A Dawn Like Thunder (20 page)

‘Have you ever been there, Victoria?'

She nodded, her voice far away. ‘My father sent me there to be finished, a good school – you know the way of things, of course.'

He wanted to hold her, and watched her hand on his sleeve intently. ‘Better than you realize, Victoria. I never knew young boys could be so barbaric!'

She seemed surprised. ‘Because of my mother and me he lost everything, the Army, all the things he loved. He never hesitated. I did not truly understand until I was older, but now I know why my mother loved him.'

‘And what about you?'

‘Me? I once thought I had found love. But it was just a dream. I was foolish, ignorant, if you like.'

‘I don't like. The fact that you have been hurt, you, of all people.'

She smiled, but her eyes were uneasy. ‘People are staring. They will think all kinds of things!'

‘Let them.' He hesitated, unable now to discipline himself not to say it. ‘If I thought I would never see you again, I would feel that I had lost something precious to me.'

She said, ‘Come and look at the fountain.' They walked together into the garden, and stood in silence listening to the ripple of water. He was painfully aware of her, of her perfume and her warmth. Like that day when he had held her for Major Guest's benefit.

She said, ‘And then you will leave, or I will if they decide I am suitable for a commission. The war is between us, as it is for so many.'

Ross thought of Villiers. ‘It can't last forever.'

She said, ‘I shall never forget your face. That night when you were trying to shield me from poor Jane's body. I knew then what you were thinking. That it might have been me lying there with all of them staring at me.'

Car doors slammed and Ross heard someone exclaim, ‘By God, it's Crookshank! Not like him to be late for a free drink!'

Ross looked down as she gripped his arm. ‘What is it?'

She said, ‘I saw the guest list. Commander Crookshank was not invited. He is supposed to be with the admiral.'

Ross held her arm; it was supple and strong, like the girl. He said casually, ‘Probably another flap on.'

She was staring at him, her eyes very bright in the reflected lights. ‘But
you
don't think so.'

They re-entered the house and a lieutenant Ross had never seen before said, ‘Captain Pryce wants you, sir.'

She nodded, her eyes misty. ‘You see? You knew.'

He saw Villiers and said, ‘Entertain Miss Mackenzie, will you?' Villiers saw their quick exchange of glances
and was reminded of Caryl. Like lovers, or people in love.

They were in the Colonel's study, the Museum, as he knew they would be. Pryce waited for the lieutenant to close the door.

‘Bad news, Jamie. The attack was carried out perfectly – Intelligence received word just now. The target was destroyed.'

They were all looking at him: Crookshank, sweating from his journey, afraid to use the telephone because of the secrecy; Brigadier Davis, neat and unruffled, his eyes impassively grave, like a general who had just watched a whole division of troops mown down in the wire of that other war.

Pryce continued, ‘However,
Turquoise
has failed to make contact and must therefore be presumed lost.'

Ross heard the muffled laughter and conversation from the adjoining room. The other world.

Pryce said, ‘The chariot crew may have been able to board the submarine after they had completed the mission. If not, they will be making their way overland.'

Mike Tucker was dead. Ross's mind could barely grapple with it.

He said, ‘Tucker asked if he could go with the chariot crew, to back them up. He had the same feeling as I did about the crew in question.' He looked up, his eyes hard, like the North Sea. ‘I'll lay odds he went with them.'

Pryce said, ‘Very likely. But either way . . .' There was no need to go on.

The brigadier said quietly, ‘There is something wrong with the whole pattern. It will be more necessary than ever to regain contact with that Tsao chap in Singapore. Some new weapon, perhaps? A device we know nothing about?'

Ross exclaimed, ‘They died for damn-all, if you ask me!'

Pryce said coldly, ‘
Easy
, Jamie. It might have been anybody, even you. The raid was a success. In the end, that's all we must consider.'

Memories came, assaulting him, and he had no defence against them. The submarine's bearded commander. How they had discussed the sighting of the combined fleet at Trafalgar. Mike Tucker above all of them. Strong, reliable, loyal and understanding. In that shabby street in Battersea they would hear it eventually on the radio news, read by some polished B.B.C. announcer.
‘The Secretary of the Admiralty regrets to announce . . .'

