Pride and the Anguish (27 page)

He winced as another flare exploded almost directly overhead. He heard some of the men whispering with alarm and said, “Now we can see what we're about!” He made himself watch the narrowing strip of water between the two gunboats, but half of his mind still rebelled and waited for the first, obliterating salvo.

“Midships. Port ten.” In the harsh light he could see every detail of the
Prawn
's shattered deck, even the glittering mounds of discarded coal on the sandbar below her hull. The coal had definitely saved her. The shell's lethal power had dissipated itself inside one of the bunkers instead of breaking the old gunboat's back or ploughing into one of the magazines.

“Stop engines!” He saw someone waving his cap at him from the
Prawn
's bridge, but turned as Dancy called, “All ready aft, sir!”

It was all taking too long, although he knew from the position of the drifting flare that it had only been a matter of minutes and seconds.

There was an explosion like a thunderclap from the opposite
side, and as he turned he saw a giant column of water shoot skywards while the deck heaved beneath his feet as if on a tidal wave. A shell had exploded in the shallow water merely yards away. As the white column fell in a blinding torrent across the bridge the men staggered back coughing and gasping, their eyes and mouths filled with salt and the stench of cordite.

Dancy was calling, “Wheelhouse reports that the wheel don't answer, sir!”

Trewin stared at him for several seconds, waiting for his voice and wits to return. He spat the filthy water from his mouth. “Get aft and find out the damage.” In a calmer tone he continued, “All departments report damage immediately.”

When he looked again he saw that the
Prawn
was almost touching and already they were joined by dripping heaving lines. On one was attached a strong hawser, and as he watched he saw the thick towing line moving slowly across the narrow strip of trapped water between the two ships.

Aloud he muttered, “We'll use
Prawn
like a drogue and rely on the engines for steering.”

A messenger thrust a telephone into his hand. “Engine room, sir.”

Trewin hid the sudden anxiety from the watching men and said, “Yes, Chief, what is it?”

“Just been having a look at the steering gear, sir. Two of the rudders are buckled right over. You'll not be able to use 'em until the dockyard has fixed 'em.”

Trewin waited, hardly daring to hope. Then he asked, “No other hull damage?”

He heard Nimmo laugh. He sounded a long way away. “Not a bloody thing. She's a tough old bird, this one.”

As Trewin replaced the handset Nimmo was still laughing.

“Tow secured, sir!”

“Very well.” He glanced shorewards but there was no tell-tale flash from the searching battery. Maybe it had been engaged by the island's defenders, he thought vaguely. “Slow ahead port!”

Like a crab the gunboat veered away from the other ship and then took the strain on the unreeling tow rope. Twice it jerked bar taut from below the surface, and Trewin caught his breath, waiting for it to part. Then
Prawn
without power and
Porcupine
with no rudder would be drifting targets awaiting the dawn and any enemy gunner who chose to take advantage of them.

Mallory scrambled on to the bridge soaked in water and filthy. He gasped, “She's taking the strain!” Then he shook his head. “You mad bastard! You're as bad as bloody Corbett!” But he was grinning.

“Just to please you I'll take the main Strait this time.” Trewin could feel his hands shaking violently. “We shall have to go very slowly.” Over his shoulder he snapped, “Slow ahead starboard!”

Mercifully the flare dipped and died with startling suddenness, and above the mutter of duelling artillery and the thud of engines he heard
Prawn
's men cheering.

He said, “We'll try and keep going due south for an hour or so. Then I'll signal for a tug.” Now that the actual moment of decision was past he found he could not stop speaking his mind aloud.

Mallory replied quietly, “Corbett will not be pleased, whatever you do or say now.”

Trewin thought of what he must say to Corbett when he reached harbour, and wondered what Mallory would think if he told him.

He said steadily, “Just watch the tow, Pilot. Leave the diplomacy to me, all right?”

Mallory shrugged and then walked to the rear of the bridge. Under his breath he commented, “Rather you than me, my friend!”

