Send a Gunboat (1960) (23 page)

“Steer Oh-nine-oh, sir!” The helmsman’s face was relaxed and passive, his thin features lighted by the dim compass bulb, as he turned the worn spokes in his hands.

The
Wagtail
’s wake curved slowly and she headed into the dusk.

THE BABBLE OF
nervous conversation died away as Vincent stepped over the coaming into the wardroom and he felt seven pairs of eyes watching him questioningly. He blinked dazedly in the sudden, harsh glare of the electric lights and faltered in his stride, as if undecided whether or not to stay, when his whole being cried out for seclusion and quiet.

The stewards were ducking and murmuring over the passengers, passing round steaming mugs of tea and glasses of what looked like rum. Vincent walked to the sideboard, determined to keep his back to their stupid faces as long as possible, if only to delay the flood of questions which he knew would come. He gulped, as he saw his hand shaking madly, trying to steer the neck of the whisky bottle towards a glass. Damn! He breathed fiercely, I must hold on! Got to keep a grip on myself! He drank deeply, keeping his aching head held back, as if to hurry the passage of the neat spirit.

“Hell, man, what’s happening now?” Grant’s voice behind him made him stiffen, the bottle poised in mid-air. “Are we out of danger yet?”

Laker cleared his throat. “Bloody great crash! What was it? Was the ship badly hit?”

Vincent pivoted his protesting body against the sideboard and made himself face them. “One shell hit us,” his voice was thick. “There was a bit of a fire, too!”

Laker sounded querulous. “From the noise you chaps were making I imagined that we were sinkin’!” He glared round at the others. “Not like it was in my day!”

No one answered, but Ursula, her hand poised in the motion of combing her hair, turned her face sympathetically to Vincent.

He avoided her eyes, licking his lips nervously. Did she know? Did she realize that he had cracked? He stared blindly at the bulkhead beyond their heads, seeing again the blazing wireless room, with its ghastly stench of burning. And Lane’s distorted
face by the car, and his wife, and, and . . . he shut his eyes tightly, hearing Laker’s voice continuing, gaining power and vehemence from the drink.

“When I was a young subaltern on the Marne! God, things were
really
hot there! Young fellas today don’t seem to have it in ’em!”

Why doesn’t someone shut him up? Vincent swallowed hard, tasting the vomit in his throat. He stiffened even more as he heard the sound of something metal being scraped over the deck above his head. God! He nearly screamed. They’re gathering up all that’s left of Little! The sounds went on relentlessly, and he took two steps to a vacant chair and flopped down heavily.

Ursula pretended a yawn and wandered past him. Her hand casually strayed to his neck and stayed there, firm and cool. “Pretty rough, was it, David?” Her voice was so low that Laker and the others didn’t even notice.

He reached up for her fingers, gripping them fiercely. He held his cheek against them, his eyes smarting and his body beginning to shiver.

The door banged back and Fallow lumbered in. He looked slightly dazed and rather pale, but he managed to ignore the curious glances, and he wandered uncertainly around the wardroom, touching the familiar objects as if to reassure himself, He took a cup of tea from the steward, his brown eyes watching Vincent over the rim. He smacked his lips noisily and twitched his bulbous nose with appreciation.

“Drop o’good, that,” he murmured, as if to himself. Then, in a sharper tone, “Captain wants you up on the bridge, Vince! You feelin’ all right?”

“He’s had a rough time of it,” began Grant from the corner.

“Really?” Fallow’s mouth drooped whimsically. “Well, that’s a pity, ain’t it?”

Vincent lurched to his feet, looking like death. “What’s he want with me now? Can’t I have a minute’s rest?” His voice trailed away like that of a small rebuked child. He jammed on his cap and stumbled for the door.

Fallow breathed deeply and eyed the others keenly. “Pretty rough down in the old bilges, eh? Bet you was glad to get up an’ smell the fresh air agin.”

Laker snorted and stared at him contemptuously. “I’d have liked to see just what
was
goin’ on up top, I can tell you!” There was almost an accusation in his voice.

Fallow studied him sadly, “Nobody does nothing to please you, an’ that’s a fact!” He kept his face straight, but he felt like skipping, or getting drunk! They were going home! They were out, and clear! The battle had left him breathless, but otherwise unmoved. He had seen too much suffering and pain in the navy to let one more little skirmish bother him. His only fear had been when he saw the troops swarming from the innocent-looking boats. Then he had felt naked fear clutching at his insides, for it was at that moment that he thought his chance of getting away had vanished for good. But, thanks to the Captain, the gunboat was thrashing her way round the north-west end of the island, and in a few hours they would be steadying on their homeward course. He felt a tremor of his old misery, as he heard Laker mutter. “Damned rankers! Never could make ’em into gentlemen and never will!”

