Send a Gunboat (1960) (29 page)

The injured man, Edgar Lane, was comfortable enough, physically, but nothing Fallow, or anyone else could do, would make him talk, or take an interest in his condition. His companion in the sick bay, the Chinese seaman wounded in the brief encounter with the Communists, was all smiles, and lay back proudly in his comfortable bunk, relishing in the visits of his comrades. Fallow shook his head, putting the most gnawing worry to the back of his mind.

He kept thinking about Rolfe and torturing himself by gauging his chances of survival. Pretty slim, he decided. Then there was the steward, Chao, who had disappeared overboard without a trace. There was more to that than met the eye! He peered round the door to ensure that the helmsman was attending to his duties. Tempting fate, that’s what it is, he thought vaguely.

A shadow fell across the deck, and Fallow looked up irritably. Vincent stood uncertainly in the doorway, his eyes hot and tired.

“Well?” Fallow forced himself to consider the reasons for Vincent’s visit.

“It’s about tonight.” Vincent seemed to be groping for his words, in a manner quite foreign to him. “Are we really going back to that damned place?”

“You know we are!” So that’s what was biting him. He’s more windy than I guessed! And so am I, he thought bitterly.

“Well, I don’t think it’s right!” Vincent’s eyes blazed with sudden anger. “He’ll be dead by now, and in any case, it’s his own fault! I—I mean, it’d be hazarding the ship to go back
there!” The words poured out in a wild torrent. “He’s left the ship to you, and it’s your duty to get us, I mean these people, back to Hong Kong!”

Fallow listened uneasily, he had already considered that possibility, and although Rolfe was, in effect, still engaged in an evacuation of sorts, he had ordered Fallow to consider the ship first, in his absence. He clamped his jaws together vehemently. “What the ’ell are you sayin’, man? D’you want me to leave the skipper to bloody well rot?” He thrust his purple nose towards Vincent’s face. “You’re windy! That’s what’s up with you!”

Vincent clenched his fists, a flush on his cheeks. “It’s not that! I just don’t think the risk is justified!”

“Well, who’s bloody well askin’ you what you think?” The heat and the additional nagging worry of Vincent’s remarks were beginning to wear down Fallow’s reserve of outward calm. “I’m bloody fed up with you an’ your sort! Always showin’ off, and playin’ the big man, with yer lardy-da ways! An’ when it comes to the showdown, what ’appens?” He poked the man’s jacket with a fat finger. “I’ll tell you what ’appens! You blow yer top! No guts! So if that’s all you’ve got to offer, you’d better ‘op it!” He glared belligerently, all the pent-up rage clear on his red face.

Vincent turned away, his slim body shaking with either rage or fear, Fallow didn’t care which. He had said it at last, he had told one of ‘them’ off, and he felt immensely better.

He caught the helmsman’s eye. “’Ere, watch yer course!” he growled. “You Chinks need a white walkin’ stick instead of a compass!”

He walked to the wing of the bridge, and stood breathing heavily, and tried to think of Mary.

In the wardroom Vincent groaned with anguish as he stared at the occupied seats, and breathed the foul air of tobacco smoke and gin. Blast them, they were making the place into a combination of a club and a public meeting place.

Laker glanced up. “What’s the news, eh? Are we still bent on self-destruction? I’m goin’ to have a word with that Lieutenant Fallow in a moment and tell him what I think about it!”

Vincent jerked his hand at the steward, trying to shut out the angry voice which beat mercilessly into his brain. “Large whisky, steward!” Peng glanced at him impassively, as if to
question the sense of Vincent’s order. All the stewards knew that Vincent was normally meticulous and careful about his drinking habits when the ship was at sea.

He swallowed the drink, his eyes far away and desperate. What’s got into me? To let that fat oaf speak to me like a damned rating! He twisted in his chair, his disordered thoughts making him re-live all the miseries and insults which he had suffered. Wait until I get back. He tried to fan up the old familiar gloating feeling, but he could feel only emptiness. He tried to think methodically about the future, but there was nothing. Nothing! He stood up, startled, that was it! He was going to be killed! He glared round wildly, as if looking for a way of escape. What could he do? Now that the last pretence had fallen, he could only think of the dangers ahead. That was the future, there could be nothing else.

He stumbled from that hateful place and hurried along the deck to his cabin. With a trembling hand he unlocked the cupboard and drew out a bottle of whisky. Fool, fool! he told himself, but with an almost frantic eagerness he felt for a glass.

