South By Java Head (4 page)

"My God!" Farnholme shook his head in wonder. "The Pied Piper never had anything on this bunch!"
The little man in the kilt was back at the head of the column now. Awkwardly, painfully, he lowered his Bren to the wet ground, straightened and brought his hand up to his balmoral in a salute that would have done credit to a Guards' parade ground. "Corporal Fraser reporting, sir." His voice had the soft burr of the north-east Highlands.
"At ease, Corporal." Parker stared at him. "Wouldn't it -- wouldn't it have been easier if you'd just transferred that gun to your left hand?" A stupid question, he knew, but the sight of that long line of haggard, half-alive zombies materialising out of the darkness had had a curiously upsetting effect on him.
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I think my left shoulder is kind of broken, sir."
"Kind of broken," Parker echoed. With a conscious effort of will he shook off the growing sense of unreality. "What regiment, Corporal?"
"Argyll and Sutherlands, sir."
"Of course." Parker nodded. "I thought I recognised you."
"Yes, sir. Lieutenant Parker, isn't it, sir."
"That's right." Parker gestured at the line of men standing patiently in the rain. "You in charge, Corporal?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why?"
"Why?" The corporal's fever-wasted face creased in puzzlement. "Dunno, sir. Suppose it's because I'm the only fit man here."
"The only fit-----" Parker broke off in mid-sentence, lost in incredulity. He took a deep breath. "That's not what I meant, Corporal. What are you doing with these men? Where are you going with them?".
"I don't rightly know, sir," Fraser confessed. "I was told to lead them back out of the line to a place of safety, get them some medical attention if I could." He jerked a thumb in the direction of the intermittent firing. "Things are a little bit confused up there, sir," he finished apologetically.
"They're all of that," Parker agreed. "But what are you doing down here at the waterfront?"
"Looking for a boat, a ship, anything." The little corporal was still apologetic. "'Place of safety' was my orders, sir. I thought I'd have a real go at it."
"A real go at it." The feeling of unreality was back with Parker once again. "Aren't you aware, Corporal, that by the time you get anywhere the nearest place of safety would be Australia -- or India?"
"Yes, sir." There was no change of expression on the little man's face.
"Heaven give me strength." It was Farnholme speaking for the first tune, and he sounded slightly dazed. "You were going to set out for Australia in a rowing-boat with that -- that-----"
He gestured at the line of patient, sick men, but words failed him.
"Certainly I was," Fraser said doggedly. "I've got a job to do."
"My God, you don't give up easy, do you, Corporal?" Farnholme stared at him. "You'd have a hundred times more chance in a Jap prison camp. You can thank your lucky stars that there isn't a boat left in Singapore."
"Maybe there is and maybe there isn't," the corporal said calmly. "But there's a ship lying out there in the roads." He looked at Parker. "I was just planning how to get out to it when your men came along, sir."
"What!" Farnholme stepped forward and gripped him by his good shoulder. "There's a ship out there? Are you sure, man?"
"Sure I'm sure." Fraser disengaged his shoulder with slow dignity. "I heard it's anchor going down not ten minutes ago,"
"How do you know? "Farnholme demanded. "Perhaps the anchor was coming up and-----"
"Look, pal," Fraser interrupted. "I may look stupid, I may even be stupid, but I know the bloody difference between------"
"That'll do, Corporal, that'll do!" Parker cut him off hastily. "Where's this ship lying?"
"Out behind the docks, sir. About a mile out, I should say. Bit difficult to be sure -- still some smoke around out there."
"The docks? In the Keppel Harbour?"
"No, sir. We haven't been near there to-night. Only a mile or so away -- just beyond Malay Point."
Even in the darkness the journey didn't take long -- fifteen minutes at the most. Parker's men had taken over the stretchers, and others of them helped the walking wounded along. And all of them, men and women, wounded and well, were now possessed of the same overwhelming sense of urgency. Normally, no one among them would have placed much hope on any evidence so tenuous as the rattle of what might, or might not have been an anchor going down: but, so much had their minds been affected by the continuous retreats and losses of the past weeks, so certain had they been of capture before that day was through, capture and God only knew how many years of oblivion, so complete was their sense of hopelessness that even this tiny ray of hope was a blazing beacon in the dark despair of their minds. Even so the spirit of the sick men far exceeded their strength, and most of them
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were spent and gasping and glad to cling to their comrades for support by the time Corporal Fraser came to a halt.
