Pride and the Anguish (18 page)

Trewin gently eased back the hammer of the pistol. It took two attempts as the metal was slippery with his sweat. It was useless to attempt to shoot any of the soldiers. There were probably more of them down the far side of the hill guarding the inland approaches until the spotters had done their work.

His eye fixed on the thatch roof, and with sudden calm he lifted the muzzle and aimed directly for it. The sharp thud of the pistol was lost instantly in a great roar of flames and diamond-bright sparks as the whole roof erupted with the exploding flare. The soldier by the telescope made as if to run away, but the officer screamed at him, his pointed features distorted with fury. Then as the flames and black smoke began to spread across the surrounding bushes he drew his sword and yelled an order to some more men who had come running through the trees behind him.

Resting his revolver on a fallen branch Trewin squeezed the trigger, and saw one of the men spin round like a top before pitching back down the slope. He fired again and again, but as he peered through the smoke he saw that the soldiers had vanished. But for the telescope and the blazing hut it was as if he had imagined them.

Then somewhere to his right a rifle cracked out and he felt some clipped leaves falling across his neck as the bullet whined overhead. Someone was calling orders, and he heard the crash of running feet around the back of the blazing pyre.

With his heart pounding against his ribs he started to wriggle back down the hill. A shadow moved against the smoke and he fired again, feeling the revolver buck in his fist like a wild thing. He could not remember how many he had fired, and with something like panic he rolled over and started to run down the slope, expecting to feel a bullet slam into his back at each step.

He saw the trees ahead of him shiver as if in a strong squall, and some last ounce of warning made him throw himself flat as the first shell arrived from the
Porcupine
's howitzer. Like the gun, the shells were old and outdated, but the effect of the first one was staggering.

Timed to explode on impact, Trewin had heard Tweedie describe them lovingly as daisy-cutters, they sprayed out a lethal hail of shrapnel and splinters in every direction, and at ground level.

He dug his fingers into the ground as the air came alive with shrieking sounds and the crackle and splinter of torn trees. The pyre from the burning flare would make a perfect target, but it was no time to wait and watch. He had expected to die, but now that this incredible reprieve had been allowed him he could feel nothing but fear.

He ran forward, stopping yet again as another shell screamed down on the hillside and rent the air with splinters and shrapnel. Before he ran on Trewin peered back at the smoke and flames from the blazing hilltop. Surely nothing could live there now? That stone-faced officer would have died with the others. Trewin found himself praying that he had died slowly. Slow enough to realise what had done this to him.

Trewin ran faster, his vision swimming with effort as trees and bushes leapt to impede his path and tried to trip his desperate feet. Then he was in the small clearing with the sea opening up below him like blue silk. He could see the
Porcupine
turning towards the Inlet again, her wake creaming out astern in a wide crescent. And the old paddle steamer under way once more through the narrow channel and heading to the south, with her plume of black funnel-smoke streaming in a jubilant banner to mark her escape.

The sea was pockmarked with wide patches of discoloured water and the distant battery was still firing. But it was blind and without the guidance necessary for a kill.

Trewin turned dazedly and then stopped dead in his tracks.
Facing him on the opposite side of the clearing was the Japanese officer. His uniform was torn and scorched, and there was a cut above his eyes, but his face was quite composed, and in his hands the naked sword was steady and unwavering as he stepped slowly on to the cleared ground with the sea at his back.

Trewin lifted the revolver and then saw the Japanese officer's face change its expression from concentration to something like pleasure as the hammer clicked on an empty chamber.

The sword moved slightly above the man's right shoulder as he moved easily across the clearing. He was holding it with both hands, and Trewin could see the early sunlight shining like blood on the razor edge of the blade. Trewin stood quite still. It was over. He could not turn his back, nor could he get to grips with the slowly advancing soldier.

There was a sudden sharp crack from beyond the bushes, and Trewin dodged sideways as the Japanese was hurled forward by the force of the heavy bullet which had struck him squarely in the spine. As if in a dream he saw the man writhe from side to side, his teeth bared like a savage animal, his hands still clutching at the sword as his blood soaked into the dry ground around him. Then he rolled on to his back, kicked once, and lay still.