Ursula was at his side and he frowned defensively. “I’m worried about David,” she began, “I think he’s sick.”

No guts, you mean! he thought, but he forced a smile. “’E’ll be fit enough soon, miss! Gets ’em all like that at first.” He knew inwardly that Vincent would never be the same again. He stifled the chuckle—God, anything’d be an improvement on the old Vince!

She bit her lip uncomfortably. “I’m sorry about what I said to you yesterday,” her voice shook. “I was a stupid clot! I’ve learned a lot since then!”

Fallow smiled slowly. Was it only yesterday, he marvelled? The car dashing through the night, the child, and the hospital. He gulped suddenly. “Gawd! The ’ospital! The Doctor an’ ’is sister!” He stared awkwardly at the girl. “I’d forgotten about them!”

She nodded. “They’ll be safe, I expect,” she said vaguely. “Daddy said that Felton’s one of them! A dyed-in-the-wool Communist!”

Fallow eyed her father narrowly. “Beggin’ yer pardon, miss, but I don’t reckon your Dad’s much of a judge of character!”

Mrs. Laker sat bolt upright, her brittle face pallid under the lights. “What’s that? The engines have stopped!”

Laker put his feet up on the table and eyed Fallow coolly. “I expect the Captain’s having a rest!” He kept his small eyes fixed on the Lieutenant’s face. “From what I’ve heard about him, I should say he’s going to need one!” He laughed harshly.

Ursula stepped towards him, “Daddy, please! You don’t know what you’re saying!” She stared at him angrily.

Fallow’s face was hard. “Yes, the engines ’ave stopped! Would you like to ’ear something?” And without waiting for an answer, he jerked the door open and switched off the lights.

“What the devil!” began Laker, in an annoyed but startled voice, but the others hissed him to silence.

A pale shaft of moonlight rippled across the heaving water and cast weird shadows on the deck outside the wardroom door. There was the gentle slap of water against the motionless hull, and the occasional creak of rigging and tackle.

Above it all, clear and firm, they heard Rolfe’s voice reading, as if from a great distance.

“We commend unto Thy hands of mercy, most merciful Father, the soul of this our brother departed, and we commit his body to the deep . . .”

There was a pause, followed by a slithering sound and a splash.

Rolfe’s voice continued, but Fallow slammed the door and switched on the lights. He glared round at each one in turn, reading the shocked surprise in their faces.

Mrs. Grant stammered, her hands twitching at her throat, “We didn’t realize anyone had been, had been—” she faltered, and her voice died away.

“Killed?” Fallow added brutally. “No, you didn’t realize, any of yer. ’Cause you was all too busy feelin’ sorry fer yerselves and bein’ ’eroes!” He stuck out his jaw threateningly. “That poor kid the Captain’s just buried ’ad more guts than all you lot lumped together, an’ that’s tellin’ yer!” He stared down at Laker. “Well, ain’t you got nothin’ to say fer once? Why not tell us what you was doin’ while that kid was bein’ shot to bleedin’ bits!” He knew he was getting out of control, but he didn’t care. All the pent-up anger at these petty people, with their toffee-nosed
ideas seemed to overwhelm him. Laker shrank away from him, his mouth slack. They’re all scared of me, he thought suddenly, think I’ve gone nuts! Well, perhaps I ’ave, but it was good to let off steam!

Bells jangled and the throb of the engines continued their steady beat.

Rolfe looked grey with fatigue and there was dirt and grease on his jacket. His mouth was tight and Fallow wondered if he had heard his outburst.

Rolfe stared at his passengers coldly, with a detached, clinical interest. “All well, Number One?”

The faces turned from the Captain back to Fallow, wondering if he was going to continue with his attack.

“All well, sir.” Fallow cleared his throat. “Pity about the lad, sir?”

“Yes.”

He seemed to be trying to make up his mind about something, and when he spoke, Fallow had the impression that he was bypassing the main issue. There was something else which was gnawing at the Captain’s mind.

