Pride and the Anguish (43 page)

As they reached the end of the superstructure Trewin and Dancy stared down with sick horror at the crater which spread across the small quarterdeck almost from side to side. There was no fire here, but as he peered down at the ragged-edged hole Trewin saw the faint gleam of water.

Dancy muttered, “My God! We can't take much more of this!”

Something crawled from the smoke and made its way towards the sidedeck. Trewin gritted his teeth, holding back the nausea as he watched it.

“Get that man below, Buffer!”

Dancy ran across the deck and caught the crawling figure as it rolled on to its side. He looked up at Trewin, his eyes shining. “He's dead, thank God!” He lowered the corpse to the deck. “How did he stay alive so long?” He looked away. “His face has gone!”

Baker and his stretcher party came aft at the run, and Trewin shouted, “There's another man by the guardrail! I think he's still alive!”

Baker skidded to a halt, and Trewin saw the blood-splashes across his white jacket. Like a butcher, he thought dully. He made another effort, “Are you managing, Baker?”

The man looked remarkably calm. He nodded, “We're doing
what we can, sir. I can only drug and bandage them.” He stared at the mutilated corpse by his feet and wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Even a real doctor couldn't do much here.”

They ducked as another shell burst on the opposite beam, sending a small tidal wave of spray leaping up and over the battery deck.

“They're shooting blind now, thank God!” Dancy spoke between his teeth. A smoking shell-splinter clattered by his side and with a grunt he kicked it over the edge of the hull.

Trewin looked forward and tried not to remember how far they were from those next islands. Not that it mattered. The ship had altered course so many times to avoid the enemy's shells, distance meant nothing.

But the screws were still beating the water into a mane of froth below the counter, and above the greasy smoke he could see the shadowy outline of the ensign.
Porcupine
was dying, but she was not giving in easily.

A stoker petty officer ran through the smoke and stopped when he saw Trewin. “No real damage below, sir! Just a few plates down aft, but the pumps can cope for a bit!” He wiped his streaming face. “I've counted seven dead an' wounded, so far!”

There was a sharp crack followed instantly by one thunderous explosion. The petty officer's face twisted in agony, but before he could cry out he was picked up bodily and hurled against Trewin.

Dancy shouted, “The bridge! That one hit the bridge!”

Trewin dropped the dead man on the deck. One jagged splinter had caught the petty officer directly in the back, ripping him almost in half.

Trewin kept his eyes on the new pall of smoke above the battery deck and refused to think of his own fate. But for the petty officer's shield he would have taken the splinter in his stomach.

He dragged himself up the ladder, shutting his ears to the screams around him, ignoring the headless corpse which stayed strapped in an Oerlikon, its hands still training the gun towards
the enemy.

The starboard wing of the bridge had vanished in a trail of splintered planking and long strips of torn metal. The steel was folded and buckled like tinfoil in a great heat, and as he staggered across the bridge Trewin almost fell on top of Masters, the yeoman. Phelps rose from beneath his upended flag locker, shaking himself like a dog, apparently unhurt. He saw Trewin staring at him and tried to grin. Then he looked around the smoke-filled bridge, seeing it for the first time. His gaze fell on Masters, and with a quick cry he bent down and tried to lever the man away from the gaping hole above the leaping water.

Trewin found Corbett clinging to the back of his chair, one hand reaching out towards the voice-pipes. He saw Trewin and gasped, “The wheelhouse! Is it intact?” He coughed and then added, “I'm all right, Number One! I think someone must have broken the blast for me!”

Trewin shouted, “Wheelhouse!”

Unwin sounded near and very relieved. “All correct down here, sir! Both engines still full ahead, steady on oh eight oh!” He added, “I thought you was all done for up there! There was bleedin' smoke comin' down the tube!”

Trewin looked down as something touched his shoe. It was Mallory. He was lying on his back, his eyes very wide, and for a moment Trewin thought he was dead. But the hand moved and gripped his leg, as if quite independent of its owner. Trewin dropped beside him and tried to push his arm under his shoulders. Mallory's eyes moved slightly but refused to focus on his face.

