Pride and the Anguish (11 page)

Hammond asked, “Did you find the Army?” He waited, feeling his mouth go dry. “What is it, Number One?”

Trewin pulled a map from his belt and stared at it. Then he said quietly, “This section of the road is supposed to be controlled by the 50th Indian Brigade, or part of it.” He stuck the map carelessly inside his shirt. “Yes, I found them all right.” He walked after the sailors and added shortly, “The village has been burnt out. We found that poor devil crouching beside a useless radio set. I think he's been blinded.” He spat out the words, “His men left him!”

Petty Officer Kane slung the tommy-gun across one shoulder. “He's delirious, sir. But if 'alf of what 'e says is true, we're in a bad way.”

“I—I don't understand?” Hammond stared sideways at Trewin's unshaven face. “Where did they all go?”

Trewin replied savagely, “That poor, raving lieutenant was part of a battalion at Kota Bharu. They've been fighting and falling back, regrouping and falling back, since the whole thing started. Even now he doesn't believe his men have run away!”

Kane said angrily, “'E said there were tanks on the road. And 'is men 'ave never seen a bloody tank in their lives, can you imagine that?”

“Tanks, retreats, what the bloody difference does it make now?” Trewin quickened his pace. “We've got the ship to worry about.” He steadied his voice with an effort and looked hard at Hammond. “The Japs are further south already!” He watched his words strike home. “They by-passed this sector
yesterday
!” He slammed his hands together. “Anyone left back here will go in the bag when the Japs start mopping up the stragglers.” He wiped his face wearily. “God knows how they missed the lieutenant when they came over the ridge, but he was lucky.”

Kane muttered, “Not like them others, sir.” He shot Hammond a glance. “We found about a dozen Aussie soldiers on the edge of the village.” His voice shook with anger and barely suppressed horror. “Their 'ands were tied behind 'em! They were dead!”

Hammond asked quietly, “Had they been shot?”

Trewin had hurried ahead, but over his shoulder he called harshly, “Tell him, Kane! Tell him how the bastards had left them!”

Kane looked away. “Their 'eads 'ad been cut off, sir! They was stuck on stakes by the side of the road…” He broke off, his normally impassive features sick with disgust.

Breathless and gasping they reached the beach where the motor boat waited to receive them. The
Grayling
was already under way, and the
Porcupine
's cable was bar-taut and ready to up anchor.

Hammond sat with the soldier's shoulders propped against his legs as the boat spurted towards the ship, his eyes fixed on the man's loose, sun-dried mouth. On the opposite side of the small cockpit Trewin stared fixedly at the shore, his eyes cold and hard beneath his cap.

The soldier's body twisted in a sudden convulsion and he shouted, “Sergeant! Tell those men to march in step!” A thread of saliva ran down his chin as he continued in a flat, toneless voice, “Remember that this is the
First
Battalion, not the bloody sappers!”

Trewin said, “Keep that man
quiet,
Sub.”

One of the seamen muttered, “My God! Poor bastard!”

As the boat reached the ship's side and men jumped down to help the delirious soldier aboard, Trewin said, “Get the boat hoisted, Sub! I'm going to the bridge.”

Hammond waited by the guardrails until the motor boat was lashed, still dripping, against her davits, then with a quick glance towards the empty beach ran up the bridge ladder. The deck was trembling as the ship gathered way, and from forward he could hear Dancy yelling at the anchor party. Corbett was in his chair, as if he had never moved, and Trewin was standing beside him on the gratings, his face hidden in shadow.

Hammond heard Corbett say, “We should have been
told.
We were sent too far north.”

Trewin replied, “It's the most stupid piece of bungling I've ever seen!” He sounded calm, but his hands were bunched at his sides gripping his torn trousers as if for support. He continued, “The whole front must have collapsed. They're falling back like a lot of bloody rabbits!”

Corbett turned and looked up at him, his face expressionless. “Right now we have to get under way, Trewin. There'll be time enough later to hear your interpretations of all this.”

A look-out's voice echoed around the bridge. “Aircraft, sir! Bearing green four five! Angle of sight two oh!”