"Here, sir. It was just about here that I heard it."
"What direction?" Farnholme demanded. He followed the line indicated by the barrel of the corporal's Bren, but could see nothing: as Fraser had said, smoke still lay over the dark waters... He became aware that Parker was close behind him, his mouth almost touching his ear.
"Torch? Signal?" He could barely catch the lieutenant's soft murmur. For a moment Farnholme hesitated, but only a moment: they had nothing to lose. Parker sensed rather than saw the nod, and turned to his sergeant.
"Use your torch, Sergeant. Out there. Keep flashing until you get an answer or until we can see or hear something approaching. Two or three of you have a look round the docks -- maybe you might find some kind of boat."
Five minutes passed, then ten. The sergeant's torch clicked on and off, monotonously, but nothing moved out on the dark sea. Another five minutes, then the searchers had returned to report that they were unable to find anything. Another five minutes passed, five minutes during which the rain changed from a gentle shower to a torrential downpour that bounced high off the metalled roadway, then Corporal Fraser cleared his throat.
"I can hear something coming," he said conversationally.
"What? Where?" Farnholme barked at him.
"A rowing-boat of some sorts. I can hear the rowlocks. Coming straight at us, I think."
"Are you sure?" Farnholme tried to listen over the drumming of the rain on the road, the hissing it made as it churned the surface of the sea to a white foam. "Are you sure, man?" he repeated. "I can't hear a damn' thing."
"Aye, I'm sure. Heard it plain as anything."
"He's right!" It was the big sergeant who spoke, his voice excited. "By God, he's right, sir. I can hear it, too!"
Soon everybody could hear it, the slow grinding creak of rowlocks as men pulled heavily on their oars. The tense expectancy raised by Fraser's first words collapsed and vanished in the almost palpable wave of indescribable relief that swept over them and left them all chattering together in low ecstatic voices. Lieutenant Parker took advantage of the noise to move closer to Farnholme.
"What about the others -- the nurses and the wounded?"
"Let 'em come, Parker -- if they want to. The odds are high
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against us. Make that plain -- and make it plain that it must be their own choice. Then tell them to keep quiet, and move back out of sight. Whoever it is -- and it must be the Kerry Dancer -- we don't want to scare 'em away. >As soon as you hear the boat rubbing alongside, move forward and take over."
Parker nodded and turned away, his low urgent tones cutting through the babble of voices.
"Right. Take up these stretchers. Move back, all of you, to the other side of the road -- and keep quiet. Keep very quiet, if you ever want to see home again. Corporal Fraser?"
"Sir?"
"You and your men -- do you wish to come with us? If we go aboard that ship it's highly probably that we'll be sunk within twelve hours. I must make that clear."
"I understand, sir."
"And you'll come, then?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have you asked the others?"
"No, sir." The corporal's injured tone left no doubt about his contempt for such ridiculously democratic procedures in the modern army, and Farnholme grinned in the darkness. "They'll come too, sir."
"Very well. On your head be it. Miss Drachmann?"
"I'll come, sir," she said quietly. She lifted her left hand to her face in a strange gesture. "Of course I'll come."
"And the others?"
"We've discussed it." She indicated the young Malayan girl by her side. "Lena here wants to go too. The other three don't care much, sir, one way or another. Shock, sir -- a shell hit our lorry tonight. Better if they come, I think."
Parker made to answer, but Farnholme gestured him to silence, took the torch from the sergeant and advanced to the edge of the dock. The boat could be seen now, less than a hundred yards away, vaguely silhouetted by the distant beam of the torch. Even as Farnholme peered through the heavy rain, he could see the flurry of white foam as someone in the sternsheets gave an order and the oars dug into the sea, back-watering strongly until the boat came to a stop and lay silently, without moving, a half-seen blur in the darkness.
"Ahoy, there!" Farnholme called. "The Kerry Dancer!"
"Yes." The deep voice carried clearly through the falling rain. "Who's there?"
"Farnholme, of course." He could hear the man in the sternsheets giving an order, could see the rowers starting to pull strongly again. "Van Effen?"
"Yes, Van Effen."
"Good man!" There was no questioning the genuineness of the warmth in Farnholme's voice. "Never been so glad to see anyone in all my life. What happened?" The boat was only twenty feet away now, and they could talk in normal tones.
"Not much." The Dutchman spoke perfect, colloquial English, with a scarcely discoverable trace of accent. "Our worthy captain changed his mind about waiting for you, and had actually got under way before I persuaded him to change his mind."