When Trewin lifted his head he saw Hammond framed against the sea, his revolver hanging in his hand shrouded in pale smoke.

Hammond did not lift his eyes from the dead soldier. “Had to come back! Couldn't leave you to die without trying to help…”

His voice trailed away as Phelps burst across the clearing and after the smallest hesitation snatched the sword from the corpse and held it up to the sunlight.

Trewin rested his arm on Hammond's shoulder and stared at the dead man at his feet. His teeth were still bared, but his face seemed to have fallen away like a shrunken mask. He said thickly, “So this is the enemy. Well, now we know.” He swayed and added tightly, “Thanks, Colin. I shan't forget what you did!”

Hammond holstered his revolver and shivered. Then he
laughed, the sound brittle on the warm air. “You can say that after what you just did!”

Phelps called, “The sword, sir? Can I have it?”

Trewin stared at him for several seconds. “Sure you can, Bunts. You're more than welcome!”

He felt the creeping fingers of nausea exploring his limbs like fever. “We'd better make our way upriver.”

Discordant but triumphant they heard the
Porcupine
's siren as she pushed on up the river towards the settlement.

Hammond said at length, “She sounds pleased with herself.”

Trewin looked quickly at his companion and nodded. “So she should.” He felt the grin spreading over his face in spite of his nausea. “The crazy bitch!”

T
HE
M
ASSEY RESIDENCE
was built on the rear of the hospital, and from outside resembled little more than a lean-to. It was as if it had been constructed only from material left over after the needs of the hospital had been satisfied. But once inside, the effect was entirely different.

Trewin lay back in a deep cane chair a tall glass of brandy and ginger ale at his elbow, his eyelids drooping in spite of his resolve to remain alert and attentive to what Dr. Massey was saying. Behind the lowered blinds and in the glare of several pressure lamps the long room looked comfortable and pleased with itself. One wall was lined with books, and there were several pieces of solid furniture which Massey had managed to bring from England. Trewin guessed that but for the strength and durability of such furniture it would never have withstood the hardship and strain of this strange outpost.

Massey sat with his legs crossed smoking one of his black cheroots and watching a moth attacking the glass of a pressure lamp. In spite of a long day's work he looked relaxed, and his large scrubbed hands rested on his lap, as if they too were enjoying a brief moment of respite.

Massey was saying, “When I came out here first the people
were dying like flies. One damn epidemic after another, with no doctor within fifty miles.” He grinned at some old memory. “And fifty miles out here is the longest distance in the world.”

Trewin thought of the long trudge upriver from the headland, the endless jungle landscape and overlapping ridges of low hills. When he had finally reached the settlement the
Porcupine
had been tied to the pier with lines of soldiers busily unloading the crates of ammunition and carrying them inland along the dirt road.

Corbett had met him on the sidedeck and had said, “That was a fine piece of work, Trewin!” He had stood back, studying his face as if looking for some clue to his actions. “I shall see that it is brought to the proper notice in Singapore.” He had rubbed his hands and watched the sweating soldiers on the pier. “Most satisfactory, eh?”

Even Tweedie had appeared to be more cheerful than usual. Trewin had said, “Your howitzer did the job right enough, Guns. Bang on the target!”

Tweedie had tried to look unimpressed and pouted his lower lip as if contemplating some disagreement. Then he had replied gruffly, “Always said it was a good weapon. Nobody listened, but I was right.”

Trewin found time to wonder if Tweedie had thought of him as he had personally supervised the firing of his little howitzer, and whether it had bothered him to realise that each shell might be the one to kill the gunboat's first lieutenant as well as the enemy. If he had considered it, he gave no sign.

Hammond had gone to his cabin, and when after a hasty shower and change of clothes Trewin had gone to see him, he found him lying on his bunk still dressed in the same torn shirt and slacks as before.