Trewin did not look round. “The admiral must have known, sir! He
must
have realised this could happen!”

Corbett snapped, “Full ahead together!” Then he looked again at Trewin's tall figure and said flatly, “We had our orders.”

“I see.” Trewin turned and stared straight at the sun. “I'll go aft to the A.A. guns.” It was as if he were forcing his thoughts into words.

Hammond heard men running along the sidedecks, the rattle of voices across the bridge intercom, yet he felt unable to move.

Trewin crossed the bridge in three strides and then paused, seeing Hammond for the first time. His voice was cold, like a stranger's. “Well, Sub, you once asked me about war, remember?” His eyes were blazing like a man with fever. “So now you know!” He looked unwinkingly towards the distant growl of aircraft engines. “This is what it is all about!” He turned away and ran quickly down the ladder.

Corbett's voice cut into Hammond's dazed thoughts like a knife. “Forget what you just heard, and attend to your duties!”

Hammond climbed down to the deck and looked astern. The
Grayling
was gathering speed, her bows shrouded in spray as she crossed the
Porcupine
's wake. Of the
Shrike
there was still no sign.

He thought of Trewin's cold anger, of the poor, helpless soldier across his knees in the boat. Through it all he heard Trewin's words like an accusation… “This is what it's all about!”

And at that moment the guns started to fire.

T
HE RATING AT
T
REWIN'S SIDE
said sharply, “Four aircraft, sir! Port quarter, angle of sight three oh!”

Trewin did not raise his glasses. The aircraft were well out of range, and after turning in a wide circle were climbing rapidly towards the horizon and the sun. Four bright silver chips against the pale sky, the growl of their engines rising in time to their climb.

There were still a few minutes more to wait, Trewin decided. There was a small breeze whipping across the battery deck, but it did little to ease the heat thrown back from the armoured gun mounting, and the small protected position beside the ammunition hatch where Trewin was crouching. From here he could supervise either the four-inch gun or, if required, the Oerlikons which were mounted on either side of the upperdeck, just abaft the funnel.

He peered astern to watch the
Grayling
as she followed purposefully in the
Porcupine
's white wake. They were less than a quarter of a mile apart and were steaming at full speed on the new southerly course. Further astern, her antiquated shape shrouded in haze, the little
Shrike
endeavoured to maintain her maximum speed, the smoke pouring from her thin funnel in a low, unbroken plume.

Trewin saw the
Grayling
's guns following the distant aircraft, and guessed that the third gunboat would also be ready when the time came. Six four-inch guns between them, and with the additional power of the short-range weapons they might well give good account of themselves.

He rested his palms on the hot metal surrounding the gun position and watched the seamen training their sights towards the enemy. The men who were so engrossed in their preparations were no longer faces as they had appeared when he had
first stepped aboard. Now they were names and personalities, and already the strengths and weaknesses were beginning to show, like small parts of a large canvas.

“X” gun grated slightly and the long grey muzzle tilted towards the dazzling sun. On either side of the gleaming breech the trainer and gunlayer eased their wheels very slowly and kept their eyes glued to their sights.

Able Seaman Walker, the breechworker, banged his gloved hands together and muttered, “Come on, you bastards! Let's be 'avin' you then!” His black beard jutted through his anti-flash hood, and Trewin was reminded of a painting he had once seen of a jovial monk.

He said, “They look like fighters. So watch your aim-off, and allow for a speed of three hundred knots.” He saw the layer and trainer glance at one another across the gun and added sharply, “They'll come right out of the sun, so keep your heads and ignore everything else but the one in your sights.”

Trewin turned aside as the communications rating called, “Barrage…
commence
!”

Trewin heard the bells ringing beside the gunshield and automatically held his breath. The gun lurched back on its mounting with an ear-splitting roar. From forward the other gun also opened fire, and as Trewin lifted his glasses to watch the dirty brown smudges drift across the sun they were joined by other shell bursts from the ships astern.

