A Dawn Like Thunder (23 page)

Davis pressed his fingertips together. ‘After what happened to your submarine, Mr Tsao's information may be even more important. It is a risk, but one that we must take.'

Pryce murmured, ‘Hardly
we
, Hubert.'

Davis turned a deaf ear. ‘Speed is everything. I'll have the Intelligence pack here by morning. After that . . . well, who knows?'

Ross asked, ‘Can I be kept informed about our people, sir?'

‘Of course. Mustn't give up hope, what?' He had obviously written them off.

It was a long evening, despite the excellence of the meal, the high point of which was lobster-tail Surabaya. It was all Ross could do to maintain a façade of eating. The old Colonel certainly kept a good table, and must have trained his chef with care to prepare what were obviously his favourite dishes.

Villiers, in contrast to his own mood, seemed far more relaxed, as if he had been preparing himself for his inevitable return to Singapore and now the intolerable tension of waiting and the suspense were over.

Once or twice Ross felt the Colonel watching him, but even his colourful stories of the peacetime Indian Army and
the outrageous characters in every officers' mess could not lift the shadows from his mind. Tucker, a survivor, and yet already probably a prisoner of the Japs; Peter Napier who, like his dead brother, had trusted him until it was too late to save him. The restless current of his thoughts made the conversation and the endless procession of wines seem merely a continuation of the same nightmare.

Eventually it was over, but it was obvious that Pryce and Davis had no intention of tearing themselves away from the Colonel's hospitality for a while yet.

Ross shook the Colonel's hand, his head throbbing from the pink gins and wine. When would he ever learn?

Outside, the night was cool, almost cold through the thinness of his shirt. He looked around, aware that the staff-car had gone; only Pryce's car and the smart Sunbeam Talbot were in evidence. He could almost feel her watching him in the darkness, her uniform coming palely towards him like a ghost.

‘I will drive.' She seemed suddenly uncertain. ‘Sir?'

Ross swallowed hard. ‘Where's Charles?'

‘He went in the staff-car. I said I would take you back.'

Ross grappled with it. ‘I can imagine what he thinks.'

She did not move. ‘Do you care?'

‘No. I'm very honoured.' He held his cap in one hand. ‘I'm so sorry. I've had too much to drink.'

She said softly, ‘It is not like you, I think.' She waited for him to climb into the seat before slipping behind the wheel.

He said quietly, ‘Do you ever stop to wonder what it might be like if life could always be so beautiful?' She said nothing, as if she were afraid to interrupt. ‘Nice car, a lovely girl beside you – it's a dream. What everyone wants, if only they'd admit it.'

She said in a small voice, ‘You've decided, haven't you? Made up your mind about the mission?' She was gripping
the wheel with both hands, but did not flinch as he covered one of them with his own.

‘There was really no choice. It's what I'm trained for. What I am.' He looked past her, seeing her profile, her hair like a black wing on her cheek. ‘Your father told me . . .'

She turned on him. ‘Told you
what
?'

He kept his hand on hers. ‘That you decided against a commission in the Wrens. You could do it standing on your head, you know.'

He felt her tension draining away. It had been like the hostility he had encountered at their first meeting.

‘I know I could.' One hand moved to the ignition but hesitated. ‘But you'll forget. I shall pray for you. And for Charles.' She looked down. ‘Mostly for you.'

He touched her face and felt the wetness there. ‘I've done worse.'

She looked at him again, very aware of his sincerity with no attempt to impress or shock. ‘I know.'

He said, ‘So, when I come back you will be here, Victoria?'

She nodded. Then she said, ‘When? How long?' She switched on the ignition as if she did not wish to hear the answer.

‘I may not see you before I leave. There's a flap on, it seems.'

‘Then I will be brave.' She tried to laugh. ‘For both of us.'

He watched the trees gliding past in the headlights. Wanting to tell her, not knowing how. To share. He said, ‘You were in love?'

She gripped the wheel tightly, her hair flying in the breeze from the open window. ‘I knew he would tell you. I thought I'd be angry. Now I'm not so sure.'