By the screen Trewin stood alone with his thoughts. It would be a very slow crawl back to harbour. Corbett would have plenty of time to work up a rage and prepare to act against him for disobeying his orders. Deep down Trewin wondered if he had deliberately given Corbett a weapon to use against him, if only
to ease the pain of what he had still to do.

He heard the telegraphs ring violently as Mallory wrestled with the engines and tried to keep the tow in line astern, and smiled in spite of his uncertainty.

With or without Corbett, the
Porcupine
seemed to have a life and mind all of her own, he thought.

N
O TUG WAS SENT
in response to Trewin's signal, merely a brief but definite order to maintain radio silence and return to harbour using whatever resources available. It was a slow and painful journey, with much of the time spent hiding amongst the offshore islets while processions of bombers and solitary reconnaissance aircraft droned overhead, obviously intent on searching for such targets as the crippled gunboats now presented.

They finally crossed the harbour limits on the morning of the following day, the success of their arrival immediately overshadowed by the unmoving pall of smoke above the city and the fresh wrecks which littered the harbour like so much scrap.

It was difficult to believe that the harbour and anchorage could have changed so much in less than thirty-six hours. Transports and supply ships were gone, and the largest warship in sight was a destroyer busily engaged in taking on fuel from a lighter, even as her seamen prepared the lines for getting under way without a second's delay.

A harbour launch assisted the
Porcupine
to tie up to a buoy, and then towed the listing
Prawn
towards the slipway where a crowd of reluctant dockyard workers awaited her arrival under the eyes of an armed platoon of soldiers. Trewin imagined that but for the latter the workers would have left the
Prawn
to fend for herself. Of the
Beaver
there was no sign, but as Trewin leafed hastily through a bunch of despatches hurled aboard by the guardboat he read that she had been ordered to embark some two hundred civilian refugees and wounded troops and sail with a convoy bound for Java. From the look of the deserted harbour it seemed as if it was to be the last convoy to go. The island
was digging in to make a final fight of it. Even the wardroom radio sounded determined, and the voice of the newsreader trembled with emotion and resolution as he ended with the words: “We will not surrender! Singapore lives, and will never give in to the invaders!”

Trewin switched off the set and looked at the
Porcupine
's officers. They were lolling around the table, too tired even to eat the hastily prepared breakfast. He said, “I shall go ashore and report to headquarters. The captain will most likely be there and will have our orders.” He glanced at Mallory's unshaven face. “Make a signal requesting fuel. We should be able to get that lighter alongside as soon as the destroyer puts to sea. It may be our last chance, and the chief tells me we are down to the rivets in all the tanks!”

Nobody answered. Each man seemed totally immersed in his own thoughts. He continued, “I think that all officers and P.O.s had better wear sidearms as of now. And any shore parties must also be armed.” He saw Tweedie glance at the pistol rack. “When I get back we might know a bit more, but from what I've seen already, I'm not too hopeful.”

As he walked towards the door the others stood up, as if to some secret signal, and followed him into the bright sunlight. They seemed unwilling for him to leave. That by staying together they might forestall any additional disaster.

Hammond asked, “What about the steering? Can we get on the slipway after
Prawn
?”

Trewin shrugged. “I will find out.” He forced a grin. “I'm as eager as you to get mobile again.”

As he sat in the motor boat he stared back at the ship with a sense of shock. Her hull was streaked with dirt and rust, and it was impossible to visualise her as she had been when he had first seen her. Then she had looked like a yacht. Now she was showing the signs of wear and survival, like the men who served her.

At the landing stage he found freshly erected sandbag barriers and helmeted soldiers with machine-guns. The whole area
seemed swamped with military police and armed troops.

An army lieutenant met him at the barrier and glanced briefly at his papers. He said, “Can't be too careful. The place is crawling with saboteurs and spies.” He glanced across at the
Porcupine.
“I hope you're staying well out at anchor. We've already had several riots with our brave citizens fighting or bribing their way aboard anything still afloat.” He smiled bitterly. “A few days ago any soldier was treated like dirt around here. Now he could become a millionaire in exchange for a pass aboard some ship,
any
bloody ship.” He signalled to a camouflaged car. “He'll take you to the airfield, or what there is left of it!”

