Send a Gunboat (1960) (21 page)

Fallow gasped and Vincent forgot his misery as he studied Rolfe’s face, which was twisted into a cruel smile.

“Furthermore, Mr. Laker, your official status here has now ceased to exist, and I am Captain of this ship!” He looked down at Laker’s popping eyes, “And if I get one more bit of trouble from you, I’ll put you under arrest!” He swayed back on his heels, knowing that he meant what he said, and half hoping that Laker would hit him.

“I’ll see about that!” but Laker’s voice was trembling. “I, at least, have done my duty!” he added weakly, the fight gone from him.

Rolfe turned his back on him and put one foot on the ladder. “You have also caused the death of an innocent woman,” he said flatly, and mounted to the bridge, hearing Mrs. Laker’s cry of anguish.

Another minute, and I’ll have flattened him myself, he mused, letting his pent-up breath whistle through his teeth.

He busied himself with the charts, until Fallow pushed his way into the chart room.

“How is Lane getting on? Have you managed to make him comfortable?”

“’E’s quiet now, sir. I’ve made ’im comfortable in the Sick Bay. Gave ’im a shot of morphia, too, sir.”

“Good, good,” Rolfe scratched his chin absently. “It’s a shame we couldn’t have saved his wife!”

Fallow clenched his big fists nervously. “I’m glad you told Mr. Laker what ’e’d done, sir! ’E’ll ’ave to face up to the music when we get to Hong Kong!”

Rolfe regarded him stonily. That’s what you think, he thought,
I’ll be answerable for her death, not Laker. He forced a smile. but his eyes were still hard. “It’s been quite a business, hasn’t it?”

Fallow twitched, his bar-taut nerves responding to anything out of the ordinary. A deep-sounding horn, like a fog-siren, echoed across the harbour.

Rolfe grunted with irritation. “Don’t take any notice of that, Number One. I was warned about it when we arrived. It’s a signal from the fort to inform the town that they’ve sighted the fishing fleet!”

They stepped out on to the wing of the bridge, looking up at the high cliff.

“From that high tower they must be able to see a damned long way, it’ll be some time before our lookouts spot anything.”

Fallow glanced around the quiet harbour, his seaman’s mind taking in the problem of
Wagtail
’s position.

“We’ll be a bit in the way ’ere, sir, won’t we?”

Rolfe’s gaze wandered to the bare horizon. “Yes. Start up the capstan, and we’ll shorten in on the cable!”

Eventually the
Wagtail
began to drag herself further along her cable towards her stern anchor, the slime-soaked links of the chain clattering on to the deck, and being meticulously scrubbed before they disappeared into the chain locker below.

Idly Rolfe scanned the jetty through his glasses, his lip curling as he saw the fat Chinese colonel still sitting in his new car, the bent bumper of which reached practically to the end of the stonework. He’ll have a job to turn it round and drive it back to the town, he thought, as the jetty’s end was its narrowest part, worn away by the breakers from the open sea beyond.

He swung his glasses on to the horizon, steadying them suddenly as he picked out a mass of tiny dots just mounting over the sun-dappled lip. He smiled secretly, thinking how he would be able to share these sights with Judith. Perhaps the future would be different, and not quite so full of uncertainty, if only she could understand what she had become for him. He shook his head, straining his ears. The sun hung like a red ball over the western sky as if poised and ready to leave the world for another night, but he didn’t notice its splendour any more, he was concentrating on the far distant rumble, which crept lazily across the miles of placid sea like summer thunder.

C.P.O. Herridge, who had been quietly sharpening a knife on a stone just beneath the bridge, raised his head questioningly, his calm features immediately alert. He looked up at Rolfe, an unspoken question on his lips.

Rolfe felt a chill at the base of his spine as he met the other man’s stare. “Gunfire!” he snapped briefly, and as Herridge jumped up, thrusting the knife in his belt, he reached into the wheelhouse and pressed the small red button. Even as the bell clanged madly throughout the ship, the guns on the fort began to fire.

Rolfe could see their black muzzles swinging across the ramparts before settling on the mystery target, then with a shattering roar, like a giant whiplash, each would fire independently and the heavy shells screamed overhead with the noise of an express train.

Vincent ran to his station on the bridge, his previous shock sweeping back remorselessly, and he felt something new to him, something he couldn’t place, but a sensation which drained away his last reserve of calm and outward steadiness.