Pryce said, ‘We still have a few matters to discuss, Jamie. Perhaps you would tell our people.'

Ross reached the door. He could almost feel the dead silence that had fallen like a pall over the room beyond. He said bitterly, ‘They know.'

Brigadier Davis snapped irritably, ‘How could they possibly know?'

Ross looked at Crookshank who lowered his head rather than meet his eyes, and at Pryce, who said in a strangely controlled voice, ‘This is the Navy, the family if you like. Of course they bloody well know,
sir.
'

Outside they were all waiting, and he thought of Pryce's show of emotion, or as near as he could get. There was absolute silence as he spoke.

‘I have to tell you that the loss of the submarine
Turquoise
has just been reported. Most of you will know her and her company.' He saw her pale green dress at the end of the room, Villiers close beside her. ‘The operation carried out by Sub-Lieutenant Peter Napier and his partner Telegraphist Rice was a complete success.' He looked around at their expressions, shock, compassion, the dull acceptance of war: it was all here in this room. ‘We shall not forget any of them. Thank you.'

He walked through them, feeling their warmth, aware that some of them had reached out to touch him as he passed. The hero. He wanted to wipe his eyes with his fingers. The man for whom others died.

She held out a glass to him, her eyes dark with concern. ‘Some of my father's.' She raised it to his lips, although he never knew what it had been. ‘I saw what it cost you. I spoke to Petty Officer Tucker just days ago. He was a good man.'

He put down the glass and put his arms around her. ‘
Is
a good man, Victoria. I think he's alive.' He looked at Villiers. ‘I
feel
it.'

Somebody had put on another record, a rather well-used one.
Roses of Picardy.
His father had always liked that one.

She slipped her hand through his arm. ‘Walk with me.'

Villiers watched them until they were swallowed up in the scented darkness. Everything was against both of them, and yet he knew he had never envied anyone so much.

THE EXPLOSION WAS
surprisingly muffled, partly because of the ship's massive cargo of steel rails and also because of the headland. But the effect was like a small tidal wave, and by rising to his knees Tucker could see the sea writhing in a giant whirlpool, the frightened birds flapping above it like blown leaves in a gale.

Rice muttered, ‘We did it.' No pride or satisfaction, just the realization of what had happened to the three of them.

Tucker crawled to the officer's side and was grateful for his silence. It had been a savage effort to wade ashore after scuttling the chariot amongst heavy weed in about ten feet of water. Then they had got rid of their rubber suits and breathing gear, anything that might alert the enemy to their presence and bring all hell down on their heads. When they had finally been forced to cut Napier from his suit the pain had been too much for him. Tucker had carried him the rest of the way, to a small bowl-shaped depression on the side of a hill, well shielded by bushes and some sort of coarse nettle.

Tucker could feel Rice watching him as he re-opened the slit in the young officer's camouflaged denim blouse and lifted the dressing he had used to stem the blood. It was a
deep wound: God knew what this place and the climate might do it. Napier groaned but did not open his eyes.

Rice asked anxiously, ‘What d'you think, Tommy?'

Tucker replaced the dressing. If only they had more of them. He said quietly, ‘If we can get help . . .'

Rice sounded scornful, angry. ‘
Help?
Where could we get that?'

‘They told me the Burmese are friendly, and often helpful.' Rice was still staring towards the sea. ‘God knows why. We did little enough for them!'

Rice said, as though he was thinking of something else, ‘Remember that officer from the Chindits who came to watch us training?'

The officer's face formed itself in Tucker's mind. Screwed up, but so calm, so dangerously calm, not unlike the marine officer, Sinclair. Rice was going on about it. ‘His mob never took prisoners, he said. Too much of a handful, slowed them down.' He watched Tucker almost fearfully. ‘Like when one of their own was badly wounded and couldn't keep up. They left him. With his gun, or maybe a pill like we've got.'

Tucker opened his silk map and studied it. ‘We're not leaving him, Nick.'

‘I only meant . . .'