"But -- but how do you know the Kerry Dancer won't sail before you get back? Good God, Van Effen, you should have sent someone else. You can't trust that devil an inch."
"I know." Hand steady on the tiller, Van Effen was edging in towards the stonework. "If she sails, she sails without her master. He's sitting in the bottom of the boat here, hands tied and with my gun in his back. Captain Siran is not very happy, I think."
Farnholme peered down along the beam of the torch. It was impossible to tell whether Captain Siran was happy or not, but it was undoubtedly Captain Siran. His smooth, brown face was as expressionless as ever.
"And just to make certain," Van Effen continued, "I've got the two engineers tied in Miss Plenderleith's room -- tied hand and foot by myself, I may say. They won't get away. The door's locked, and Miss Plenderleith's in there with them, with a gun in her hand. She's never fired a gun in her life, but she's perfectly willing to try, she says. She's a wonderful old lady, Farnholme."
"You think of everything," Farnholme said admiringly. "If only------"
"All right, that'll do! Stand aside, Farnholme." Parker was by his side, a powerful torch shining down on to the upturned faces below. "Don't be a bloody fool!" he said sharply, as Van Effen made to bring up his pistol. "Put that thing away -- there's a dozen machine-guns and rifles lined up on you."
Slowly Van Effen lowered his gun and looked up bleakly at Farnholme.
"That was beautifully done, Farnholme," he said slowly. "Captain Siran here would have been proud to claim such a masterpiece of treachery."
"It wasn't treachery," Farnholme protested. "They're British troops, our friends, but I'd no option. I can explain------"
"Shut up!" Parker cut in brusquely. "You can do all your explaining later." He looked down at Van Effen. "We're coming with you, whether you like it or not. That's a motor lifeboat you have there. Why were you using your oars?"
"For silence. Obviously. Much good it did us," Van Effen added bitterly.
"Start the motor," Parker ordered.
"I'll be damned if I will!"
"Perhaps. You'll probably be dead if you don't," Parker said coldly. "You look an intelligent man, Van Effen. You've got eyes and ears and should realise we're desperate men. What's to be gained by childish obstinacy at this stage?"
Van Effen looked at him for a long moment in silence, nodded, jammed his gun hard into Siran's ribs and gave an order. Within a minute the engine had come to life and was putt-putting evenly away as the first of the wounded soldiers was lowered on to the thwarts. Within half an hour the last of the men and women who had been standing on the dockside were safely aboard the Kerry Dancer. It had taken two trips, but short ones: Corporal Fraser had been about right in his estimate of distance, and the ship was anchored just outside the three-fathom shoal line of the Pagar Spit.
The Kerry Dancer got under way just before half-past two in the morning, the last ship out of the city of Singapore before she fell into the hands of the Japanese later on that same day of 15th February, 1942. The wind had dropped away now, the rain fined to a gentle drizzle and a brooding hush lay over the darkened city as it faded swiftly into the gloom of the night. There were no fires to be seen now, no lights at all, and even the crackle of desultory gunfire had died away completely. Everything was unnaturally, uncannily silent, silent as death itself, but the storm would break when the first light of day touched the rooftops of Singapore.
Farnholme was in the bleak, damp aftercastle of the Kerry Dancer, helping two of the nurses and Miss Plenderleith to attend to the bandaging and care of the wounded soldiers, when a knock came to the door -- the only door, the one that led out into the deep after well. He switched out the light, stepped outside and closed the door carefully behind him. He turned to look at the shadowy figure standing in the gloom.
"Lieutenant Parker?"
"Yes." Parker gestured in the darkness. "Perhaps we'd better go up on the poop-deck here -- we can't be overheard there."
Together they climbed the iron ladder and walked right aft to the taffrail. The rain had quite stopped now, and the sea was very calm. Farnholme leaned over the rail, gazed down at the phosphorescence bubbling in the Kerry Dancer's creaming wake and wished he could smoke. It was Parker who broke the silence.
"I've a rather curious item of news for you, sir -- sorry, no 'sir '. Did the corporal tell you?"
"He told me nothing. He only came into the aftercastle a couple of minutes ago. What is it?"
"It appears that this wasn't the only ship in the Singapore roads tonight. While we were coming out to the Kerry Dancer with the first boatload, it seems that another motor-boat came in and tied up less than a quarter of a mile away. A British crew."