The door opened, and Ursula leaned quietly against it. Her eyes were anonymous behind the sun-glasses, but her full lips twitched in passing alarm as she studied him.

“Going to hang one on, David?” Her voice was soft and cool.

He gazed at her uncertainly. “Come in and shut the door, if you want to.”

“This isn’t quite the pleasure cruise that I’d hoped. I thought I might have seen a little more of you,” she shrugged. “But everybody seems to be in such a panic!”

He coloured, but before he could answer, she had sauntered lazily past him to stare at the framed photographs which were arrayed neatly about the cabin.

She paused at each one. The self-conscious uniformed group taken at Dartmouth College. Another of Vincent smiling whitely beneath a rowing trophy, and the rest a photographic record of his career.

“This looks like the way I’ve always imagined the navy,” she said, her voice still casual. “It’s so vast, so impartial, somehow!” She turned to face him, pulling away her glasses. “You can’t let all this go, David!” Her eyes blazed with green fire.

He shifted his feet, suddenly conscious of the weight of the bottle in his hand. What was she talking about? Why was she tormenting him?

She crossed to him, gently removing the whisky from his nerveless grip. The warm, animal smell of her full body stirred him, in spite of himself.

“Don’t you see, David? Your Captain’s doing what he thinks is right! He messed up his career, nearly lost everything,” she waved away the numbed protest. “Yes, I know all about it! But even though this was his last chance, he didn’t hesitate in what he knew was his real duty!” She ran her hands along his shoulders. “He’s a man! A real man, and you should be man enough yourself to realize it! Follow his example and show a little trust!” She pouted, “Hark at me! I didn’t think I had it in me!”

Vincent gaped at her in amazement. “You’re a queer girl, Ursula, and no mistake! I’m just a bit weak, I suppose.”

She twisted the buttons of his tunic between her fingers, her lashes lowered. “I know differently!”

Vincent pulled her against him, but there was no passion in his heart, only the desire to hide and be protected.

She led him to the narrow bunk and together they laid in a tight embrace. Vincent’s forehead was screwed into a tight frown, and as the girl eased his head against her breast, he shivered violently. Ursula stared up at the whirring fan, a distant smile on her mouth.

* * * * *

The deck canted slowly as the gunboat swung away on to her new track, and Louch watched his engine dials morosely. I hope they know what they’re doing, he thought. There’s not enough fuel to spend all our lives steaming round and round in ruddy circles. He accepted the mug of tea from his leading stoker. “Ta!” he remarked distantly, and when he sipped the strong beverage, he spat with sudden anger. “For God’s sake, let’s get away from this blasted island!” But only the tired engines heard him.

Chief Petty Officer Herridge stepped on to the bridge and saluted. “You wanted me, sir?”

“Er—yes! About tonight, Chief. I’m not too ’appy about you goin’ after the Captain in a pullin’ boat!” Fallow eyed him sombrely, waiting for the tough Cornishman to pass judgement.

“No option, is there?”

They studied the chart and noted the seemingly endless tangle of reefs and shoals around their objective.

“Think he’ll be there when we find the place, sir?” Herridge asked quietly. “He was taking on a hell of a lot, if you ask me!” Normally he would never have thought of discussing the matter with an officer, but he knew that Fallow wanted to talk to him about it, and he had not forgotten his own unspoken promise to Rolfe.

Fallow rubbed his chins worriedly. “Lord knows! But whatever ’appens, we’re not out of the wood yet!” He glanced quickly around the bridge, some of his old nervousness showing in his eyes. “Why did we ’ave to lose the radio? If only we could tell somebody what ’as ’appened!”

Herridge watched him calmly. Easy there! he thought, watch it now! Aloud he said, “I reckon he’ll get those people away all right. If he can’t, nobody can!”

“Er—Chief,” began Fallow awkwardly, “there’s something I’d like your opinion on.” He paused, swallowing hard. “Some of the passengers think I should leave the Captain behind and clear off! That’s what Laker ’as just been to see me about!” He looked straight at the other man, his brown eyes desperate. “I know I shouldn’t be talkin’ to you like this, an’ it’s not fair of me to ask you. But I shall be out of the Andrew soon, and anyway, I’d like to know what you think about it!” he ended defiantly.