‘I know. Now forget it. We'll move at night until we get the feel of things. There'll be fishermen and villages to the north-west of here. Fresh water and food. It'll suit me.' He folded the map with great care, Rice's eyes on every move. ‘If we get jumped by a patrol or a search party, we'll say we were survivors from
Turquoise.
They might go for it.'

Napier coughed slightly and opened his eyes. Tucker was surprised that he had not noticed how long his lashes were, like a girl's. Napier licked his lips. ‘Where are we?'

‘Safe for the moment. The charge blew on time, by the
way.' He knew Napier had not even heard it. ‘They'll know about it soon enough back at H.Q.'

Napier stared up at him vaguely. ‘There was a soldier.' He attempted to reach for his wounded shoulder but Tucker took his hand away. Like a child, he thought. ‘What happened to him?'

‘He'll not bother you again, sir.'

Napier let his head fall back. ‘Thanks. It was my fault, you know.'

Tucker saw Rice's mouth begin to open and said harshly, ‘You made a
mistake.
My dad always said that there was only ever one man who never made a mistake, and they crucified
him
!'

Rice said, ‘It's raining.'

‘See if you can collect some of it.' He watched Rice crawl away and then looked down as Napier's hand touched him.

‘In my pocket. A flask.'

Tucker unbuttoned his pocket and dragged out the flat silver flask. It must have cost an arm and a leg.

Napier stared at him steadily. ‘Brandy. Have some.' As Tucker took a swallow he said, ‘Rice wants to ditch me. I heard him just now.'

Tucker wiped the mouthpiece with his sleeve. At any moment they might be caught, tortured and God alone knew what. But he had wiped the flask as if they were at the bloody Henley Regatta. He said, ‘Nobody's getting ditched. I'll carry you until we can get help.'

The hand tightened on his leg and Napier asked, ‘Do you think we shall?
Really
, I mean?'

Rice came back with his small folding cup in his hand. ‘Muddy.'

Tucker tipped a few drops of brandy in it. ‘This'll do the trick.'

Napier was raising himself on one elbow, his sweat showing what the effort cost him. ‘Let me see the map.' He peered down at it as Tucker unfolded it again. ‘We should follow the bay. Better chance. Keep well clear of Rangoon and the inland roads.' He groaned suddenly, ‘Oh, my God!'

Tucker supported his shoulder.
Come on, my son. Keep the grey matter working, like they taught you as an officer. Hang on, don't give in to it.

Napier twisted round to look at him. ‘You knew my brother, didn't you?' He sounded quite calm, normal.

Tucker said casually, ‘Quite well. Liked him, more than I can say for some.'

Napier smiled. ‘You're quite a card yourself!'

Rice hissed,
‘Japs, three of 'em!'
He seemed unable to move. ‘Coming up the hill!' He stared round, his eyes wild. ‘What'll we do?'

Tucker drew his revolver and put Napier's in his right hand. ‘You know what they told us.
Take one with you!
'

Then the rain started, noisy, violent, enveloping. Rice gasped, ‘Christ, they've run for cover! Don't like the rain!' He sounded crazy with relief.

Napier had his mouth open for the rain, the downpour soaking his bandage and making the blood look fresh, as if it had just happened.

He said softly, ‘Don't let them take me alive.'

Tucker patted his arm and thrust the pistol into his waistband. ‘Try and rest. I'll have a quiet poke around when the rain eases off.'

Rice heard him and said, ‘You'll come back, won't you?'

Tucker forced a grin. ‘While there's still some brandy left!'

Poor bastards, he thought. One scared out of his marbles and the other more afraid of letting the side down than of
dying. He thought suddenly of Jamie Ross when he had briefed the chariot crews before that last Norwegian raid. ‘Go in and do the job. No heroics, understood? You're no use to me with your arse blown off!' He could recall it as if it was yesterday. He reached out to brush some wet hair from Napier's eyes. They had all laughed, except one, David Napier. He had been afraid, but nobody had realized it. Until it had been too late.

As the day wore on, they felt the first pangs of hunger. Tucker found a bar of chocolate wrapped in a waterproof bag, but it had melted so much that he had to scrape off the wrapping paper with his knife. He never even considered that the last time he had used the knife had been to kill the sentry.