He said, ‘There is something you can do for me.' He put
his hand on her shoulder, and felt her whole body tense as if he had threatened her. He dragged the little case from his shirt and laid it beside her. ‘Keep this for me, Victoria. If anything goes wrong . . .'

She concentrated on the narrow road, her shoulder very warm under his hand.

‘Who shall I . . . ?'

He said, ‘Keep it. There is nobody else.'

She swung off the road and sat in silence, the car quivering around them while she switched on a light and opened the case on her lap. She whispered, ‘Oh, Jamie, it's your medal.' She shook her head. ‘I'm not going to cry!' She looked at him and waited while he took her face in his hands.

How long they remained there like that, they had no idea. Suddenly she said, ‘Please kiss me now. We're almost there.'

At the gates, a white-belted sentry clicked his heels and saluted. ‘Nice old night, sir!'

He heard the girl laugh as she drove into the compound.

Nice for some, anyway.

Mike Tucker opened his eyes very slowly and groaned as his face scraped across a rough concrete floor. Every part of his body throbbed and ached from the beating he had been given. His mind was still too dazed to remember the order of events, or to combat the wave of utter helplessness and despair which threatened to overwhelm him.

Minute by minute he tried to recall what had happened, but he could only feel the blows of bamboo rods on his back, his head and his legs, with at least four soldiers standing over him, breathless in their efforts to break him.

He moved his hands and was surprised that his wrists were not tied. There was light enough in this confined place
to see the livid weals where the cords had been knotted tightly round his wrists. The Japs had dragged him to the truck, and the truck had carried them here.
Them . . .

He peered around, almost afraid to lift himself in case they had broken his limbs. Where was Napier? At the same time he realized that there was frail sunlight coming through a small barred window. But no sound, except for his own painful breathing. Then he saw Napier. He was lying on his back, and for an instant more Tucker thought he was dead. He was quite still and his eyes were wide open, unmoving.

Carefully, waiting for the stab of agony, he took the weight on his knees. Then, inches at a time, he moved crablike across the bare floor until he was at the young officer's side. He felt Napier's chest and was almost moved to tears, something unknown to him. The eyes were on his face now, neither concerned nor frightened. Napier's clothing, like his own, was torn from the rough handling when the Japs had searched them. Tucker felt his own head, the dried blood and the swollen lumps.

Napier tried to lick his dry lips. ‘What time is it?'

Tucker glanced automatically at his wrist, but his watch had been taken, like everything else. ‘Early morning, I think.'

Napier moved his head from side to side. ‘I'm so thirsty.'

Tucker pushed the hair from Napier's eyes before crouching on his haunches while he examined the cell, and cell it was, not some makeshift prison. There was a pail in one corner, and an old wooden stool. Nothing else. They could be anywhere; he had no idea how long he had been unconscious in the vehicle, or over how much ground they might have travelled.

Napier said, ‘I hope Rice got away.'

Tucker looked down at him. ‘Maybe he did.' To himself he thought, sod him, he ran away and left us like rats in a trap.
Sod him.

Napier whispered, ‘What will they do? To us, I mean?' He spoke so calmly, without even a trace of the pain he must be feeling from his wounded shoulder.

‘Probably ask us about the explosion.' Who cares, he thought. The bastards will kill us anyway.

Napier said, ‘I knew they were beating you. I wanted to help, to stop them.'

Tucker grinned. ‘You weren't in any position to help anybody.' He patted his torn sleeve. ‘But ta, anyway.' He stared at the small window. ‘I'll bet they burned down the whole village because of what they did to help us. That poor kid.'

Napier tried to lift himself on his elbows, but fell back again. ‘I – I think they took that pill away from me.'

Tucker reached out and stretched his arm. They had enjoyed beating him. It would have killed a frailer man. He said, ‘You wouldn't have swallowed it, you know.'

Napier said intensely, ‘Why do you say that? They might use force to get it out of us!'

Tucker thought about it. He found he could accept it, now that he knew there was no way out. ‘Get what out of us? What do we know? They'd be stupid not to put two and two together. I mean, we didn't land by parachute, did we?'

He put his finger to his lips and jerked his head towards the door. There were shadows along the bottom of it, somebody's feet, standing right against the outside. He whispered, ‘Company.'

