Send a Gunboat (1960) (15 page)

Rolfe stood up, surprised at the abrupt ending to the interview. “Goodbye, General. I hope we meet again!”

“I think not. To me, a man who will not fight is more dangerous than one who fights against me!”

As the doors closed behind him, he heard the General’s fluted laughter, and he was almost tempted to burst back into the room, regardless of the consequences, and release some of his pent-up anger. He hardly noticed his descent from the great central tower, or Major Ling’s secret smile, as he swung along beside him. When they were again settled in the jeep, Ling casually lighted another of his black cheroots, and puffed the smoke contentedly into the humid air.

“Well, Captain? How do you feel now?”

Rolfe regarded him coldly. “I’m pretty fed up with the way nobody here seems to speak in anything but riddles and stupid threats!”

Ling chuckled softly. “The General is not an easy man to impress! He has been a ruler too long!”

The jeep grated forward, and some soldiers put their backs to the high gates, letting in the brilliant glare of the outside world. As they swung open, Rolfe was reminded of the dock gates in Hong Kong, as they had opened for the little
Wagtail
, starting the ship and himself on this infuriating mission.

As they passed under the curved archway the sun smote them with cruel force, and he felt the tunic growing moist against his skin.

“Where to now, Captain? To your ship, perhaps?”

Rolfe stared out across the glittering sea, an empty plain of glass. Yet over there, beyond the lip of the hazy horizon, lay the great mass of Mother China, waiting, watching, and somehow full of menace. A shiver ran through him, and involuntarily he shuddered.

“I think I’d like to go and see Mr. Laker,” he said suddenly. “That’s if you don’t mind the trip?”

Ling smiled secretly through his smoke. “A pleasure. I have nothing to do at the moment. Nothing to do but wait,” he added slowly.

He was driving more slowly this time, steering the worn tyres round the craggy edges of the road with careful ease. Rolfe caught glimpses of his ship and a pang of something like affection touched him each time he saw the quaint hull nestled against the jetty, the spindly funnel adding to her appearance of defencelessness.

“The harbour, is it always as empty as this?” he asked.

“No, it is quite rare. The main fishing fleet is away at the moment,” explained Ling, his dark eyes on the shimmering track. “They will be back any time now with the fish. A veritable harvest no doubt!” There was something not quite genuine in his tone, and Rolfe began to feel irritated again.

“I suppose it helps the General’s belief that the island can be self-supporting, no matter what happens?”

“It helps,” nodded the Major indifferently. “We are very cut off here, and apart from the occasional visit of a freighter, or a British warship, we hear little of the outside world. It acts both ways, of course.”

“How d’you mean?”

“People hear little of us, too. We have no radio transmitters, so what we do, we keep to ourselves!”

Rolfe pulled the peak of his cap still farther over his eyes, and breathed heavily in the still, sluggish air. He cursed angrily as the jeep slewed round and stopped with a jerk, its wheels but a foot from the edge of the cliff.

“What the devil’s up now?” He turned hotly on his companion, and then fell silent.

Ling’s face was impassive, his eyes squinting against the
sun. He slowly removed the cheroot from his lips and blew out a thin white cloud. “Captain,” he said quietly, “there are three aircraft flying out of the sun!”

He said it so calmly that Rolfe stared at him for a second, before the words and their full significance, dawned on him. Even as he stared up at the bright expanse of blue he heard the distant whine of powerful engines, and then, on the very rim of the sun, he saw three tiny silver specks, flying in a tight, arrowhead formation. From the fort behind and above him, he heard the dull booming of a big bell, followed at once by the banshee moaning of a siren, repeating the warning in the town below.

“The thin edge!” Ling’s voice was a hiss and he followed the tiny shapes through expressionless eyes. He jerked the gear lever, and the jeep rocked back into the centre of the road and started to plunge crazily down the winding track at an alarming speed.

Rolfe ignored the rocking, protesting frame beneath him, and swivelled round in his seat, watching the planes with anxious eyes. Damn them, he thought desperately, yet he had known that this would come. They were nearer now and already were forming into single line, the manoeuvre being performed with such lazy grace that their whining engines clashed with their peaceful and gentle movements.