Trewin did not trust himself to reply. As the car nudged out into the street he was immediately aware of the changes all around him. The crowds of silent Malays and Chinese. Of abandoned vehicles and bomb-blasted buildings. Several times he saw corpses piled at the side of the road, only barely covered by sacking and crawling with flies. The driver did not even glance at them, and Trewin saw that he had a revolver resting across his legs as he steered through the streets at breakneck speed.

Trewin asked, “Much trouble here?”

The soldier grimaced. “It's not safe to go out alone at nights. Some of our lads have been done up by the locals recently.”

Trewin remembered the friendly faces he had seen before, the air of gentle tolerance and patience.

The soldier added, “They think we've let 'em down. That we should be protecting 'em from the Japs.” He laughed angrily. “Protect
them
!”

“It's as bad as that, is it?” Trewin saw the man's eyes harden.

“Yeh, it's a bloody sight worse by now, I expect. The Japs are supposed to have taken Timah Hill, the highest point on the whole ruddy island.” He cocked his head sideways. “That's only about five miles from the city's perimeter, for God's sake!”

He swung the wheel and skidded the car through the barbed-wire gate and braked outside the familiar concrete bunker. Then he leaned on the wheel and added softly, “Protect those bastards?
We can't even protect our bleeding selves!”

Trewin climbed down and stared at him. The soldier had a plain, ordinary face. He seemed to personify every soldier he had ever seen. He said, “Maybe they'll be able to hold them yet.”

The man pulled a cigarette from beneath his helmet and squinted against the harsh sunlight. “Save it, sir. I've been a squaddie too long to believe that sort of thing. They drop you into one mess after another. I was in Greece before this.”

Trewin looked away. “So was I.”

The man lit his cigarette and leaned back comfortably. “Well, you know then, don't you?” He smiled. “Fair makes you want to throw up, don't it?”

Trewin walked into the cool confines of the bunker and was almost knocked over by some marine orderlies who were manhandling a large steel filing cabinet out of the entrance. Inside the operations room the telephones were silent and unmanned, and only the map table remained as before, a colourful mockery in the middle of chaos.

The admiral was sitting in a canvas chair dictating a signal to his flag-lieutenant. At the far end of the room staff officers were bundling files into cases or throwing papers into a large incinerator beside which stood a can of petrol.

Fairfax-Loring looked up and nodded calmly. “You always seem to be dropping in for a visit, Trewin.” He looked at Hughes. “Pass that to all sections and then carry on with my order.” He pulled out his gold case and lit a cigarette. “Fact is, Trewin, things are getting a bit dicey here.”

A telephone buzzed impatiently, but a staff officer lifted the receiver and then laid it on the table and continued with his work. Trewin stared at the telephone. At the other end there was probably some wretched junior officer like himself. Perhaps out of fuel or ammunition, and wanting help and instructions.

He said coldly, “
Prawn
is on the slip, sir. I think we should get
Porcupine
's rudder seen to immediately.”

The admiral watched him through the smoke. “Quite so.
Actually I have already got it in hand.
Prawn
's damage is not too bad. When she's pumped out and so forth she should be able to get steam up again. Pity about your steering though. I could have used the
Porcupine
right now.”

“I understand that
Beaver
has already gone, sir? Is Commander Corbett still here?”

“Of course he is, Trewin!” The admiral frowned. “He is the senior officer of the group. What did you expect?” Then he yawned. “I'm about bushed, but there's a lot to do yet.” He eyed Trewin thoughtfully. “You'll hear soon enough, so it might as well be from me. The Army is in a bad way. They are mounting a counter-attack as of now, but if that fails I'm afraid we can't hope for much. The Japs are almost at the reservoirs, and some of the other water supply has already been poisoned,” he shrugged, “so it's just a matter of time.”

Trewin felt the room closing in on him. He said, “But the troops, sir? Surely they're not going to leave the whole lot to be killed or captured?”