Strike from the Sea (1978) (31 page)

Ainslie leaned back in his chair, letting Armytage’s words wash over him. All this had been inevitable, and yet in the past days he had discovered more happiness than he could ever have hoped for.

As soon as he had been able to return to duty, he had taken every opportunity to visit Natalie Torrance. With the worsening news, and the air of tension filtering through the city like poison gas, they had drawn joy from one another, stealing each precious moment, hoarding every memory like a defence.

Her husband had been away for most of the time. Always he left the battered hotel angrily, and when he came back he was usually too drunk to make himself understood.

Ainslie had been lying beside her, holding her smooth body while she slept, feeling her heartbeats, wondering what they should do, when the telephone had rung on the bedside table. He had waited for her to awake and pick it up, had felt her spine stiffen as she had said, ‘Very well. I’ll tell him.’ Then she had turned on to her back, her face outlined by her hair. ‘That was Lieutenant Quinton. The Japanese are at the Johore Strait. The island’s cut off.’

He could not remember how long they had lain together. Just holding each other without words, picturing the crude events of war, how they would affect them.

Ainslie looked up as Armytage said, ‘We will continue with Rear-Admiral Granger’s evacuation, with every sort of vessel we can get hold of. Lists have been made by my staff, and all those to be put aboard the convoys will be shifted to the harbour vicinity forthwith.’ He glanced at Ainslie, his eyes wary. ‘I will need working parties from every vessel under my control, and as the next senior officer, Commander Ainslie, you will assist in this plan.’

Ainslie nodded, feeling the others looking at him. Reservists mostly, young and with little experience. What a way to learn about war.

He thought suddenly of his first visit to the
Soufrière
after he had been given a clean bill of health by the MO. Quinton had worked wonders, but the scars of the battle and withdrawal from the Japanese-held bay told the story better than any words.

There were still no final orders for the submarine. She would probably be used to evacuate more personnel when the time came. It was unnerving, but he never considered any other possibility but eventual defeat. When the high command had convinced themselves that the enemy had no intention of being content with local advances, it had already been decided. Now, the Japanese were swinging out and around the South China
Sea, sealing off the whole vast area like pulling the strings of a sack.

This had to be a definite, crushing victory, to be seen by the whole world as a threat, a promise of what would happen to anyone who resisted or tried to interfere.

Armytage concluded, ‘That’s about it, gentlemen. I will keep you informed in daily orders.’ He looked at Ainslie and added, ‘A word, please.’ As the others moved gratefully outside to the fresh air he said, ‘I think I’ve thought of everything.’ When Ainslie made no comment he snapped, ‘
Well?
’

‘I believe that the C in C should ask,
demand
more ships, sir, and a carrier with some aircraft which are a match for the enemy’s. The Army can’t be expected to hold the island without full air cover, and if Rear-Admiral Granger is not supported with ships and planes he hasn’t a hope in hell of getting the troops away if so ordered.’ He waited, breathing hard, feeling his wound throbbing in time with his heart. ‘It will be no Dunkirk this time.’

Armytage looked at the floor. ‘Still harping on that, are you? Well, we’re better suited now for all-round defence.’ His voice unexpectedly trailed away. ‘And that sort of thing.’

Ainslie stared at him, shocked at his sudden collapse, appalled with what it must mean. The high command had no intention of taking off the troops if the island fell under attack. All those men, dropped like lepers, abandoned to the mercy of the Japanese Army.

At any other moment he could have found understanding, even pity for a man like Armytage. In all the years of peace he had never trained himself to prepare, to change with the times.

But the cost was going to be terrible, and the fate of the many left behind too ghastly to contemplate. All the envy and hatred of Britain’s colonial influence would be sealed up here, with no hope of escape for anyone.

Ainslie said bitterly, ‘I shall return to my command, sir.’ He had to get away, to detach himself from the air of despair and shame.

‘Oh, one thing more.’ Armytage tried to reassert himself but failed. ‘There’s a signal waiting for you on board. I’ll tell you the rough context now.’ He frowned, his eyes vanishing into wrinkles as he pulled his thoughts together.

‘The signal is from the Admiralty. The Free French admiral in London has received a full report about your exploits. He’s worried. Not what he had in mind when his people gave their assistance for your original task of capturing the submarine.’

