Sunset (35 page)

Something in his tone warned Brooke, and he found he was almost unmoved when Granville elaborated. ‘They ran into trouble.
Dumbarton
was sunk.
Islip
only just made it.'

Brooke heard more bombs falling somewhere, the raiders fired at by a mere handful of badly sited guns.

He pictured Stallybrass and this same captain when he had arrived here. Their secret amusement, contempt, perhaps, for his concern about the plans for defence.

‘I see that you've moved
Tamar
to a buoy?' It was more for the sake of something to say than any other reason.

‘Er, yes. She'll have to be scuttled if things get worse. All confidential books must be destroyed.'

A seaman messenger looked in. ‘Lieutenant Kipling brought the Wren out, sir.'

‘Good, that's fine.' The seaman glanced at Brooke and shrugged. He had realised that Granville had not understood a word.

Granville said vaguely, ‘I understand that General Maltby, the military commander, would prefer to withdraw completely to the island. It won't do us any good here, though.'

Brooke looked down at his own hands but they were quite relaxed, even though he wanted to shout at him that when that happened the Japanese artillery would be over there in Kowloon, about eight hundred yards from this room.

Granville glared at another telephone as it jangled noisily, ‘But still, when Force Z gets amongst the buggers that'll make the enemy landing-craft and their supply ships run like rabbits!' He did not sound very convinced. He snatched up the telephone. ‘
Yes
?'

Kipling entered the room and waited for Brooke to see him.

‘Got all the gear, sir, no bother.' He glanced over at Granville without expression. ‘Sue Yorke, our Wren . . .'

Brooke waited. She had indeed become
our Wren
. Like a mascot.

‘She got a call from the new dressing station while I was with her. The Japs bayoneted all the wounded and raped the nurses. It was like a slaughter-house from the sound of it.'

‘How did Sue take it?'

He grinned. ‘Bloody marvellous, sir!'

Brooke said sharply, ‘I want her out of this mess.' In his mind he could see Lian's face, desperate, pleading.

‘I won't go and leave you here, Es-mond! Something terrible will happen!'

It was happening right now.

He asked, ‘Does the army want the truck back just yet?'

Kipling smiled. ‘They're like our lot, sir. You just sign for it and it's all yours. I'm bringing it across on a ferry today.' His eyes hardened. ‘Might come in handy, I thought.'

‘Good thinking.' He touched his arm. ‘And thanks, Paul.'

Kipling walked out of the room. It unnerved him when people were nice to him.

He saw Barrington-Purvis mustering a working-party on the pier.

He would soon change all that!

Granville had put down the telephone. ‘Any cigarettes, old chap?' He looked worn out.

‘Smoke a pipe, sir.'

‘So you do.' He rang his bell. ‘Just had a signal about
Islip.
Her damage was worse than reported. Had quite a few casualties, but we can replace them from here when she arrives.' He was looking at his map again. ‘Those pins will have to be moved. They've come another six miles.'

Brooke asked quietly, ‘What about
my
ship, sir?'

The captain shook his empty cigarette case and passed it to a messenger.

‘And bring me some drinks, Campbell. You know what I like.'

He looked at Brooke gravely.

‘Whatever happens,
Serpent
will be the last to leave. Or will be destroyed to prevent her falling to the enemy.'

Brooke picked up his cap. ‘She'll not fall to the enemy. Be certain of it!'

Granville watched him stride out. He said wearily, ‘I'm relying on it!'

John Chau,
Serpent
's interpreter, paused for breath on the steep, winding road and removed his glasses, which had misted up in the heat. Then he looked around at the rough, craggy hillside. It was almost bare of trees. For once the sea was out of sight and the sounds of battle so muffled and faraway that they seemed unreal.

