoners segregated from the British and Australian ones.

  ‘It’s nearly half past eight,’ said Nagarkar.

  The havildar nodded but said nothing. He looked sick, and his dark skin had taken on a greyish pallor.

  ‘They’ve done it! They’ve actually defeated the British Empire.’

  ‘Why should you be surprised?’ asked the havildar. ‘They are not the first. The Irish – Britain’s oldest colony – got the better of the British.’


  ‘Perhaps it will be India’s turn next.’

  ‘Perhaps. But if the Japanese think the British will take this lying down, they will find they are very much mistaken.’

  ‘Let the British snarl. Their empire is a busted flush, exposed for the paper tiger it always was.’

  ‘Do not underestimate the might of the British Empire, sahib. For whoever takes on the British must also defeat the Australians, the New Zealanders, the Canadians, the South Africans…’

  ‘And the Indians!’ said another prisoner.

  ‘For nearly two hundred years the white sahibs have treated us no better than Dalits! And still you would serve them?’

  ‘You are a fool of a Hindu if you think we will get a better deal from the Japanese than we have had from the white sahibs!’

  ‘Who do you call a fool, you Mohammedan dog?’

  The two sepoys started exchanging punches, until Nagarkar and the havildar pulled them apart. ‘You are both fools,’ said Nagarkar. ‘Do you not see, it is only by keeping Indians divided the white sahibs have been able to rule over us for so long? By fighting amongst ourselves, we make slaves of ourselves…’

  ‘Well said!’

  Nagarkar turned. The speaker was a tall, bearded man dressed in a civilian suit, a Sikh by his turban, who had appeared on the other side of the bars separating the cell from the corridor leading to the stairs. ‘The jemadar speaks wisely,’ said the newcomer. ‘If Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims could only put aside our petty differences, we could have a glorious future ahead of us, long after Britain has become a forgotten and insignificant island somewhere off the coast of Europe. We have only to band together, reach out for it and take it for ourselves! What is your name, jemadar?’

  ‘I am Dipak Mangalam Nagarkar.’

  The newcomer reached through the bars to clasp him by the hand. ‘I am honoured to meet you, Dipak Mangalam Nagarkar. My name is Mohan Singh.’

  ‘Are you a prisoner like us?’ asked Nagarkar. ‘Why are you not in uniform?’

  ‘I was a prisoner, but when Major Fujiwara of F-Kikan released me, I put off the uniform of our hated oppressors. Soon I will wear a new uniform: the uniform of the Free India Army.’

  ‘What is this Free India Army?’ asked another prisoner. ‘I have never heard of it.’

  ‘You will soon, my friend. Already thousands of Indian prisoners, forced by poverty to fight for the white sahibs, are flocking to enlist. Soon the whole world will learn of the deeds of the Free India Army! Who amongst you will join?’

  ‘The Japanese will let us fight alongside them, as equals?’ asked Nagarkar.

  ‘I swear it, as one Indian to another.’

  ‘Then I will gladly join your Free India Army!’

  In the street outside, a scrap of a moth-eaten Union Flag, bullet-riddled and tattered, was swept along the gutter by the flood, until it was swirled into a monsoon drain.

  * * *

  As the Mahsuri chugged west through the night, Torrance entered the deckhouse to find Kitty at the helm, Hamilton standing beside her. In the shadows at the back, Rossi was fiddling with the dials of the wireless set and had the headphones over his ears.

  ‘… Feels like running away with our tails between our legs,’ Kitty was saying.

  ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ said Hamilton. ‘But old England will pull through, never you fear. She always does.’

  ‘Until the day she doesn’t.’

  ‘Perhaps. But I don’t think that day’s come just yet. And anyone who’s studied British military history knows that in the big, really important wars, we always come from behind.’

  ‘We do?’

  ‘Oh, yes. The Seven Years War, the Napoleonic Wars, the Crimea, the South African War, the First World War… we always charge headlong into these things full of overconfidence about our own innate superiority, make complete asses of ourselves, get a severe thrashing, realise it’s not going to be as easy as all that, then roll up our sleeves and tackle things more seriously. Singapore was our severe thrashing, now it’s time to roll up our sleeves. Isn’t that so, Corporal?’

  ‘I dunno, sir. I’ve never studied history.’

  ‘You should, Corporal, you most certainly should. I forget the name of the chap who said “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it”, but by golly he was right.’

  ‘Listen, I didn’t see the point of saying anything at the time, ma’am, but you do realise you told the Japs exactly where we’re headed?’ said Torrance.

  ‘No, I didn’t, I told them we’re headed for Sumatra,’ said Kitty. ‘As soon as I’m sure we’re out of sight of those fellows we left behind on Pulau Berdayung, we’ll put the helm over and head for the Riau Islands on the first leg of our journey to Java.’

  ‘Unless Baron Uchida second-guesses you,’ said Hamilton.

  ‘No, he’ll assume it’s a double bluff, because that’s what he’d do,’ said Kitty.

  ‘Who’s Baron Uchida?’ asked Torrance.

  ‘Long-time sparring partner of mine,’ said Hamilton. ‘Nothing for you to worry about.’