He said tightly, “Don't move me, for Christ's sake! My back's busted!” He moved his mouth and then whispered, “I always knew the Pommies'd do for me!” His teeth clamped suddenly on his lip, and Trewin saw blood running down his chin. Mallory said, “Sorry we never got time to know each other.” He reached up and patted Trewin's shoulder, the tired movement bringing
his hard features out in a rash of sweat. Then the hand dropped and his eyes became suddenly blank and disinterested.

Trewin stood up and looked at Corbett. “Dead.”

Two shells exploded through the smoke, throwing up two tall waterspouts and hammering the hull with more splinters.

From aft came a yell, “Heads below! The mainmast is going!”

The funnel smoke was too dense to see from the bridge, but Trewin heard the crash of timber and the scrape and screech of trailing stays as the severed mast pitched overboard. He heard axes, too, and Dancy's voice carrying like a trumpet as he urged his men to hack the wreckage away.

Corbett looked up at the other flag above the bridge and said, “We can't reach those islands! The destroyer must have hauled off to use another gun on us!” He stared at Trewin, his eyes blazing. “We can't run any more!”

Trewin became aware for the first time of someone sobbing. When he looked beyond the splintered chart table he saw Phelps on his knees rocking from side to side as he stared wretchedly at the yeoman.

One of the look-outs touched his arm and said, “'Ere, Ginger, leave 'im. There's nowt you can do for 'im.”

But Phelps stayed down beside Masters' body, his eyes running with tears. “I couldn't stop the bleeding! I tried, but it kept comin'!”

Trewin pulled Phelps to his feet as the look-out threw an oilskin across the dead yeoman. “Easy, boy! You did your best.”

Phelps said between sobs, “'E kept lookin' at me. I know 'e wanted to tell me somethin'.” He dropped his head. “But I couldn't do nothin' for 'im.”

Corbett said quietly, “Masters was a good yeoman, Phelps. I expect he was trying to tell you that it's your turn to take charge now.” He watched the boy's tortured face. “So just remember what he taught you, eh?” He looked at Trewin across the signalman's head. “This isn't doing any good, is it?”

A shell ripped through the halyards and brought the last big ensign floating down towards the bridge like a shroud. As it touched the blood-spattered gratings Phelps seemed to come alive again. With sudden determination he picked up the flag, and without another glance at Masters, began to splice one of the broken halyards for it.

Trewin replied harshly, “The Jap doesn't have to worry, does he? He just follows our oil slick and keeps firing into the smoke.” He looked astern, his eyes angry. “And our gunners can't see a bloody thing!”

Corbett regarded him calmly. “I know. It also means that we will be useless as far as
Prawn
is concerned. We can't survive for another hour, let alone until darkness.” He gripped the torn steel with both hands. “We just can't run any more, Trewin. You know that now, don't you?” His eyes were searching. “Well?”

Trewin did not even flinch as another shell exploded somewhere abeam. His body and mind seemed past care and beyond feeling. What are we saying? Why are we always pretending?

He looked around the scarred bridge, at the bodies covered with their oilskins. From beneath one he could see Mallory's hand, stiff and pointing, like a condemnation. And aft, beyond the screen, past the dead Oerlikon gunner and riddled funnel, where was the ship Corbett loved so dearly? The battery deck was pitted with holes, and right aft, where the men by “X” gun still stared helplessly at the smoke, the stump of the mainmast seemed to mock him like a splintered lance.

He heard himself say wearily, “We'll have to turn and face him.”

Corbett reached out and gripped his wrist. In the distorted light his face looked lined, but strangely peaceful. “It has to be your decision, too, Trewin. If it is to be done, it must be done perfectly.” For a moment a shaft of despair crossed his pale eyes. “Poor old girl. She doesn't deserve this!”

He looked away and then said harshly, “Warn the guns. Prepare to fire at about red four five. Tell Tweedie yourself.” He
gestured towards the tangled mess of severed wiring beside the two bodies. “Communications have all gone.” He climbed on to his chair and stared ahead towards the empty, inviting horizon. To port the long reach of Banka was still shrouded in mist and looked very remote.

Trewin tore his eyes away and climbed quickly up the short ladder to the spotting position abaft the bridge. He found Tweedie and his two ratings behind the steel shield and said, “We're going to turn. You'll have to lay both guns right on the bastard. There'll be no second chance!” He saw that Tweedie's arm was wrapped in a crude bandage and asked, “Are you all right? Shall I send for the first aid party?”