He had expected to be stopped by the ferry dock when he had crossed over to Kowloon, but nobody had seemed interested. In another hour he would be safe in the village where he had been born, the son of a hard-working carpenter who had been determined that he should have a life with prospects. One in which he would earn the respect of his employers and customers. John Chau had been packed off to college. He was industrious, and would not bring shame on his father's house. His eventual position at one of Hong Kong's most influential banks had been his reward.

He had learned well the complex but rewarding lessons of banking as well as the social side, when he mixed with visiting European bankers. He had even been recommended for service in the Volunteer Reserve.

His mind was sharp and clear when he decided to leave the naval base. He had done it without shame or remorse; it was the sensible thing to do until the fighting was over.

In the village there would be those who would conceal his presence until life returned, if not to normal, then to something in which banking would still be the dominant force. His widowed mother would do the rest.

All the same, he had been loath to rid himself of his smart white uniform and put on these dull working clothes.

As he shaded his face from the sun Chan thought of his short employment aboard the
Serpent
where he had been accepted as an equal.

He wondered what would become of the navigating officer, the one named Calvert who had won the Victoria Cross but never spoke about it.

That, too, had been so easy. He had shared Calvert's cabin. It had taken no time at all to read through the lieutenant's log book, the patrol areas, how long they would be away and how far they extended.

When the SS
Kiang Chen
had been torpedoed by a Japanese submarine he had spoken with her master, the only survivor. Just before he died he had managed to whisper to him that the arms cargo had been delivered to the Nationalists as arranged, like all the other secret shipments.

Only
Serpent
's unexpected arrival on the scene had prevented the coaster's crew from being seized, the truth tortured out of them, so that no more cargoes would be possible.

Charles Yeung, who lived like a mandarin on the Peak with his lovely daughter, would be quick to reward him for his silence. With all the other money he had managed to put aside he would be ready for the next step up the ladder, no matter whose flag flew over Government House.

He started off along the rough road again, barely out of breath in spite of the miles he had walked. He had always been careful to study sport and take exercise. He had even played tennis with some of the naval officers at
Tamar
.

Even if he was stopped now he carried nothing which might incriminate him. The bank had given him leave because of the bombing. The navy no longer needed his services. Even that made him smile. They would probably not even miss him.

At the top of the ridge he would see the old monastery. He had been frightened by it as a small child. A brooding, secret place. The village lay just beyond it, and he would see the great reaches of Deep Bay on the territory's western coastline, where his father had once helped to build fishing boats when he could get no other work.

He faltered, his nostrils dilating to the smell of burning. A dying column of smoke was being brushed away by the hot hilltop breeze and sudden caution made him crouch beside the low wall of one of the new monsoon drains. It would prevent the road from flooding, or worse, being washed away, for there was no other here.

Then he saw it: an army car on its side, the interior still smouldering, a blackened corpse pinned beneath the roof when it had turned over.

There were a lot of deep scars on the road. Heavy bullets. John Chau considered more calmly. It must have been raked by some Japanese aircraft. The pilots did not have very far to fly.

He spun round as something moved in the thick scrub by the sloping hillside.

A soldier. He felt his heart pumping painfully as the khaki-clad figure dragged itself on to the road.

Very young. An officer with a single pip on his shoulder, his teeth bared as he stared up at him. He had one of those ridiculous little moustaches which some British officers affected. It only made them look younger.

Mesmerised, Chau watched as he raised one hand towards him. It was obvious that the soldier was badly injured, perhaps dying. There was really nothing anyone could do.

The young lieutenant managed to croak, ‘Help me!
Don't leave me!
'

He had been lying here for hours. Chau began to step forward but shook himself angrily.

It is too late for him. There is nothing I could do.

He said, ‘No, I cannot . . .'

The officer's face ground against the stones and his cap fell in the dust. He was very fair. A boy.

‘My driver is badly hurt . . .' He was pleading. Afraid of being left, of being alone.

Chau forced himself to glance at the charred thing under the car.

‘Too late for him!' He felt a wild urgency to break away. ‘I go now!'

