Pride and the Anguish Read online

  Trewin felt his stomach muscles tense. “So the impossible has happened!”

  Corbett’s eyes gleamed in the desk light like stones. “Don’t be so damned melodramatic! The attacker always has the advantage. This had to be expected.” He picked up his cap. “Anyway, in twenty-four hours the Japs’ll have a bit more to deal with than a few dozy soldiers!”

  Trewin asked, “Why was the city left unguarded, sir?” He seemed to hear the cries and the sullen thunder of collapsing buildings. “They went and dropped their bombs just where they pleased!”

  Corbett picked an invisible thread from his shirt. “The R.A.F. gave warning in plenty of time, Trewin. It appears that the city authorities neglected to keep the A.R.P. headquarters manned at night, and no one could be found to switch off the light power supply!” He eyed Trewin coldly. “As I just said. Damned civilians! You just can’t rely on ’em!”

  There was a rush of feet along the sidedeck and the sound of a boat thudding against the hull. Corbett stared at his clock and said firmly, “We sail in one hour. All libertymen should be aboard by then.” He frowned at Trewin. “If not, I’ll want to know why!”

  Nimmo, the chief E.R.A., tapped at the door and peered at the captain. “Engine room ready, sir.” He was unshaven and dishevelled, and his white overalls were open to his navel. He must have run naked from his bunk at the first alarm.

  Corbett said, “Thank you. You can stand by as from now.” As Nimmo turned to leave Corbett added, “And, Chief! In future try to make yourself more presentable when you go to your station! Remember that most of your people are native Chinese. From now on a good example will be all the more important.”

  Nimmo’s square face remained expressionless. “Aye, aye, sir. I’ll remember that.”

  He walked away and Corbett said testily, “A regular, too!”

  Trewin said quietly, “He realised it was an emergency, sir. That is surely a good thing.”

  Corbett eyed him and then replied calmly, “A high standard is not something you switch on for Sundays, Trewin. Aboard my ship at least it will remain standard and routine.”

  Sub-Lieutenant Hammond looked round the door. “Signal, sir. No enemy aircraft shot down.” He looked wide-eyed and very young, Trewin thought.

  Corbett was unimpressed. “We shall do better next time.” He stared at Trewin. “Close up special sea dutymen. We’ll weigh anchor in forty-five minutes.” To Hammond he added sharply, “Make a signal to Flag. Check the state of readiness of the whole group.”

  Trewin followed Hammond into the passageway and said quietly, “Well, this is it, Sub.” Through the chartroom scuttle he could see the red glow of fires beyond the crowded waterfront houses. They were well inland. Towards the airfields by the look of them. He finished grimly, “At least we know where we stand!”

  Hammond followed his glance, his eyes suddenly anxious. “I hope we do better next time.” He licked his lips. “Poor devils, they didn’t stand a chance.”

  He said it so fervently that Trewin asked, “Is there someone special ashore for you, Sub?”

  Hammond looked at him with immediate caution. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact.” He seemed uncomfortable.

  Trewin said, “But it’s none of my bloody business, is that it?”

  “I’m sorry, Number One.” Hammond’s cheeks coloured. “I didn’t mean that.” He faltered. “She’s a wonderful girl. But I’d rather you didn’t say anything about her to anyone else.” He saw Trewin nod and continued more calmly, “I was with her when the attack started. I didn’t want to leave her.”

  Trewin thought of the November drizzle across the bombed street, the silent A.R.P. workers and tired firemen. His feeling of loss and despair. He said shortly, “You never do.”

  He turned away from Hammond’s curious stare as Leading Telegraphist Laird, the ship’s senior operator, pushed his head from the radio-room door. He was a cheerful and irrepressible person on most occasions, but he was unsmiling as he said, “Signal, sir! The Flag Officer, East Coast Patrols is coming aboard in fifteen minutes!” He grimaced and added, “Shall I tell the captain, sir?” He waited the right number of seconds and then added with a sad smile, “Or will you?”

  Trewin said grimly, “Leave it to me.” To Hammond he added, “Porcupine hardly seems big enough for an admiral!”