He nodded jerkily as Chase reported the ship closed up at action stations, not trusting himself to speak. As the guns bellowed again, he winced, biting his lip hard to prevent himself from ducking his head beneath the breast-high plating.

He glanced sideways at Rolfe who was slowly and methodically filling his pipe. The sight of his firm, grim face and the strong fingers pressing home the tobacco did a lot to steady Vincent, but he leaned heavily against the rail, not trusting the strength of his legs.

Rolfe watched him through the smoke of his pipe, sensing the change that had come over Vincent since his return on board. He could sympathize with him, remembering only too well how he had reacted to gunfire when he was first stricken by its ear-shattering roar, so many years ago it seemed now. He dropped his lighter into his pocket, shutting off that train of thought. Sympathy was useless now. “Vincent!” he barked, “are the passengers secure?”

Vincent stared dazedly, “I’m not sure sir. I—I think—”

“It was your job! Now jump about, man! I want all of them taken below to the storerooms, at once!”

Vincent staggered out on to the open wing of the bridge, flinching as another salvo crashed out, as if he expected to be shot down in his tracks.

Rolfe watched him go, thinking of the dark, airless storerooms, which were in the actual hull of the gunboat, just above the keel. On this ship, they were about the only part beneath the waterline, and even then his passengers would have to lie down, there was insufficient room to stand!

He forgot them immediately, as his glasses followed the broad line of advancing fishing boats, scattered across the dappled sea like so many insects. They were much nearer, and from their odd manœuvring, it appeared as if some of the boats were towing several of their companions. All the dun-coloured sails hung limp and useless, yet they were making some sort of progress towards their haven. He snapped his fingers, of course, some of the boats had engines of a sort and they were helping the less fortunate ones.

Then, almost like little white feathers, he saw the fall of shot from the fort’s guns, over and beyond the scurrying boats, kicking up the water in a steady bombardment. Whatever they were firing at much be pretty low in the sea, he thought.

He pounded the teak rail impatiently gripping his pipe stem until his teeth ached, cursing himself with cold, concentrated rage for not bringing Judith aboard earlier. This bombardment might delay matters, it might even—he turned sharply, as Fallow heaved himself down from the gun platform above the bridge. “Well?” He studied the fat, sweaty face, wondering how the man was reacting to this new menace.

“I put a look-out aloft, sir!” Fallow was breathless, but apart from that, he looked little different from usual. “’E can see the target quite well now!” He gulped, “Two biggish landing craft!”

Rolfe digested the information, vaguely aware that Vincent was back in his position, staring woodenly out of the window.

“Right. I’ll come up with you!”

Rolfe ran lightly up the ladder, noting with satisfaction that Herridge and a few hands were removing the last of the deck awnings. From beneath his feet he heard the metallic clang of steel shutters, as the stewards moved through the ship, closing
up all scuttles and ports. The quaint, antiquated gunboat, cleared for action as she now was, took on a bare but purposeful appearance.

Chase crouched amongst his gun’s crew, his cap pulled over his eyes.

“What’s the range, Chief? Of the target?” Rolfe’s voice was sharp and impatient.

“Comin’ on six thousand yards, sir! Target’s zig-zagging at fairly ’igh speed, an’ as far as I can judge, is avoiding the shots from the fort!”

Rolfe climbed up on to the gunlayer’s seat, cursing the gunboat’s ancient rangefinder. She had not been designed for this sort of thing. His binoculars, about twenty-five feet above the waterline, wavered, and then settled on the long, low shapes of the newcomers. Powerful craft they appeared, with squat bridges at the rearmost ends. Occasionally an orange flash whipped out from the long, flat decks, and seconds later he heard the sullen bark of their guns.

Appeared to be a single mounting on each craft, probably quite powerful, too, he considered, hardly enough to attack the island, but good enough to finish off the fishing fleet. The fort’s rapid rate of fire, however, seemed to remove this possibility, he thought, a sigh of relief rising as the fishing fleet grew larger and larger, their uneven shapes taking on a firmer outline.

Between the wooden boats and the sinister shapes of the landing craft a wall of shell splashes crept protectively from side to side.

“Looks as if they’re makin’ for the ’arbour!” exclaimed Fallow, his eyes watering. “None of ’em’s likely to try for the beach, I shouldn’t think; it’s a bit bare like.”

