Pride and the Anguish (39 page)

Corbett grunted. “Good. That'll be Bulu Bay. The entrance to the Strait is about twenty miles ahead. It will be more sheltered once we reach there.”

Trewin rubbed his eyes and then cursed as he was hurled against the voice-pipes. His body felt as if he had been at sea for months. Even the matter-of-fact tone Corbett had used did not disguise the reality that the worst part of the voyage was still ahead. The Strait was one hundred miles long and sometimes only ten miles in width. Perhaps Corbett no longer cared. He was trying to do what he had promised, but his words and actions seemed automatic and without feeling.

He looked round as another figure lurched on to the bridge and pulled himself towards the chart table. Trewin realised that he had forgotten completely about Fairfax-Loring, or perhaps he too had forgotten how to care.

The admiral was wearing an oilskin, but his bared head was streaming with blown spray, and in the small chart light his eyes looked angry and wild. He shouted, “Where are we?” He pushed Mallory aside and thrust his head down to the chart. Then he climbed up beside Corbett and said, “For God's sake, can't we get a move on?”

Corbett's face was hidden in the upturned collar of his coat.
“In three hours we will be turning around the headland and into the Strait, sir. By daylight we should have reached the narrows, and with luck I hope we can shelter behind some small islands there.” He ducked below the screen as a solid sheet of bursting spray hissed above his head and swept across the look-outs behind him. Then he said calmly, “Another night like this one and I think we will be all right.”

The admiral wiped his streaming face with his hand. “That bloody
Prawn
! She's holding us back, just as I said she would!”

Corbett shrugged. “Unless you want me to keep going in daylight, I don't see that she makes much difference, sir.” There was no hiding the contempt in Corbett's voice.

The admiral said suddenly, “There may be Japs on Banka.”

“There may.” Corbett's mind seemed to be elsewhere. “But I should think it more likely they'll be dealing first with Sumatra, eh?”

Fairfax-Loring dragged his heavy body across the gratings, still keeping one arm tucked inside his oilskin, and Trewin wondered if he had allowed Baker, the sickbay attendant, to treat his injury yet. In his heart Trewin tried to find some sort of pity and understanding for the admiral. After all, he was probably more valuable to the Japs as a prisoner than the small victory of sinking the two gunboats.

Masters shouted, “
Prawn
's signalling, sir!”

The admiral whirled round, his head jutting forward as he followed the petty officer's arm. “The bloody fool! What the hell does he think he's doing?”

But Trewin did not listen to him. He was watching the faint, stabbing light as it rose and fell in the darkness astern, and he could feel something like fear growing with each painful flash.

Masters said gruffly, “Hull leaking badly. Previous repairs not standing up to sea. Must reduce speed immediately.”

No one spoke for several minutes, and Trewin imagined that he could hear a note of savage triumph in the chorus of sea and wind which buffeted the bridge without mercy.

Corbett said slowly, “Acknowledge, Yeoman.”

The admiral was leaning towards him. “That settles it! We shall
have
to leave them behind!”

Corbett ignored him. “Make to
Prawn,
‘Can you maintain speed until we enter Strait?'”

The admiral asked harshly, “What good will that do? There are still one hundred miles to go before we can see any hope of getting through.”

Corbett touched his arm and slid from the chair. “If you will excuse me, sir.” He walked past the admiral, his slight figure somehow retaining its balance while the deck swayed from one impossible angle to the next.

Masters said at length, “
Prawn
says she will try, sir.”

Corbett sounded satisfied. “Good. Now tell
Prawn
that we will continue as before, but will reduce to four knots as soon as we alter course.”

He looked at Trewin. “We may be able to help with repairs once we find shelter.”

The admiral stepped between them, his voice lowered so that the others would not hear. “I'll go along with you, Corbett, but only just so far! I feel as worried as anyone about those people in
Prawn,
but for the most part they are civilians, and lucky to have got this far under the circumstances!”