  As he disappeared down the passageway Laird said under his breath, “No ship’d be big enough for that bastard!”

  And fifteen minutes later, as the sky brightened to display the blackened buildings and blasted rubble from the bombing, Rear-Admiral Mark Fairfax-Loring came aboard.

  Shortly afterwards, with the frail sunlight filtering through the drifting banks of grey smoke, the six gunboats weighed and headed down the anchorage.

  For them the waiting was over.

  TREWIN LIFTED HIS GLASSES and trained them on Squalus, the next gunboat in line astern. She was keeping perfect station about half a mile distant, and the other four ships of the group followed in a slightly curving formation as they rounded the jutting green headland of Gelang Point. It was halfway through the forenoon watch, and on the unsheltered bridge it felt like a steel oven. Nearly twenty miles astern lay Kuantan, which Porcupine and her consorts had left only a few hours earlier. It was two full days since they had left Singapore. Two days of rumour and uncertainty, of unfamiliar work and tempers stretched to breaking point. On the first day the group had embarked a battalion of Australian infantry, and two companies of Indian troops for good measure. Then with the deck space crammed with noisy, jocular soldiers they had steamed north to Kuantan to land their human cargo as reinforcements to protect the great coast road which ran straight down parallel with the sea from Kota Bharu to Kuantan itself.

  Now they were on the move once more, still further north, with the green, unbroken coastline less than two miles abeam.

  Trewin licked his lips and walked to the forepart of the bridge. He was feeling tired and strained, and now that the ship was kept at defence stations he was working four hours on and four off like every man aboard. Hammond was stooping over the compass as he took a fix on the headland as it dropped back astern, but apart from him and the look-outs, Trewin had the bridge to himself. That in its small way was something to be thankful for. With Corbett watching his every move it was bad enough. But now, with the admiral aboard, the ship seemed to have shrunk to half her size.

  It was strange to see a senior officer moving about the decks. Fairfax-Loring’s flag was hanging limp at the masthead, and not a breath of wind ruffled the blue sea to ease the tension of watchkeeping. At dawn the sky had been overcast with low cloud and the air still damp from the thunderstorms which had dogged them all the way from Singapore. Trewin had been grateful for the bad weather. It was something he understood. Heavy cloud meant that there would be no sudden air attacks, and with the apparent worsening of the military situation up north, even weather could be a valuable ally.

  But now the sky, like the sea, was as clear and calm as it could possibly be, and with each thud of the screws Trewin could feel the apprehension mounting inside him as the little ships drove steadily northward. Whatever doubts and hopes he might have retained had been shattered at Kuantan. The estuary town was nearly two hundred miles south from where the fighting was said to be, yet already the place was in a state of panic. There was no other word to describe the scene as the six gunboats had sidled alongside the piers to discharge their troops. Trewin had gone ashore with some despatches for the naval liaison officer, and had been shocked by the scenes of urgency and confusion which had greeted him on every side. Ox-carts and ancient cars thronged the streets, and the waterfront had been crammed with people of every colour and race, apparently looking for some ship or other transport to carry them south.

  It had been a small but heartening sight to see the Australian soldiers marching away up the coast road, their rifles slung, their new orders sending them to the northeast coast where it was rumoured the Japs might attempt some small loc
al landings behind the main fighting line.

  Trewin wiped his forehead with his arm and trained his glasses on the rolling green bank of jungle which had been their constant companion. It was difficult to believe the Japanese would attempt to fight their way right down the Malay peninsula through that, he thought. His lips turned in a bitter smile as if to mock his own thoughts.

  Today everything and anything was not only possible, it was more than likely. Who would have imagined the Japs would have attacked Malaya and America together? Yet only the previous day Corbett had announced that headquarters had released the news of a knockout attack on several American naval bases by carrier aircraft. Pearl Harbor had been laid in ruins in a matter of hours and the anchored fleet pulverised at its moorings. So nothing was impossible any more.

  But like it or not, America was now in the war. Given time it would make all the difference. Trewin knew that time, on the other hand, was the one thing which never seemed to be available.