Hammond had said without looking up, “Today I killed a man! I shot him down with no more thought than for squashing a beetle!” He had shuddered violently. “I never thought it would be like that. Before it was always faceless and without
real meaning. A gunsight, or a position on a range map.” He had examined his hands, turning them over as if searching for some sign of what he had done. “But I shot that Jap. I
killed
him!”

Trewin had answered quietly, “I'm damn glad you did, too. But I know what you are feeling. It always comes later. Sometimes it never leaves you.”

Hammond's head had dropped and the next instant he had fallen into a deep sleep. Shock and exhaustion had drained away his last resistance, and Trewin had stood for several minutes looking down at him. Then he had covered Hammond with a blanket and had left the cabin.

Given a chance, Hammond would get over it all right, he thought. He was young, and had someone to live for.

Massey said, “And now I've got two more doctors to help me. Both Chinese, and excellent chaps.” He grinned. “I was afraid the Army might foist some of their doctors on to me and turn this place into a military hospital.”

Trewin brought his tired mind back into focus. “Would that be so bad? There
is
a war going on.”

Massey became serious. “This hospital belongs to the local people. It was theirs by right, and will remain so after all this wretched fighting is over.”

“I see.” Trewin thought of the stench of death in the hut above the headland, the merciless whine of shells through the trees. “It isn't always possible to stay out of a fight, Doctor.”

Massey lumbered to his feet and replenished Trewin's glass. He said calmly, “I was in the last war, as a matter of fact. Not as a doctor either.” He straightened his back and stared at the moth by the lamp. It was dead and shrivelled, its beauty gone. “I was in the infantry. Flanders.” He shrugged vaguely. “That changed me. For the better, I hope. I couldn't find what I wanted in England, so I specialised in tropical medicine and came out here. This is my home now.” It sounded final.

“And your daughter?” Trewin watched him over the glass, but there was neither resentment nor caution on Massey's
bearded face.

“Clare wanted to come. She's happy most of the time.”

Trewin waited, feeling the tiredness dragging at his senses like claws. He had not intended to come to the hospital at all. After going to the army command post and passing over the information about the concealed battery, he had returned to the ship with little in his aching mind but sleep. But Corbett had said almost jovially, “We'll go and eat, Trewin. We have an invitation to dinner with the Masseys.”

Together they had walked along the road, greeted by cheerful waves from the soldiers who were loading the last of the ammunition into their vehicles above the pier.

When Trewin had asked Mallory if he had been invited to the dinner he had exploded, “Not bloody likely! And I wouldn't have accepted anyway!” He had watched Trewin angrily, his dark face creased into a frown. “I knew the skipper was off his rocker, but this last day has done it.” He had drawn one hand across his forehead. “I've just about had it, up to here!”

In quick, staccato sentences Mallory had described the events which had followed Trewin's departure in the dinghy. “Corbett was like a bear with a sore arse. He never stopped snapping at me.” Mallory had banged his fists together. “And when the shooting started he was passing more bloody orders than an admiral's wife.” He had dropped his voice suddenly. “I know you did well, Number One, and I'll be the first to admit that I couldn't have done it myself. But Corbett's part in all this was quite different. As soon as that clapped out scow came under fire he deliberately steered towards her! He knew that the admiral would have his guts for garters for running the
Porcupine
on the putty, so he did the only thing he knew. He didn't give a tuppenny damn for the lives of his men, he only cared for how it would look when the top brass heard how brave he had been.”

Trewin had interrupted firmly, “I think you'd better calm down. This is no help to anybody, is it?”

Mallory had sighed. “Sure, sure! You are the first lieutenant.
Loyalty to the ship and all that.” He had added lazily, “I was in a proper old rust-bucket once as third mate. We had a skipper who was so drunk most of the time he didn't know his arse from his elbow. His first mate carried him along, but one day the Old Man went too far. The ship had been badly stowed, and when we were two days out the bloody cargo started to shift. God, I can see it now. A crew of half-baked Lascars, and the skipper so tanked up he could hardly see the funnel.”