  ‘If you say so, sir.’

  ‘What’s your position, over?’ Rossi said suddenly. Evidently he had got the wireless working. He scrawled some co-ordinates on a notepad, then tore off the top page and handed it to Kitty. ‘An SOS frae a vessel that’s been attacked by Japanese bombers. They’re abandoning ship.’

  ‘That’s their hard cheddar,’ said Torrance. ‘We’ll have our work cut out for us getting to Batavia as it is, without stopping to pick up shipwrecked sailors.’

  ‘The law of the sea requires us to offer whatever help we can, provided we don’t endanger our own vessel,’ said Kitty. ‘Would you take the helm, sir?’

  Hamilton took the wheel. ‘If I can handle the control column of an F.E.8 in a dogfight, I should think I can manage the helm of a motorised lambo.’

  Sitting down at the chart table, Kitty checked the latitude and longitude Rossi had handed her, before measuring the distance from where they were to the position of the sinking ship with a pair of dividers. ‘Sixty nautical miles south of here.’

  ‘As the seagull flies.’ Torrance indicated the Riau Archipelago on the chart. ‘Nearer ninety miles, I reckon, once we’ve navigated our way around that lot. There’ll all be drowned by the time we get there.’

  ‘Actually, the wireless operator I spoke to said they saw an island just before sunset,’ said Rossi. ‘If they can launch their lifeboats they’re going to make for those.’

  Kitty peered at the map. ‘He must mean Pulau Tiada. It doesn’t look as though there are any settlements there.’ She looked up at Torrance. ‘It’s on our way, and we’ve plenty of room on board. We could easily pick up survivors and take them to Batavia. If we don’t, they’ll probably starve to death. Maybe even die of thirst, if there are no natural springs on the island.’

  ‘No,’ Torrance said firmly.

  ‘What do you say, sir?’ Kitty asked Hamilton.

  ‘Never mind what he says,’ said Torrance. ‘He’s not a combatant officer. I’m in command here, and I say someone else can pick them up. We’ve got our own problems.’

  ‘Ye didnae ask the name of the ship,’ said Rossi.

  ‘Listen, mate, I don’t care if it’s the sodding Queen Mary—’

  ‘It’s the Queen of the Orient.’

  Torrance stared at him. ‘Fuck!’

  ‘The ship Colonel Hamilton was going to put the sultan on?’ asked Kitty.

  ‘The ship his bint sailed on,’ explained Rossi.

  ‘She’s not my bint!’ said Torrance. ‘She sailed with her husband, remember?’

  ‘Even so,’ said Kitty. ‘If you have any feelings for this woman, surely you can’t leave her stranded on a desert island?’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Torrance clenched his fists. ‘You’re sure it’s on our way?’

  She nodded. ‘At this speed we should reach Moro Island before sunrise. We’ll camouflage the decks so we don’t
catch the eye of any Japanese spotter planes, lie up till sunset, and resume our journey south-east tomorrow night. We should reach Pulau Tiada before dawn on Tuesday.’

  ‘Chances are some other ship will have picked up any survivors by the time we get there,’ said Rossi.

  ‘All right, all right!’ Torrance knew when he was beaten. ‘No harm in taking a dekko, I suppose.’ Finding a box of platters next to the gramophone, he riffled through them until he found one that made him smile. He put it on the turntable, wound it up and placed the needle in the groove. As he emerged from the deckhouse, the sound of Teddy Wilson and his Orchestra followed him out.

  Emerging from the deckhouse, he found Varma leaning against the taffrail, gazing to where the glow from the fires on Bukum faded astern. ‘Prof,’ he acknowledged him with a nod.

  ‘Corporal.’ Varma took out a cigarette case of polished tin, selected a cigarette and put it between his lips and then, as an afterthought, proffered the case to Torrance.

  ‘Ta.’ Torrance allowed Varma to light his cigarette with a tin-plated Zippo.

  On the gramophone, with the intro done, Billie Holiday joined in, singing ‘Nice Work If You Can Get It’.

  ‘You know, you done all right tonight, Prof,’ Torrance told Varma.

  ‘For an Indian, you mean?’

  ‘Better that most white blokes would’ve managed, I reckon.’

  ‘That’s high praise indeed coming frae a feller who thinks all Indians are intrinsically inferior to white men,’ said Rossi, emerging from the deckhouse. ‘Aye, well, it’s good to hear ye can overcome these irrational prejudices of yours.’ He turned to Varma. ‘I’ll say it even if Slugger won’t: we couldnae have done it without ye.’

  ‘Thank you. One does one’s best.’

  Quinn emerged on deck. ‘Where’s Solly?’ Rossi asked him.

  ‘Nursing the engine,’ said the Australian.

  ‘Does he know what to do?’

  ‘Yeah. If it starts vibrating, rattling, clanking, smoking, or packs in altogether, he’s to come and get me.’ Before anyone could offer him a cigarette, he took a hand-rolled dog-end from behind one ear and relit it with a match, before gazing off to where the glow on the underside of the clouds off the starboard beam indicated the direction of Singapore. ‘We left a lot of good blokes behind,’ he remarked to no one in particular.