Rolfe nodded in agreement. “We’ll have to be ready to move a bit sharply! Don’t want all the paintwork scratched!” he added wryly.

So the General’s faith in his guns was sure-founded. Not one of the fishing boats faltered, and the enemy were being held at arm’s length, with not a little danger to themselves either.

He saw Colonel Kyung was standing up in the car, waving his hands with obvious delight, probably enjoying the fact that on the end of the jetty, he was nearer the enemy than anyone. Rolfe
smiled dourly, just a pirate at heart, and no doubt the General was not even alarmed!

The fishing boats were larger than the type he had seen around Hong Kong. Long, flush-decked vessels, with a deck house aft, a high sail, and very little else. Practically the whole deck of each craft was filled with a giant hold for the catch. The thud of their ancient diesels could be clearly heard now, as they struggled manfully through the outer reef, the towed craft yawing awkwardly from side to side, as they skimmed round the gleaming rocks.

Must have a good catch, he thought, they’re heavy enough anyway.

“Range steady at four thousand yards!” announced Chase with professional interest. “I think they’re gettin’ too near the guns now!”

It certainly looked as if the two landing craft were having a hard time of it, and were no longer so keen on prolonging the action.

“It’s lucky they can’t get any nearer,” he remarked softly. “I don’t think the General’s guns would depress much more!” They were firing down at a difficult angle, at what must have registered as point-blank range.

The first group of fishing boats swayed past the breakwater, and drew abreast of the jetty’s end. The colonel stood stiffly in his car, as if expecting some sort of salute. Maybe he just wanted to show off Laker’s car! Rolfe chuckled at the thought, poor Laker was missing the sight.

An air of relaxed tension broke over the ship, as the big ugly craft crowded across the harbour entrance. The guns still fired out to sea, but the landing craft appeared to be hiding beneath a smoke screen.

Herridge clambered to the bridge and nodded to Chase. “Clever types, eh, Tom? Attacking the fishermen with the setting sun behind them! Must have blinded the General’s gunners a bit!”

Chase stared sourly at the nearest fishing boat, which moved slowly towards the jetty towing two more craft. “Not many blokes to ’andle big boats like them, is there?” he observed. “Don’t know ’ow they manage wiv their nets or whatever they use!”

Rolfe stopped at the bridge ladder, his foot dangling in space, Chase’s last words striking his brain like cold steel. He stared desperately, at the milling boats, his mind racing. You fool, he choked, of course! Why didn’t you see? Why didn’t anyone see? He swung wildly on the gossiping group behind him.

“Herridge, break the cable! At once, d’you hear!” Herridge stared at him blankly, and Rolfe punched his arm savagely. “Quick, man, at the double!”

He saw Vincent’s head beneath him, as he leaned tiredly on the bridge rail. “Vincent. Stand-by, both engines!”

Vincent turned as if he had been kicked, his eyes white, but automatically he ran to the wheelhouse, and they heard the clang of engine-room bells.

Herridge and two men had reached the cable now, and Rolfe saw the glint of a steel marlin spike in the man’s hand. He fumed wildly, gripping his glasses with desperation.

Fallow was still staring at him, he knew, and probably wondering if the Captain had at last gone stark, raving mad! With steeled eyes he watched the first fishing boat, his heart suddenly pounding. “Number One,” he spoke in a low, strained tone, “stand by all guns!”

“But, sir! What, what’s ’appenin’, sir?”

Rolfe didn’t answer, watching the blunt stem of the fishing boat nudge the stone jetty. Two soldiers stood to receive the mooring ropes, and several other people ran along the wall towards them. The wooden hull groaned along the stone, the other boats bumping astern of her. One of the soldiers caught the rope, thrown by a ragged figure in the bows, and then it happened.

The crude canopy across the fish hold was flung back, and a short, stocky figure bounded into the dying sunlight, the last rays gleaming on the barrel of his trained sub-machine gun. His brown uniform, the bright red star on its cap, gave him the appearance of unreality, but as the gun rattled at his hip, and the two soldiers fell writhing on the jetty, unreality was finished. The next instant, a swarm of similar figures poured up from the fish hold, swamping the side of the boat in a seething horde. The other two boats had stopped, and as a bugle blared discordantly in their midst, their decks too were covered with running soldiers,
and the air was suddenly filled with the bark and rattle of automatic weapons.