Pride and the Anguish (34 page)

A seaplane droned slowly overhead, and together they stared up at it between the criss-cross of netting and palm fronds. It was strange how safe the camouflage made them feel, how remote from that symbol of ruthless power. The plane dipped over the island and the sound of the engine was lost in the murmur of surf.

Trewin said, “Go round the ship. Try and keep the men cheerful. I still don't believe they realise what is expected of them.”

He watched Hammond climb down to the deck. There was little left of the young, impressionable officer Trewin had met when he had saluted the gunboat's quarterdeck for the first time.

When he turned again he saw that Corbett was asleep, his head resting on one outflung arm across the closed voice-pipes. In sleep his severe features looked relaxed and almost youthful, and Trewin felt vaguely like an intruder.

Apart from the look-outs, most of the ship's company had followed the captain's example, and Trewin wished that he too could find a temporary escape in empty dreams.

During the dog watches the camouflage was removed, and with little fuss the ship weighed and headed away from the quiet bay. Darkness was still a few hours ahead, and by the time the first purple shadows had reached the islands the
Porcupine
was heading south at full speed towards the Berhala Strait and the first challenge of open sea.

T
HE FIRST PART
of the journey went better than anyone really expected. Once clear of the shallows, but keeping within a few miles of the larger islands, the
Porcupine
lost no time in working
up to her maximum speed of fourteen knots. Not since her keel had cut through the cold Scottish waters on her first trials had she made such supreme effort to show what she could attain. Every plate and rivet shook and vibrated to the tune of her engines, and the steep waves pushed aside from the bows rolled away into the darkness on either beam in solid white furrows.

And the
Porcupine
's speed was now doubly important. Shortly after midnight the radio room had intercepted a brief but important signal. All resistance in Singapore had ceased. The entire British garrison was at the mercy of the conquerors.

Corbett had listened to the telegraphist's message and had replied slowly, “Now they will know we've sailed. The hunt is on.”

Trewin stood on the starboard wing of the bridge moving his glasses slowly back and forth in an effort to distinguish sea from sky. The hunt would indeed be on. The Japs would search every inlet and island amongst their newly acquired territories. No ship would be allowed to escape. No efforts would be spared.

A look-out's voice, sharp and urgent, broke into his thoughts. “Light, sir! Bearing green one one zero!”

Corbett's body moved swiftly across the bridge like a pale ghost. “Stop engines!”

As the power was cut from her whirling screws the gunboat seemed to sag heavily into her own wash, as if she had smashed her blunt bows into some solid object. Men cursed and staggered while they sought to train their glasses, and Trewin felt the steel sides of the bridge biting into his shoulder as the ship slewed awkwardly against the demands of her rudders.

He saw the light almost immediately. A few bright flashes, far out on the starboard quarter, followed at once by answering pinpricks even further away, maybe on the horizon itself.

Corbett said abruptly, “Slow ahead together. Port fifteen.” To Trewin he called, “Two ships. Probably patrols. We will have to move closer inshore.”

Minutes dragged by, and then the waiting look-outs saw another stammer of signal lamps. This time they were closer
together, and Trewin heard Mallory breathing heavily as he made a few quick calculations. Then he called, “They were on converging courses, sir. To cover that distance in six minutes they must be knocking up about twenty knots at least.” He sounded wary.

Corbett reseated himself before replying, “Hmm, destroyers, if I'm not mistaken.”

Trewin did not have to consult the chart to picture the two powerful warships sweeping up and down the wide curve of the Berhala Strait. Here it was no wider than the English Channel. But as one seaman had remarked earlier, there was no green and friendly Kent to offer hope and safety like there had been at Dunkirk.

Corbett said sharply, “Give me a course for the southernmost point of Singkep Island, Pilot.”

Trewin was still staring through his glasses, but the sea was black and empty once more. He listened to Mallory's pencil on the chart, half wondering if the Australian ever thought about Corbett's wife and what might lie ahead for both of them.

“One two zero, sir.”