The tyres screeched, and for a moment Rolfe looked straight down the crumbled side of-the cliff. “Can you take me to the ship?” he asked urgently, all thoughts of Laker banished from his mind.

“Certainly, Captain!” Ling hooted impatiently at a group of men and women, who stared open-mouthed at the intruders. They scattered from his path, the sudden movement transmitting fresh urgency to others who stood helplessly nearby, and soon, the sides of the road and the tiny hill tracks were dotted with stumbling, running figures, their mouths moving soundlessly in the roar of the jeep’s engine.

Rolfe felt a sense of detached calm creeping through him, a feeling of flat resignation which he had known before when he had realized that action was imminent. He had seen such sights many times. As a young Sub-Lieutenant during the German
invasion of Greece, and again in the freezing misery of Korea. Always he remembered the blank, tight faces, staring skywards.

They burst into the shabby market place, zig-zagging between the deserted stalls and scattering townsfolk, and plunging recklessly past the flimsy bazaar buildings. A blind beggar in his filthy rags stood alone on a corner, his head cocked in frantic terror, and calling about him in a quavering voice. A child sat crying on some rush mats, its tiny face puckered into the misery of its generation.

As they swung on to the harbour wall, Rolfe saw the guns of the gunboat already following the diving aircraft, and heard the harsh bark of commands. Somewhere behind him the aero engines rose to a mad scream, blotting out all other sounds and forcing reason from the mind.

As the jeep braked, Rolfe flung himself across the jetty, dimly aware that Ling was already turning the vehicle round and hareing towards the town.

Chase’s voice bellowed suddenly from the battery deck, “Stand by, all guns!” The machine-guns had also been mounted on either side of the bridge, and they too swung menacingly in a tight arc.

Rolfe bounded down the gangway and ran breathlessly to the upper bridge, where he found Fallow and Chase following the aircraft with their glasses.

“No firing!” Rolfe’s voice was a mere choke. “Only if we are attacked!”

Fallow dropped his glasses to his heaving chest, the relief flooding to his paled face. “Aye, aye, sir!” He screwed up his eyes and pointed frantically, “There they come!”

The air was filled with the high, harsh rattle of machine-guns, and the steady thump of cannon, and as they stared, holding their breath, one aircraft dropped like a diving sea-bird and streaked across the low roofs of the town, its wings alive with spitting orange flames. As the cannon shells and bullets raked savagely along the streets and clawed across the cringing houses, they saw the woodwork and flying dust churned into an inferno of noise and fire.

Even as the plane pulled out of its dive, its engine racing
madly, the others followed in, the bright red stars gleaming clearly on their stubby wings.

Helplessly they followed the remorseless, darting attacks, and saw the growing pall of black smoke, splashed here and there by creeping tongues of flame.

A few guns answered sporadically from the high fortress, but as Rolfe had guessed, most of them could not be depressed sufficiently to grapple with the twisting aircraft, which were now flying considerably lower than the cliff itself.

Something clanged against the bridge plating and screamed away across the harbour, but Rolfe hardly flinched. He was watching the cruel destruction with anger and pity.

“Signalman!” he shouted sharply, “take this signal, and get it coded up at once!” He followed the silver shapes, his features composed into an expressionless mask. “To Admiralty, repeated Commander-in-Chief. Communist aircraft attacking Santu. Will commence evacuation immediately. Estimated sailing time twelve hundred tomorrow. Request permission to assist in anti-aircraft defence of town!” He watched the signalman scurry into the wheelhouse and tried to shut out the screaming engines. God knows what other sounds they are shielding from the town! he thought bleakly.

“Number One! Stand by to slip all wires and cable if we are attacked!”

A growing plume of smoke thickened around the funnel as Louch and his men sweated in the heat of the engine-room to raise steam.

Then at some secret signal, the aircraft turned away, their shadows flicking across the bridge itself and then bounding distortedly over the peaceful water. He could see the helmeted heads of the pilots as they set course for their distant base.

As the engines died, the spluttering crackle of burning woodwork, and the crash of falling stone, added a new horror to the scene, and as they waited, they heard the rising moan of countless tongues bonded together in their pattern of fear and agony. It was a chorus from hell.

Fallow swallowed hard, his hands rubbing the teak rail with agitation. “D’you think they’ll be comin’ back, sir?”