Ainslie clenched his fists. ‘We didn’t know about Malaya and Pearl Harbour then, did we, sir?’ It was all he could do to control his voice.

‘Well, there it is. Nothing’s settled yet. The emergency here takes priority. But
Soufrière
was to have been the largest vessel in the Free French forces once you had got her back to Britain, that I do know. You can see their point.’

‘Frankly, no.’ Ainslie jammed on his cap. ‘But I suppose it doesn’t matter a damn any more what I think.’

He went out of the room, his mind filled with faces.
Capitaine
Poulain, lying shot beside his desk. Lucas’s eyes when the tricolour had come down from the conning tower. The sailor who had died in a corner of the sick-bay, propped up to avoid drowning in his own blood. Every one of them, even Poulain, had done what he imagined was best. Now, even in the face of tragedy, they were arguing and bargaining about it in London.

A sentry saluted and said, ‘Air-raid warnin’, sir.’ He squinted at the evening skyline. ‘Shame, annit?’

Ainslie could barely look at the man. An ordinary soldier, with the sort of homely face you saw on the newsreels. Norway and Crete. Dunkirk. And now here.

In the past there had always been a miracle, even at the final moment. The warships, the defiant ‘thumbs-up’, the tired faces watching the vapour trails in the sky, wondering if the miracle was going to be snatched back.

Then he saw Quinton waiting for him, sitting behind the wheel of a sports car.

He called, ‘Thought I might catch you, Skipper. I’ve just been in HQ for the list of people to be moved to the port area. And I’ve got a signal for you, too.’

Ainslie climbed in beside him. ‘About
Soufrière
and the French in London?’

‘Yeh.’ Quinton gunned the engine. ‘They’re bloody nuts, if you ask me.’

Ainslie looked at him searchingly. Quinton was as near to being drunk as he had ever seen him. Angry drunk.

‘Where did you get the car?’

Quinton swerved round some people with handcarts. ‘You can get any damn thing for a promise of a berth out of Singapore!’

Then he said, ‘I keep thinking about all our blokes. They’re going to be left in the lurch. I knew it from the start. The lousy, rotten bastards!’

Quinton steadied himself and said in a calmer voice, ‘Shall we go back via the hotel, Skipper? I think you should do something for that girl, and pretty damn quick.’

‘I was going to ask you to drive there.’

Ainslie put out his hands to prevent himself from going through the glass as Quinton jammed on the brakes.

A tall Sikh policeman loomed over the side and called excitedly, ‘Air-raid warning! You get off the road, sir, very quick!’

Quinton dropped his voice so that the man had to put his head inside the car to hear him.

‘If you don’t get away from this car, I will personally stuff you down the nearest drain, right?’

He drove on, the policeman calling threats after him.

Quinton muttered, ‘Bastard! I’ll bet he and his cobbers will all be wearing the rising sun when the little yellow men march in!’

They slowed to pass through the gates of the Royal Hotel. There were some army vehicles loading an assortment of luggage, soldiers standing around chatting and smoking, listening to the occasional bark of anti-aircraft guns.

Guy Torrance’s big car was slewed through one of the lush flower beds, a door hanging open.

Quinton said grimly, ‘Christ, and I thought
I
was a lousy driver!’

Ainslie slid from the car. ‘You are. But never mind that. Come on.’

As they reached the foot of the stairway he heard Torrance’s voice. He was shouting wildly, the sound filling the upper floor like the fury of a madman.

The orderly sergeant, who was watching the hotel clerk emptying his safe, said, ‘Bin like that since ’e come in, sir. Your lot ’ave commandeered ‘is precious boats. ’E didn’t go much on it!’

They reached the door of the suite and stood looking at each other.

Torrance was yelling, ‘They’re bloody thieves! Think they can tell
me
what to do!’

There was a clatter of breaking glass, and Ainslie heard her say, ‘
Please!
Not in front of Frances!’

‘You and that kid! That’s all you ever bloody well think about!’ Another crash. ‘Well, I’ll show the damn lot of you!’

Ainslie opened the door, his eyes taking in everything as they all froze in their various attitudes of anger and fear.

Drawers pulled out, contents strewn across the floor. Broken dishes and scattered food. Torrance must have dragged the cloth from the table and hurled the laid-out meal amongst the rest.