Trewin clenched his fists so hard that the pain helped to steady his mind against the admiral's words. Any pity he might have felt for the man had gone completely. The admiral was the man who was responsible for many of those civilians even being here in the first place, and but for the
Porcupine
's arrival at the Seven Islands would be over there now sharing their misery and fear while the little gunboat tried to carry them to safety.

Corbett merely said, “I don't think we should rely too much on luck, sir.” He walked back to his chair. “For
any
of us.”

The admiral looked as if he was going to follow him but said, “I shall go below. I'm still a bit weak.” He glared round the bridge, as if expecting someone to comment. “But call me if the
weather gets any worse.”

Mallory peered at the ravages done by the spray to his chart and muttered, “He won't need to be told! If the weather does break he'll have the bloody sea in his flaming cabin!”

Trewin dragged his eyes from the darkness behind the bridge. He could picture the frightened women below the
Prawn
's decks, the whimpering children and the air of helplessness as the waves pounded against the hull and fought to break into their last refuge.

Corbett said, “Tell the cook to get something hot for the men to drink. It might take their minds off things for a while.”

Trewin stared at him. How could Corbett find the time to remember all these small details? Was it determination or hard self-discipline? Or was he just saying anything he could think of in order to delay some inevitable decision?

He looked at the leaping spray and listened to the labouring beats of the engines. It was as if they had never been intended to get away, and all the past sufferings and disappointments were linked to some final disaster.

There no longer seemed to be any point in planning and calculating. Time and distance were meaningless. There was just the ship and the endless, destructive cruelty of her common enemy.

T
HE DAYLIGHT
was slow in making an appearance. There was no dawn at all, just a sudden transition from night to a searing pewter brightness which made the men on the bridge look at each other as if surprised to find that nothing had changed from the previous day.

Below the shelter of Banka Island the motion was certainly easier, but like Trewin the look-outs and gunners were now too tired and bruised by their vigil to notice or draw comfort from the change. Far out on the opposite beam it was possible to see what might be the mainland of Sumatra. Or it could have been part of the wavering sea mist which mingled with the flying
spray to make a long, unbroken curtain below the skudding clouds.

Trewin's eyes felt red-raw and his tongue seemed to have swollen to twice its size. He heard Mallory remark bleakly, “Looks like a drop of rain about. That's
all
we need now!”

Corbett stretched his legs and readjusted his collar. “Could do worse. Now give me a course for those islands. They must be about five miles away surely?”

Trewin looked over the rear of the bridge and felt his heart sink. The
Prawn
was farther astern and her black funnel-smoke hung close to her wake, as if the strength had gone out of her.

Corbett said vaguely, “She's holding up quite well. Good show.”

“New course is one four zero, sir.”

Corbett turned his head, and Trewin heard his stubbled chin rasp against the upturned collar. “Good, bring her round, Trewin. In thirty minutes we should be in very shallow water. It shoals to less than two fathoms between the islands. No ship is going to come sniffing after us in there, eh?”

Trewin gave his helm orders and then leaned heavily on the table as Mallory folded away the oilskin hood. The islands were just some more useless humps of land, like small pieces which had broken away from the main mass of Banka far back in time, when the world was still changing. Who could ever have believed they would be put to use like this?

Corbett watched the ship's wake turn away in a shallow curve. Then he said, “Reduce speed again, Trewin. We will let the
Prawn
go in first.” He saw Trewin watching him and added quietly, “They'll be feeling low enough as it is, without seeing us vanish amongst these islets without them.”

As the small cluster of islands separated from the dark mainland behind them the
Prawn
drew alongside, and after what seemed like an age, began to force ahead. In the misty daylight she showed all the scars of her battle with the sea, and as she lifted and plunged across each cruising wave the men on the
Porcupine
saw the great patches of bare rust where the pounding water had stripped away the paint like skin. She had lost both her boats and the guardrails were buckled in several places and hanging dejectedly overboard.

Trewin moved his glasses down her length, feeling her pain as if it was his own. He saw Adair in the forepart of his bridge, staring ahead, his shoulders hunched behind the glass screen like a man too dulled and exhausted to move even his head.