“Very good. Bring her round now.” Corbett twisted in his chair and beckoned to Trewin. Then he said, “Singkep Island is the last one in the group. I had hoped to head straight out into the open sea for the Seven Islands and be there before dawn. But these enemy patrols make it too risky. Any fool could see our wash miles away. We must reduce speed for the rest of the night and lie inshore off Singkep until tomorrow.”

“That will mean losing a day, sir.”

“I know.” He removed his cap and ran his hand over his hair. “There's a lighthouse around the point. It's not in use, of course, but I do know that there is a reliable keeper in charge of it. I met him once. We might be able to find out from him what the Japs are doing.”

“Is it safe, sir?”

“No, of course it isn't!” Corbett sounded tense. “We don't
have any damn choice!”

Singkep Island was small, barely twenty miles across, but it was more than formidable. The coast was high and rocky, and in many places the cliffs fell away on to steep barriers of reefs. The chart showed the whole area to be littered with wrecks, mostly unfortunate traders caught in past storms which swept down from the South China Sea with neither warning nor mercy.

Trewin stood beside Corbett, listening to the echo sounder and watching the writhing barrier of tossing breakers which girdled the point with everlasting spray. At one moment the ship seemed to be entirely surrounded by white-dashed rocks, and he tried to stop himself from holding his breath and waiting for that final impact.

But the
Porcupine
's small draught saved her, when any other ship would have long since foundered. Corbett could see no more than any look-out, probably much less, yet he seemed to be feeling his way towards the wedge-shaped bay beyond the point, building up a picture in his mind from Mallory's stream of information and the imperturbable echo sounder.

At three in the morning they dropped anchor, with the spray from the nearest reef drifting across the upper bridge like tropical rain.

Corbett wasted no time. “Lower the dory and send Hammond ashore to the lighthouse. It's at the top of that ridge. The only building there, so he should be able to find it.”

Men scampered to the davits, and within minutes the small boat was bobbing uneasily in the surging tide-race alongside.

Corbett said to Hammond, “Make it quick. The man you want is Javanese, but he speaks good English. Find out all you can. Ask him about enemy ships.” He seemed restless. “Anything which you think can help.”

They watched the boat as it curtsied over the creaming backwash from the foot of the cliffs, and then Corbett said, “I'm not happy about all this.”

Trewin waited, but Corbett again lapsed into silence. He said,
“I didn't know you had been down here before, sir. That was a fine piece of navigation.” He could not disguise his admiration.

Corbett shrugged. “The last time I was here was ten years ago.” He ignored Trewin's quick intake of breath. “We were doing a survey at the time. I was navigating officer.”

Trewin stared at him. “And you mean you remember from that far back?”

Corbett sounded indifferent. “I have not been wasting all my time out here, you know!” He added, “You have to learn to use all your faculties, even when some of them fail you.”

Trewin walked across to the opposite side to watch for the dory. He saw Mallory leaning against the chart table and wondered what he would say if he knew Corbett had conned the ship through the reefs and breakers with little more than his memory to help him.

An hour passed, and then they saw the dory pulling back towards the ship, the oars dipping and slicing as the small hull bounced across each succeeding line of retreating waves.

Hammond panted on to the bridge even as the falls were hooked on and the boat returned to its davits. He said breathlessly, “I found him, sir. He says that there was a Jap destroyer and some small patrol boats here yesterday afternoon.” He gulped painfully. “And he thinks that there are some troops on the other side of the island.”

“He only
thinks
?” Corbett's voice was toneless.

“Well, sir, they were there in the morning. Searching for anyone who might have escaped from Singapore.” He continued more calmly, “They did capture some soldiers who had got away in a yacht.”

“I see.” Corbett slipped from his chair and walked absently across the gratings. “Anything else?”

Hammond said tightly, “They shot them, sir.” He paused, as if expecting Corbett to speak. Then he said, “There is a small fishing village here too, sir. The soldiers were hiding there after their boat capsized on the rocks.”

Corbett stopped his pacing. “And the fishermen betrayed them, I suppose?”