The nurse was standing by the far door, obviously terrified, her bony hands on the child’s shoulders as she too cowered away from her drink-crazed father.

Natalie Torrance was sitting on the arm of a chair. Her dress was torn from one shoulder and her cheek was red, as if she had been slapped hard, even punched.

Torrance swung round and stared at the two naval officers, baring his teeth as if he were about to attack them.

‘Well, well, well! What are you here for?’

His tie was stained with drink and his white suit badly soiled. He must have fallen down several times. That he had managed to drive the car was hard to believe.

Ainslie looked at her, shutting out Torrance for fear of what he might do to him.

‘All right?’ He kept his voice level, seeing her terror give way to desperate hope.

‘Oh, yes! She’s all right
now!
’ Torrance’s angry red eyes loomed across his vision. ‘Have you come to
protect
her, eh?’

He gave a wild laugh, and Ainslie saw the child shrink even further into the corner. He noticed she had jammed the yellow elephant there, too, as if to protect it from hurt.

Quinton drawled, ‘Why the hell don’t you stow it? We’ve got troubles enough.’

Torrance ignored him, and Ainslie saw the maggot in his mind, spreading and expanding as he bellowed, ‘Or to put your hand up her skirt, that’s more bloody like it!’

Ainslie said evenly, ‘You are to go to the harbour. There will be transport –’

Torrance lurched towards him, his face suddenly deathly pale. ‘Jesus,
it’s true
!’ He seized his arm and staggered helplessly. ‘I can see it on your damn face, man!’

She called, ‘Oh, Guy, stop it
now
!’

Torrance released his hold and retreated, nodding the whole time, his eyes fixed on Ainslie’s as he continued in the same slurred voice, ‘All this time. Wouldn’t let me lay a finger on her precious body, oh no, not her! But you, with your medals and death-or-bloody-glory, she couldn’t get enough of it from you, I’ll wager!’

Quinton exclaimed harshly, ‘Shall I belt him, sir?’

Torrance turned towards the motionless figure on the chair. ‘You’ll see, my girl. You’ll see who wears the trousers around here!’ His shadow loomed over her, but she sat quite still as he added thickly, ‘That slap was nothing, believe me!’ He looked at the nurse. ‘It’s all my money, remember?’ He nodded again, spittle running down his chin. ‘Oh, yes, my little puritans, you’ll do some paying now.’

Ainslie stepped amongst the scattered china. ‘If you make any attempt to hit anyone again, I’ll –’

‘
You’ll what?
’ Torrance swayed back on his heels and rebounded from the wall. ‘Sue me for trying to tame my own wife?’

He was grinning wildly, enjoying all of it in some distorted way. Later it would be different.

Torrance wagged his finger. ‘You’d better start looking for another job. When I’ve done with you, you’ll be lucky to command a bloody rubber duck!’

Ainslie walked past him, expecting an attack at any second. He knew that if Torrance touched him he would probably kill him.

He said quietly, ‘My first lieutenant will drive you and Frances to the port office now.’ He looked at the nurse. ‘Pack some things.’

Natalie stood up and tried to pull the torn dress across her shoulder.

‘I’m sorry I got you into this.’ She looked up at him, and once again they were their own island, as if the danger and fury were somewhere else.

Ainslie replied, ‘I want it this way.’ He guided her towards the door. ‘You can come back later if you forget something.’

There was a thin, abbreviated whistle, and then Ainslie felt himself smashed down by an explosion. As his mind struggled to grasp what had happened, he imagined for a few seconds that Torrance had shot him.

Then, coughing and gasping he levered himself to his feet, jarring his wounded shoulder on what he suddenly realized was part of the roof.

There was swirling smoke and dust everywhere, and as he staggered through it he heard whistles blowing and somebody screaming shrilly like a tortured animal.

He found her sprawling in the passageway, her hair covered in dust, her clothes almost blasted from her body.

He knelt down, lifting her against him, gasping her name. When he brushed the hair from her face she opened her eyes and stared at him. He waited, hardly daring to breathe or hope, seeing the understanding and fear returning as he held her even closer.

Her mouth formed the name. ‘Frances!’

Ainslie turned his head, seeing the fallen beams and stonework, the smoke, sensing the danger, the stench of burning.