Rolfe shook his head. “No, not yet, at any rate. I think that
was just a token of things to come! They’d have sent over more aircraft if they were really in earnest!” He had already dismissed the planes from his mind and was concentrating on the sudden urgency of his plans. “Number One!” he began briskly, his sharp tone hiding his gnawing anxiety. “Send for Chief Petty Officer Herridge, and I want Lieutenant Vincent as well!” He watched Fallow’s slow movements and the clearly defined marks of worry on the ugly face. “Well, snap it about then! We haven’t got all blasted day!”

Alone once more, he turned his gaze back to the town, the main fear in his mind taking full possession of his feelings. The hospital—would it be all right? Would she be safe? He frowned impatiently as he heard the clatter of feet on the ladder.

Herridge saluted, his strong face calm and unruffled.

“Look, Chief, I want you to take ten men ashore at once! Collect first-aid gear and stretchers and go into the town and see if you can assist the authorities. Muster your party right away and report to me before you move off.”

Herridge saluted again, his face unmoved, and hurried purposefully away. His powerful voice rang along the deck as he went, already issuing orders and detailing his men.

Rolfe sighed deeply. Thank goodness someone knew how to carry out instructions without question and argument! A slight breeze wafted the pungent odour of burning across the harbour and he twitched his nostrils unwillingly, catching the tang of destruction.

Vincent panted up the ladder, his eyes smarting from the smoke.

“Go at once and see Laker! Tell him to round up the others and get them down to the ship as soon as they can manage it! I want ’em all aboard by tonight!”

“But that, that’s a day earlier than you told them, sir!”

“The Communists have altered the programme slightly!” snapped Rolfe bitterly, “so get to it and I’ll hold you responsible for anyone left out!”

“Yes, sir,” answered Vincent, his cheeks colouring. “I shan’t forget!”

He, too, hurried from the bridge and Rolfe forced himself to follow him down to the main deck, where an orderly bustle was
in progiess. Herridge was instructing his party quietly on the jetty and called down to Rolfe as he appeared. “All ready to move off, sir!”

He saw Fallow leaning on the guardrail, staring fixedly at the water. He looked as if he was going to be sick.

“I’m off to the hospital, Number One. Send a messenger after me if anything else happens!”

He ran across the gangway, aware that Fallow was watching him wildly, his brown eyes pleading as if to say, not again! Don’t leave me alone in the ship again!

They marched briskly along the wall, Rolfe conscious of Herridge’s long shadow behind him, and the tramp of booted feet on the hot stonework. As they passed the first’ group of dwellings Rolfe’s stomach tightened and he quickened his pace.

The huddled houses beside the market place were all ablaze, and the tinder-dry wood and rush roofs flared skywards with a steady roar, great gouts of red flame and dense smoke billowing across the open roadway. A surging mass of people ran wildly from house to house, some trying to save pathetic possessions and others searching and tearing at the thin walls. Along the length of the market place several still shapes lay scattered in distorted positions, like discarded bundles of rags. The blind beggar was still in the road, but kneeling by the side of one of the flung bodies and running his thin hands dazedly across the contorted face and dead eyes which stared at the sky. As the sailors clattered by, he raised his head and croaked at them in a thin falsetto voice, his mouth wet with the saliva of fear.

“All right, old man,” Herridge growled. “Keep your hair on!” And to Rolfe, “Not much we can do about him, sir?”

Rolfe shook his head briefly. “Poor bastard! Must be nearly out of his mind!”

The aircraft had been using plenty of incendiary shells, he thought, there was so much flame and smoke everywhere. He set his jaw tightly and stepped to one side. A small child lay spreadeagled on its face, a crude wooden doll clasped firmly in one hand. The middle of the child’s back gaped open in a large crimson hole, through which the shattered bones shone whitely in the sun.

Two soldiers with canvas buckets were throwing water half-heartedly
into a smouldering shopfront and Rolfe saw another soldier leading some dazed and bleeding creatures from a side door.

“There you are, Chief! Get to work with that lot! But keep your party together!”

Herridge pushed his cap on the back of his head and stood feet astride in the road, taking in the chaos and destruction. “Right, you lot! Lend these soldiers a hand with the water! And you two get the bandages out!”