But her ensign still made a patch of jaunty colour from the gaff, and as the ship moved slowly into the lead Trewin saw one of the gunners waving back at them.

Corbett said absently, “Now
there
is a ship. Not worth her weight in scrap to some people, but I'll stake my life that Adair would say differently.”

The islets opened up on either side of the other gunboat, and as she turned to swing around the first green hump it seemed from the
Porcupine
's bridge as if she was being swallowed up by the land itself.

Hammond appeared at the hatch ladder, his eyes seeking the captain. “Permission to send the hands to breakfast, sir?”

Corbett eyed him sadly. “Breakfast or dinner, Sub. Call it what you like. Just get them fed, eh?”

They all froze as a look-out yelled, “Aircraft, sir! Bearing green nine oh!”

Trewin leapt for the voice-pipes but Corbett snapped, “Stay where you are! Any increase of speed now might attract attention!”

Every glass and gun-muzzle lifted and settled on the slow-moving shape, and only those down amidst the thundering engines were unaware of that steady, hateful sound as it crossed the turbulent water like a taunt.

“Another flyin' boat, sir!” It was Tweedie's voice over the bridge speaker. A pause, then, “It's flyin' due south towards Sumatra.” They heard him curse. “He's turnin' slightly now.”

Trewin watched the distant aircraft swinging on to a new
course as if it was controlled by invisible wires. Now it was flying parallel with the ship about five miles clear.

His eyes throbbed with the effort of staring at that small black outline. He must see us! What the hell is he playing at?

Tweedie again. “He's turnin', sir!” Even over the speaker his relief was obvious. “Headin' south again!”

Corbett snapped, “Full ahead together!”

Trewin heard Masters groan, “Gawd! Look at our bloody oil slick! Any fool will see it!”

Corbett remarked, “He may have missed us this time. Or he might just be trying to put us off while he calls up assistance.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, we shall soon know, one way or the other!” Then he said, “Take the con, Trewin. I'm going to have a wash and shave before we drop anchor.”

He walked across the bridge, but as he passed the chart table he cannoned into the voice-pipes and almost fell. He hurried down the hatch ladder without a word, nor did he look back.

Trewin climbed on to the gratings as Mallory murmured, “Hell, you'd think he was bloody well blind!”

Trewin watched the narrow gap between the islets and imagined Corbett locking himself in his cabin alone with his dreadful secret. What a time and a place for it to happen to him. To
us.

He saw the anchor party mustering by the four-inch gun and tried to close his mind completely, as Corbett had done. “Slow ahead together. Stand by to rig camouflage.”

He tilted his cap to shade his eyes from the glare as the ship glided slowly above a carpet of white sand. After all, he thought, the pursuer had always been able to call every move. The man on the run had no choice at all but to keep running and hold on to his hope for survival.

A
LL THROUGH THE DAY
until late in the afternoon the two ships lay in their cramped hiding place between the small cluster of islets, the
Porcupine
at her anchors, and
Prawn
lashed snugly alongside. The threat of rain seemed to have departed, and by midday the sky was clear. Both ships were pinned down by the sun again, so that in the confines of their anchorage the relentless heat seemed to come from all angles, smashing them down with its power.

All the
Porcupine
's engineering staff had gone aboard the
Prawn
within minutes of mooring, and in spite of the heat and the primitive conditions had worked without a break to help repair the little gunboat's storm damage. The passengers meantime were transferred to the
Porcupine,
where instead of taking advantage of rest and shelter, they worked beside the men whenever and wherever possible.

It was hard to see them, particularly the women, as the ones who had surged aboard at Singapore while enemy bombers had painted the skies red above the burning city at their backs. All pretence and normal individuality had been stripped away in their common fight for survival. The smart dresses had been replaced with oddments of sailors' clothing or improvised from scraps they had managed to salvage from the storm. Their nearness to disaster had given them a strange strength, and there were no longer any tears or bitter recriminations.