‘
Oh God!
' The soldier was trying to pull himself back under cover but the agony held him like a steel trap.

Chau broke into a run.
It was the only way
.

Then he stopped dead, unable to move.

There were five Japanese soldiers in the road, watching him in total silence.

One, an officer of some sort, moved his hand curtly as a man might brush away a fly.

Then he pointed at the burned car, his voice low and incisive. Chau tried to smile, then bowed to the officer to show his respect.

A Japanese soldier slung his rifle and fixed bayonet over his shoulder and touched Chau on the shoulder, turning him around towards the monsoon drain.

He stood quite still as the soldier ran his hands over his body and pockets, dropping his wallet and some cigarettes on to the road. The dying officer was being dragged over to the low wall, crying out at every move.

When he was propped against the wall two of the soldiers searched him also. His papers, wrist-watch, and some letters, then lastly they removed his revolver.

The Japanese officer, his unfamiliar helmet festooned with twigs and leaves in a netting cover, walked to the wall. Then he stooped down and spoke to the second lieutenant in hesitant English.

Chau could not hear what he said, but saw his annoyance. Maybe the injured man was too badly hurt to understand what was happening.

Then he snapped an order and Chau felt his stomach contract as the one with the slung rifle went across and lowered the bayonet until it rested above the soldier's webbing belt.

Then he drove the bayonet into him, holding his body erect against the wall with his foot while he dragged out the blade and thrust it into him again.

They all watched as the corpse rolled on to its side, the eyes still bulging with terror.

The Japanese officer said, ‘
You! Where are you going?
'

Chau swallowed hard, then cried out as a rifle butt smashed into his ribs. There was another agonising blow on the opposite side and he knew his ribs had been fractured. He was bleeding, unable to stand or even speak. His wrists were pinioned behind his back and someone was hitting him about the head and back. He had to speak. To explain, but nothing would come. His mouth seemed to be filled with fluid, scalding him, and he heard his voice cry out as they dragged him on to the monsoon drain wall so that his glasses fell off, and he was peering dazedly into some trapped water in the bottom of the ditch. It was bright blue, as if part of the sky was down there.

He gasped when another blow smashed into his spine, and he felt something dangled against his face. Even through the pain and the fear he realised it was his identity disc. He had forgotten to throw it away.

He was losing consciousness slowly, too slowly. He stared at the sky's clean reflection. They would kill him. A bayonet like the man who had cried for help.

He tried to keep his eyes from closing; he could taste blood on his lips. He was going.

Another reflection had appeared in the blue water. But all time was gone. There was just one blink of sunlight as the heavy blade came down.

Two soldiers raised his ankles and tipped the headless corpse into the drain.

Then the file of soldiers was gone, and the deserted road left only to the dead.

Brooke stood on the upper bridge and watched several great columns of smoke twisting slowly across the copper sunset.
Serpent
was alongside, taking on more fuel and ammunition and any sort of food supplies which could be stowed away.

There had been several quick air-raids on the island during the day. There had been thousands of leaflets too, calling for an immediate surrender.
STOP USELESS RESISTANCE. Remember, the Japanese forces will guarantee the lives and livings of those who will surrender.

Kerr came up to the bridge. ‘Nearly finished, sir.'

‘Very well. We shall move out to the buoy when the last gear is brought aboard.' He looked at the first lieutenant, his features very clear in the copper light. ‘Something else?'

‘Our interpreter, John Chau. I think he's done a runner.'

‘I see. Well, I don't think we'll be needing him anyway.'

Kerr could sense the disappointment nevertheless. Probably blaming himself as usual.

‘How do you think Toby Calvert is getting on, sir?'

‘I've told him that he's to report back as soon as Charles Yeung's damned pilot gets here.'

What was Lian doing now? She was in a small hotel near the base with Captain Granville's haughty wife and several other women. It did not bear thinking about.

‘Officer coming aboard, sir!'