The port Oerlikon broke into a fierce rattle and then fell silent as Trewin yelled, “Hold your fire, damn you!” He saw the gunner's face staring at him, angry and embarrassed. “Don't open up until the range falls below a thousand yards!” He looked grimly at the other Oerlikon to make sure the man had understood him.

The rating beside him shouted, “Aircraft, sir! Bearing red one one five! Angle of sight two oh!” He dashed the sweat from his eyes. “Approach angle three oh left!”

Trewin clung to a stanchion as the deck canted in response to the wheel. He could see the first plane clearly now. Coming down
fast in a shallow dive and swinging astern towards
Grayling.
The wafer-thin wings rocked from side to side, bracketed with shell bursts, but with the sunlight gleaming on its blood-red insignia it tore down on its quarry.

Then the Oerlikon opened fire, the green tracers lifting and joining to form a bright cone of fire across the aircraft's path. Trewin watched the fast-moving aircraft as it dived still closer to the water, so that it seemed to be pursued by its reflection into the converging maelstrom of cannon shells and machine-gun fire.

Trewin yelled, “Here comes the next!” He pointed towards the sun as the second fighter streaked across the blue water, so low down that the surface rippled like corn in a strong wind. Vague and distorted above the crash of gunfire and exploding cannon shells he heard the hoarse rattle of machine-guns almost swallowed completely in the rising scream of the fighter's engine. He saw the water churned alive from the fighter's guns, and heard the clang of metal from somewhere on the sidedeck.

The man at his side ducked as the plane's shadow blacked out the deck for a split second and the guns swung round in a full circle to follow it.

It was a small, snub-nosed aircraft, probably from a carrier, Trewin thought. He could see the sunlight on the perspex cockpit cover, the black outline of the pilot's head as he gunned the engine and threw the fighter almost on its side as it climbed steeply away from the ship.

The guns turned away, smoking and impotent, to search out the next attacker. They did not have to wait long. The final pair of fighters flew in wingtip to wingtip, their guns blazing even before they were in range. Again they went for the
Grayling,
and Trewin could see the gunboat's hull surrounded with leaping white feathers of spray as the bullets hammered across her in a torrent of steel.

One of the fighters swung drunkenly aside from its charge, and with black smoke pouring from its tail dropped dangerously
close to the sea. Trewin could see the flashing tracers reaching after it, plucking pieces from its wings, as the plane's engine coughed and reared in a final effort to escape.

The pilot might have succeeded but for the distant headland. Or maybe he was already dead at the controls. But as Trewin watched with cold fascination the aircraft dropped its nose and ploughed straight into the hillside above the coast road, vanishing instantly in a bright red explosion.

Some of the gunners were cheering, and Trewin yelled, “Watch your
front
!” He swung his glasses to follow the remaining fighters. They were already swinging away in a tight arc, climbing for another attack.

He shifted his glasses slightly to look at the other ships. Both were on station, and every gun seemed to be trained and ready. The first kill would be a great encouragement. And the odds were getting better. It was strange that the Japs had sent only four fighters, he thought. They must have hundreds on the peninsula already, and more at sea on their carriers.

He swung round, caught off guard as a man shouted wildly, “Aircraft! Bearing green nine oh!”

There were two of them, twin-engined and flying very low. The fighter which had fallen to the gunboats' combined attack had set the whole hillside ablaze, so that the trees and dry gorse made one bank of leaping flames from the hilltop down to the water's edge. Over the lip of the hill, and seeming to fly through the flames themselves, the two new attackers swept down towards the ships before many of the gunners were aware what was happening.

“X” gun swung swiftly on its mounting, the breech opening and closing with a click across yet another shell, the sweating seamen kicking the used and smoking cartridge cases aside as they fought to follow the low, roaring shapes.

Trewin saw the bombs tumbling from the leading plane's belly even as the first shell burst drifted some twenty feet above its tail.
Porcupine
's guns fell silent, unable to bear on the
fast-turning bombers as they passed astern of
Grayling
and climbed away in a tight turn.

There was one bright flash, and as Trewin craned over the rail he saw
Shrike
fall out of line, her forecastle and bridge hidden in a great pall of black smoke.