Napier said very steadily, ‘Name, rank and number. That's all I shall tell them.'

Tucker wanted to shake him. But where was the use of that?

Footsteps, but not the clipped sounds of soldiers. Slow and dragging, tired. They stopped outside the door.

Here we go.
He sat up slowly and clenched his strong hands into fists.
Not without a bloody fight, mate.

The door banged open, hard back against the wall. A soldier, his cap pulled down over his eyes and a bayoneted rifle levelled waist-high into the cell, planted himself in the entrance. His eyes flicked from Tucker to the sprawled officer in the corner, then he rattled his rifle bolt and screamed,
‘Koskei!'

When they remained motionless, he stabbed the air with his bayonet and repeated,
‘Koskei!'

Tucker did not understand, but he knew how to obey a command. He stumbled to his feet and stood defensively beside the helpless Napier. It seemed to satisfy the soldier, and he stamped quickly outside into an apparently sun-filled corridor so that another figure could get past.

They stared at one another. He was tall and gaunt, his sunburned arms little more than skin-covered bones, and he wore khaki rags. Stitched to his tattered shorts was a faded red cross, probably once part of an armband. He had sparse grey hair and he was very unsteady on his feet, but his eyes, like his voice, were clear enough. ‘I'm to examine you.' He looked at Napier. ‘I am Captain Newton, Royal Army Medical Corps.' He knelt down and, helped by Tucker, loosened Napier's deeply stained dressing. ‘There's not much I can do. I have no medicines and no drugs, nothing. I've lost so many here – malaria, dysentery, ulcers.' He spoke in short, quick sentences as if every breath were precious. ‘They've cleared most of the camp. Some have been sent to Rangoon, others to some new working party, I'm not sure where.' He was peering closely at the wound and apologized. ‘They broke my glasses a few weeks ago.'

Tucker licked his lips. A few weeks ago. This man and
skeletons like him were being allowed, or encouraged, to die. Newton said, ‘The only people remaining are here because they cannot walk.' He looked up as more feet clattered in the building. ‘Captain Nishida is in charge here, but he will be leaving soon, I understand. He speaks English very well, but sometimes pretends not to. The one to watch is his sergeant, Ochi. His English is quite good, but he is a savage.' He stood up very slowly. ‘This wound is
not
good.' He looked at Tucker. ‘You will have to help him. I told you, there is nothing I can do.'

Tucker asked quietly, ‘Is there no way to escape from here? Surely after all this time . . .'

Newton gave a small, twisted smile. ‘I've been here for over a year, I think. There is no escape but the final one.' He faced the door, suddenly erect but pathetic in his eagerness. A Japanese soldier, taller and more powerful than most, filled the open doorway. Somehow Tucker sensed that it was Ochi. The savage.

He saw Newton bend over in a low bow, almost losing his balance in the process. The soldier's eyes, like bright black olives, swivelled to Tucker, and he jabbed at him with his cane.

Tucker bent in a similar low bow, hating it, sickened by what he had seen and what he was doing.

The soldier nodded importantly. ‘So! So! You pay respect to Nippon fighting men!' He slashed the air with his cane. ‘Otherwise . . .'

The doctor's voice dragged on the name. ‘Sergeant Ochi, this officer is wounded and cannot walk.'

It was Newton's way of warning them of what was about to happen.

The sergeant strode across the floor and looked down at Napier. ‘Nippon soldier never surrender. Die first.' He made up his mind. ‘You.' He jabbed at Tucker again. ‘Pick
him up, carry like mule. Yes?' He laughed, and Tucker saw that the guard at the door was standing like a ramrod, his eyes staring at the opposite wall. He was frightened of the sergeant.

‘Up we get.' Tucker bent over Napier and grasped his uninjured shoulder. Then he gasped as the cane slashed him across the spine.

Ochi barked, ‘No talk. No speak. Here you are nothing!'

Napier gritted his teeth against the pain as he was hoisted over Tucker's broad shoulder. ‘Sorry to be a bother, Mike.'

Ochi raised his cane, but Napier said, almost sharply, ‘Would brave Nippon soldier strike wounded officer?'

Perhaps the affirmation of rank had done the trick. The cane dropped harmlessly.