  He turned warily as a shadow fell across the screen.

  Rear-Admiral Mark Fairfax-Loring had a dark, aggressive face dominated by a pair of thick black eyebrows, and had once been a very handsome man, Trewin thought. Now beneath his impeccable white drill his waistline was just a bit too rounded, and the puffiness around his deepset eyes just that more noticeable than it ought to be in a man still in his forties. He had a heavily built, solid figure, yet gave an immediate impression of restlessness and impatience. It was hard to see him as Corbett’s contemporary, and when they were together the comparison was almost grotesque. Corbett would sit impassively in his chair his pale eyes trained on some point on the horizon, while the admiral would move about the bridge as if its very restriction was affecting him like a caged tiger.

  The admiral returned Trewin’s salute with a casual flip of the fingers to his heavily oak-leaved cap and flashed him one of his fierce grins, which Trewin guessed was used more to charm than impress. He said briskly, “Bloody hot day, Number One.” He glanced astern. “Is the brood keeping station this morning?”

  “Yes, sir. The Prawn has been making a bit more smoke than usual, but she’s holding her own now.”

  The ship in question was a bit of a joke in the group. Apart from being the oldest on the Far East station, she was also plagued by being coal-fired. When the other gunboats were quietly resting at their anchors she could usually be seen half shrouded in a cloud of coal-dust, the air around her thick with curses and the clank of shovels and winches.

  The admiral shrugged. “Ah well, she’ll just have to do what she can.” He seemed indifferent. “Now where is that flag-lieutenant of mine?”

  Hughes, his harassed and overworked aide, was his only companion on these occasions, and from the moment the admiral had stepped aboard he had been either at his elbow scribbling signals or crouched beside the Porcupine’s telegraphists checking the steady inflow of operational despatches from the base.

  The admiral asked suddenly, “And the captain?”

  “In his quarters, sir.” Trewin tried to see beyond the admiral’s air of affable calm. It was still not possible to discover exactly the atmosphere between him and Corbett. Even when they were together on the bridge they seemed far apart. When one moved the other would watch. Like two cats enjoying a ritualistic manoeuvre for mastery.

  “Of course, I’ve known your captain for many years, Number One.” He spoke offhandedly, yet Trewin felt that the admiral had his reasons for mentioning it. He seemed to be a man who always had a reason for everything he said or did, no matter how trivial. “As a matter of fact he is married to my sister.”

  Trewin’s mind chewed on this information. If, as had been suggested, the two men disliked each other, this marriage would certainly add to any awkward connections, he thought.

  Lieutenant Hughes appeared on the bridge before the admiral could continue. “Signal from base, sir.”

  The admiral’s brows knitted together. “Well, Flags, what is it now?” He flashed his grin on Trewin. “More bumph about the situation, what?”

  Hughes said patiently, “Kota Bharu airfield has fallen to the enemy, sir.”

  The admiral scowled. “I could have told them that!”

  “Also, sir,” Hughes swallowed hard, “the signal states as follows, ‘Fighter protection will not, repeat not, be possible.’” He looked round the bridge. “Nothing at all, sir!”

  The admiral began to pace along the gratings, his face working angrily. “That’s ridiculous!” He gestured astern. “Back there at Kuantan! What about their airfield, for God’s sake?”

  Hughes said carefully, “It seems that there was some hasty order to evacuate the field, sir.” He shrugged. “Of course, it might have been countermanded by now, but…”

  His voice trailed into silence as Fairfax-Loring barked, “Of all the cock-eyed reasoning!” He looked round as Corbett appeared at the top of the ladder. “Did you hear that?”

  Corbett nodded and readjusted the glasses around his neck.

  “We must expect that sort of thing,” he replied calmly.

  The admiral seized the screen in two big hands and breathed out noisily. “Fortunately we are not quite alone on this patrol, gentlemen. Otherwise, army or no bloody army, I might consider pulling back to Kuantan!” He controlled his anger and said more calmly, “Force ‘Z’ is also at sea. It is sweeping almost parallel with us, so we should be all right no matter what happens.”