Tweedie swung slightly on his metal seat and scowled. “I can manage!” He touched the rangefinder. “God, I'll smash a couple into the sod when I see 'im!” He picked up his handset, but as Trewin climbed down the ladder he added gruffly, “But thanks all the same! You done quite well for an amateur!” Surprisingly, he grinned. “If ever you gets to 'Ampshire you can come an' stay with me an' the old woman, if you like.” He turned his back and snapped, “Attention all guns!” He was lost again in his own world, which he shared with no one.

Trewin found Corbett crouching over the chart, his magnifying glass held inches above it. He said, “Shallows to port, Trewin. Barely two fathoms.” He rubbed his chin. “But it deepens out in the next half-mile.” He met Trewin's questioning stare. “It'll have to be
now.
”

Trewin looked up at the ensign. It must have been the last thing Mallory saw on this world, he thought.

Corbett moved to the voice-pipes. “Cox'n, this is the captain. In fifteen seconds I am going hard astarboard, right?” Unwin's voice was lost in another sharp explosion. Some splinters clanged against the bridge, and from below a man cried out like a wounded animal. Corbett continued in the same flat tone. “Whatever you see or hear, I want you to hold the course and speed I give you.” His voice hardened.
“No matter what!”

He turned and looked back at the writhing smoke. “He's lying back there, just biding his time. He knows we can't reach the islands. He's just got to keep firing into the smoke beyond our trail of oil. Sooner or later he'll hit the vital spot.” His lips curled bitterly. “If we give him the chance!”

He glanced again at Trewin. “I'll not forget this.” He did not explain what he meant, but pulled himself forward against the remains of the screen.

Then he said firmly, “Hard astarboard! Stand by to engage!”

Broken woodwork and glass cascaded over the bridge deck as the ship responded immediately to the rudders and swung crazily across her own backwash. A freak down-draught plunged the bridge into semi-darkness, and the slipping, struggling men fell choking and coughing in the dense oily smoke, while their bodies angled further and still further against the madly tilting decks.

Corbett shouted, “Stop the starboard engine! Get her
round
!”

The bridge structure quivered from top to bottom as the starboard screw raced impotently in the air before falling silent in its protective tunnel, and all the time the ship was plunging round, her remaining mast reaching across the boiling bow-wave, her gunners clinging to any solid thing to stop themselves from being hurled to the mercy of the sea.

Corbett pulled himself towards the compass repeater and called, “Midships! Full ahead starboard!” He peered down at the spray-dappled glass, heedless of the din around him or the demoniac shriek of shells overhead. “Steady! Meet her, man!”

Unwin sounded as if he was knocked breathless. “Steady, sir! Course two four five!”

Corbett began to claw his way back to the screen. “Steer two six oh!” He did not wait for an acknowledgement, but held tightly to the teak rail below the splintered glass and watched intently while the ship swayed through another roll and then stayed upright.

Trewin stood by his side staring with smarting eyes at the
writhing wall of smoke which parted across the bows and billowed back around the bridge. It was like tearing through a long tunnel, and apart from the razor-backed bow-wave which lifted almost as high as the gun mounting, the sea was hidden, as was the sky.

He yelled, “We'll see her soon!”

Corbett licked his lips. “He's still firing! Hear those shells!” He turned with a strange expression of defiance and excitement on his face. “He didn't see us turn!”

Trewin peered forward and saw Hammond crouched beside his gun crew, a handkerchief tied across his nose and mouth. The smoke was streaming around the gunshield, so that it looked as if the mounting and gunners were standing in space.

A look-out shouted wildly, “Look, sir! Fine to port!” He was pointing, unable to find the right words any more.

At first Trewin could see nothing. Merely a slight thinning of smoke as the
Porcupine
raced to the final limit of her own screen.

Then the destroyer fired again, and he saw the brief orange flash above a darker patch in the swirling smoke. As the dying sunlight clipped to greet them and the gunboat's forecastle pushed out above a patch of clear blue water, Trewin saw the other ship less than two cables away.