“Yes, sir.”

Corbett nodded slowly. “The natives will be more afraid of the Japs than of us.” He squared his shoulders. “We shall have to leave immediately. Stand by to break out the anchor.”

Hammond walked towards the ladder, his limbs moving like a man under drugs.

Trewin asked quietly, “The Seven Islands, sir?”

“What else can we do?” Corbett was watching the men on the forecastle, their bodies dark against the distant surf. “If we are caught here we can neither run nor fight. We would be in the jaws of a trap.” He became suddenly brisk. “Ring stand by on the engines.” To Mallory he snapped, “As soon as we clear the reefs I want a course direct to the Seven Islands.” He did not wait for a reply but picked up the engine-room handset.

“Chief? Captain speaking.” He paused as from forward came the steady clink of cable. “I shall ring for full speed in about fifteen minutes. But I want more than that.”

Trewin could not hear Nimmo's voice, but Corbett's reply was flat and final. He said, “We have sixty miles ahead of us. It will be daylight in two hours. Do I have to say more?” He slammed down the phone and added, “Now we shall just have to see, eh?”

D
AYLIGHT FOUND THE
P
ORCUPINE
pounding steadily southeast, her wake creaming astern in a ruler-straight line. When the sun finally rose above the hazy horizon the men on watch saw that they had the sea to themselves. Instead of dark shadows and pale stars the air was crisp and very clear, and the sea a flat, glittering expanse of deep blue, the surface throwing back a million reflections and tiny mirrors from horizon to horizon. It was then that many of the ship's company came to realise for the first time the smallness and frailty of their ship and the vast, latent power of the sea around them.

Trewin felt the heat beating back from the steel plates at his
side and pitied the gunners who waited beside their weapons unprotected from the sun and salt-dried air. He saw that the soldiers had been true to their word and had mounted their Bren guns below the bridge under the watchful eye of Sergeant Pitt. The marine bandsmen were not being wasted either. Pitt had detailed one for each Bren as loader, and Trewin wondered if they had brought their instruments aboard, too.

He glanced up at the quivering funnel and watched the smoke pumping astern in a steady stream. The bridge was shaking and groaning, and his own body felt as if it was in the grip of some mechanical fever. The gunboat was bursting her heart, and Trewin imagined that even the meticulous Nimmo had long given up watching the red gauges of warning.

He walked to the uncovered table and glanced at the chart. Mallory did not look up but laid the points of his dividers on the diagonal pencilled line. The Seven Islands were only twenty miles away. It was incredible. At any minute the masthead look-out would actually see them, and every man would draw a small comfort from the sight of land. Not that these islands represented much in the way of salvation. The whole group was only ten miles wide, and some of the islets were little more than humps which had somehow managed to avoid sinking below the surface. Some fluke of nature had thrown them there. The last cluster of visible land at the southernmost extremity of the South China Sea. Beyond them there was another stretch of open, hostile sea and then the Banka Strait.

Once through that and they would be in the Java Sea. Trewin licked his dry lips. With luck they would find the remnants of the Far East Fleet there. Big ships, order and stability. They would be alone no longer.

Almost as the thought crossed his mind a voice yelled, “Aircraft, sir! Red four five! Angle of sight two oh!”

Corbett seized his glasses. One second he had been sitting as if in a doze. Now he was craning forward, his whole body tensed and rigid.

Trewin fought back the sudden feeling of despair and trained his own glasses over the screen. Around and below him he heard the bark of orders and the crisp snap of metal as the bridge tannoy intoned, “Repel aircraft! Repel aircraft!”

He blinked rapidly to clear his vision. For a moment he thought the haze and distance were playing games with him. The small hovering shape seemed to be stationary, like a flaw on the backcloth of empty sky.

Tweedie's voice came up from the bridge speaker. “Flying boat, sir. Turnin' towards us now.”

Corbett nodded. “Very good.”

The solitary aircraft was moving very slowly indeed, its high-mounted engines giving it an awkward, top-heavy appearance which reminded Trewin of a toy glider.