Herridge watched the ensign flapping dejectedly from the gaff, his face cautious. “Well, sir, what exactly did you say to Mr. Laker?”

Fallow’s face was comical. “I told him to bugger off!”

Herridge’s eyes widened. “Then I reckon that was the correct answer, and very diplomatically put!”

They grinned at each other, and then lapsed into a companionable silence.

The
Wagtail
ploughed on, her fate decided.

* * * * *

Rolfe watched in silence as the girl cut open the small striped fish with Chao’s knife. She laid it on the tin first-aid box, and began to remove the bones.

He was fascinated by even her casual movements, and as she tossed the hair back from her eyes and glanced across at her brother, he saw the serious pressure of her lips. She beckoned quietly, and held up the fish for his inspection. Already it was curling under the relentless heat.

“I think we had better try to get him to eat. It might help to moisten his mouth.”

Brian Felton moaned as Rolfe gently removed Chao’s white jacket from his pain-racked face. His eyes seemed to have fallen back into his head, and the scarred side of his twisted features no longer appeared so stark when compared to his grey, lifeless skin.

“Here, Brian, have a go at some of your sister’s cooking!” Rolfe forced a grin. He was horrified by the appearance of Felton’s legs through the rents in his tattered trousers. The skin around the groin gleamed an angry yellow as if lit by an inner fire.

Felton stared up at him, his eye at first blank and wavering. Then the thin mouth twisted, and he moved his hands weakly. “Try anything once! Hope it’s not poison!”

Rolfe put a small piece between the man’s lips and watched him move his jaws in slow, jerky bites.

“Chao says it’s good stuff,” Rolfe added. “If you just chew it, it might keep away the dryness a bit!”

“Well said, Doctor!” the voice was just a mumble. “But I wish you’d take the rest for yourselves! It’s wasted on me.”

Rolfe heard the girl draw in her breath and he looked up quickly as she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

Chao crouched beside them, a cheerful smile on his face. “I feed him, Captain-sir! Me more experienced!” He slid his hand under Felton’s head and prattled away cheerily, while he fed the fish into Felton’s parched mouth.

Rolfe stood up, his bare shoulders feeling stiff and dry with the growing pain of sunburn. It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the crater, and indeed from the whole islet, to leave a glowing bowl of heat and pain. He no longer sweated
and his mouth burned continuously, making his tongue feel twice its size.

He moved slowly around the crater, forcing himself to strain his eyes across the inviting green sea, and watch for any possible danger. He swayed slightly, and leaned his hands on the rock, unable to move, yet aware of the heat coursing up from the dry surface.

He turned as Judith’s shadow crossed the ground. She had untied the shirt-tails from between her legs, and as she crouched down by the edge of the cliff, she drew her brown legs up inside the shirt, making a small tent for her body. Her hair, dusty and loose, draped protectively around her shoulders, but her lips were dry, and his heart ached as he saw the pink tip of her tongue trying vainly to ease their discomfort.

“Your shoulders are getting very burned,” she said gravely, “I think you had better take the shirt for a bit!”

Rolfe tried to laugh, but it was a cracked sound which he heard. “Much as I’d like that, Judith, I think we’ll carry on as we are!”

She dropped her eyes and rubbed the sand with her bare foot. “I don’t know how you can say such things! I wish I could be as calm as you are.”

He slipped down beside her, his breath pounding with the effort of movement.

“I’m not a bit calm, as it happens,” he said soberly. “I keep thinking of what might happen if the
Wagtail
doesn’t come for us, or if we find we can’t get to her. I’m worried about moving Brian. He’s pretty bad, as you know, and any shock might finish his chance of survival!”

She rested her chin on her knees and pulled the shirt collar up across her neck. Rolfe trembled as he saw the warm curve of her breast through the sagging front of the shirt. He clenched his fists helplessly. She looked so small and perfect that he had to tear his mind away from the prospect of being left either to die of thirst on this god-forsaken place or to submit to recapture. The thought of what could happen to her as a prisoner in Santu made him feel sick and weak.

Her hand found his wrist and her wide, hazel eyes studied him with concern. “We shall be safe soon, Justin, I feel it!”
She said it with such calm assurance that he had to turn his face away lest she should see the anguish in his eyes.

“Tell me about Hong Kong,” she said suddenly. “I want to know about so much. I’m afraid I’m rather inexperienced, as you’ve probably gathered.”