“You know by now that the invasion got under way just as we were leaving. We were engaged by two Communist landing craft, although this ship is clearly marked, and we didn’t fire back until they attacked us first.” He shrugged wearily. “However, the niceties of neutral law and acts of war are matters for the politicians. The fact is, we gave them a bloody nose and they made off! We had one hit on the ship and we received two casualties, one of whom was killed. Unfortunately, our radio is completely written off, and we cannot send or receive signals. I informed my superiors that I had commenced the evacuation and that the island had been attacked. That was all! So as far as the Admiral is concerned we are on our way home.”

“Won’t they think it’s queer if you don’t keep in touch with them?” Ursula’s green eyes watched him softly.

Rolfe shook his head shortly. “I should normally observe radio silence once the job has started, and while we were nearer the Chinese coast than our base. Secrecy is the main item here, because now that we are away from Santu, we don’t want to start pouring out signals to all and sundry when, by the time we
get back, we may find that the situation in Santu is no different from when we left! Now, there’s another matter which I wanted to put before you.”

Here it comes, thought Fallow, watchfully.

“As you now fully understand,” he dropped a glance on Laker’s sullen face, “my job was to carry out a complete evacuation.”

“And damned well you did it, too,” began Grant, unexpectedly. Rolfe brushed his words aside. “I did not get the Feltons away! I failed in that respect!”

Fallow pouted worriedly, so that was what was driving him! The sharp lines round Rolfe’s mouth were proof of his unsettled mind.

“Well, I don’t see that should concern us!” Laker blurted, but fell silent again as the grey eyes pierced him.

“I said I would go back for them, and go back I shall!” Rolfe ended quietly.

There was a chorus of cries and wild protests. Everyone seemed to be appealing to Rolfe at once.

He raised his hand sharply. “That’ll do! I think I understand your feelings! And that is why I decided to consult you!”

Grant jumped to his feet, his pipe falling unnoticed to the deck. “What exactly d’you have in mind, Captain?”

“I had hoped I might be able to contact some of the General’s men, if they are still fighting, that is, and perhaps find a way to contact the Feltons and so bring them out.”

Laker sprang up, his face contorted. “Are you mad, all of you? Here we are, within sight of safety, and this fellow wants to push us all back into danger! We’ve seen the sort of people these Communists are, yet the Captain wants to risk the ship, and our lives, just for the sake of a couple of worthless throw-outs, who are probably drinking rice wine with the Reds right now!” He glared round wildly. “Think of the women! Are we going to throw them right back into that vile mess?”

Rolfe watched him dispassionately. “Very well! Your loyalty and courage touches me deeply!” His voice was bitter.

Masters flushed hotly. “I agree with Mr. Laker, Captain,” he mumbled and reached out for his wife’s hand. “I, I mean, we can’t afford to take the risk, can we?”

There was an uneasy mutter of agreement and they avoided Rolfe’s cold eyes.

“I see. Thank you!” He glanced at Fallow’s apprehensive face. “Come to the bridge, Number One. I have some orders for you!” He turned on his heel, leaving the wardroom strangely quiet.

They climbed to the bridge, where Vincent paced the deck in short, nervous strides.

“What’re you goin’ to do, sir? I mean, are you really goin’ back?”

“I am. But I shall be going alone!”

“What?” Fallow stared at him, aghast. “Alone, sir?”

Rolfe leaned heavily across the chart and tapped it with the brass dividers.

“I’ve been having a look at the east coast of Santu. There’s a little cove tucked in the cliffs just there, look!”

Fallow breathed heavily, his mind awhirl with this sudden threat of disaster. “Not enough water there, by the look of it, sir. An’ all them rocks, too!”

“I know,” Rolfe sounded distant. “I want to be rowed as far as the rocks in the sampan, and I’ll swim the rest!”

Fallow gulped. The Captain had had it all planned before he came to the wardroom. He had known that nobody would have guts enough to back him up with his first idea. That included me, he thought miserably.

“’Ow’ll you get back, sir?” he asked in a small voice.

The brass dividers moved to the bottom of the island, to the small ‘dot’ at the foot of the question mark. “If I’m successful I shall make my way there.”

“’Ow shall we know, sir?”

Rolfe smiled to himself. “I’ll give myself twenty-four hours. If you stand off the island tomorrow night at about midnight, I’ll signal to you. If I’m not there by then, if I’m delayed or something, you make straight for Hong Kong! You’ll contact an American patrol about a hundred miles to the south, anyway, so you’ll be quite safe.”