  Trewin asked quietly, “Force ‘Z,’ sir? What is that?”

  Hughes eyed him sadly. “The reinforcements. Admiral Tom Phillips sailed in Prince of Wales with Repulse in company and a full escort of destroyers on Monday afternoon.”

  The admiral was watching Trewin’s expression closely. Then he said, “So not to worry, Number One! Whatever the other silly beggars do, the Navy at least is prepared!” He pounded the screen. “We’ll show the little yellow bastards when we get going!”

  Corbett’s quiet tone cut through the sudden silence like a knife. “Are you not reassured, Trewin?” He was looking at the admiral as he spoke. “What is bothering you now?”

  Trewin said bluntly, “I think it’s madness, sir! Without air cover those big ships are worse off than we are!” He turned away, suddenly chilled in spite of the sun across his shoulders. “They must be mad!”

  Hughes exploded, “Now look here!” But Fairfax-Loring held up his hand and said, “Don’t get excited, Flags. Young Trewin here is not quite used to things yet.”

  Corbett said evenly, “Lieutenant Trewin was awarded the D.S.C. for gallantry, sir, while serving aboard his own craft under fire.”

  The admiral glared at him. “What are you saying?” He seemed caught off balance by Corbett’s pointed remark. “I was not criticising his judgement, but obviously it takes more than bravery to gain a full measure of experience.”

  Corbett did not pursue the point, but it was obvious to Trewin that he had meant to prick the admiral’s confidence, and prick it hard.

  Hughes moved quickly away towards the radio room, and Corbett took his place on his chair, his glasses lifted to study the coastline.

  The admiral said stiffly, “Make a general signal to the group. Extra anti-aircraft look-outs to be ordered immediately.”

  Masters, the yeoman, said uncomfortably, “Beg pardon, sir, but the captain ’as done that already.”

  Trewin darted a quick glance at Corbett’s profile. His face was shaded below his cap, but one corner of his mouth was raised in a small, tight smile.

  The admiral forced a grin. “Good show! Be prepared at all times!” He bustled towards the ladder. “I’m going aft to my cabin for a bit.” He stared at Corbett’s trim shoulders. “Keep me informed.”

  Corbett waited a few seconds then said flatly, “If you must make these sweeping criticisms, Trewin, you must expect to get involved in argument.” Then in a milder tone he added, “I do not happen to have much faith in reserve officers as a general rule.” He shrugged. “However, you are one of my offic
ers, and I will not have you insulted by anyone outside this ship!”

  Trewin stared at him. “Thank you, sir.”

  Corbett turned his back impatiently. “Just thank God I made that signal myself. You should have remembered to act yourself.”

  In silence the watch continued.

  Four hours later, as Trewin lay on his bunk, his chest bared to catch the churned air from the fan, he tried to understand what Corbett had really been trying to do. To use him to score points off the admiral? Or did he love this ship so much that even her officers and men were like personal possessions, part of a whole, which he would not stand to be criticised?

  He frowned as Hammond slid back the cabin door and stared in at him. “Hello, Sub.” He looked at his watch. “Hell, it’s too early for the Dogs.”

  Hammond stepped over the coaming and sat down suddenly on the bunk as if his legs had been cut from under him. “I thought you ought to know, Number One.” He sounded stunned. “Force ‘Z’ has been attacked by torpedo bombers.” He gestured vaguely. “Hughes just handed the signal to the admiral.”

  Trewin lay quite still, knowing there was worse to come.

  Hammond continued in the same dull voice. “Prince of Wales and Repulse were sunk!” He ran his fingers through his fair hair. “Both in the space of an hour!”

  “I see.” Trewin rolled on to one elbow and stared emptily at the open scuttle and the straight horizon line which rose and fell with slow, timeless regularity. “Thank you for telling me.” Then he stood up and walked to his mirror, and began to comb his hair. He could feel Hammond watching him, his eyes bright with shock and despair.

  Hammond said suddenly, “Look, Number One, you’ve been through this sort of thing.” He seemed to have difficulty forming his words. “Dunkirk, Crete, and all that…”