“They won’t go home.” Captain Findhorne’s voice was heavy” with certainty. “Too many of their shipmates have died.”
For some time there had been a murmur of voices behind them, and now the murmur died away and Siran spoke.
“Mr. Nicolson?”
Nicolson lowered his binoculars and looked over his shoulder.
“What do you want?”
“My men and I have been having a discussion. We have a proposition to make to you.”
“Make it to the captain. He’s in charge.” Nicolson turned away abruptly and raised the binoculars again.
“Very well. It is this, Captain Findhorn. It is obvious — painfully obvious, if I may say so — that you do not trust us. You force us to occupy a separate lifeboat — and not, I think, because we don’t bathe twice a day. You feel — wrongly, I assure you — that you must watch us all the time. We are a heavy — ah — responsibility, a liability, I should say. We propose, with your permission, to relieve you of this liability.”
“For heaven’s sake get to the point,” Findhorn snapped irritably.
“Very well. I suggest you let us go, have no more worry about us. We prefer to be the prisoners of the Japanese.”
“What!” The angry interjection came from Van Effen. “God in heaven, sir, I’d shoot the lot of them first!”
“Please!” Findhorn waved a hand in the darkness, looking curiously at Siran, but it was too dark to see his expression.
“As a matter of interest, how would you propose to surrender yourselves. Just walk off down the hill towards the beach?”
“More or less.”
“And what guarantee would you have that they wouldn’t shoot you before you surrendered? Or, if you did succeed in surrendering, that they wouldn’t torture or kill you afterwards?”
“Don’t let them go, sir.” Van Effen’s voice was urgent.
“Do not distress yourself,” Findhorn said dryly. “I’ve no intention of complying with his ridiculous request. You stay, Siran, although heaven knows we don’t want you. Please don’t insult our intelligence.”
“Mr. Nicolsonl” Siran appealed. “Surely you can see——”
“Shut up!” Nicolson said curtly. “You heard what Captain Findhorn said. How naive and dim-witted do you think we are? Not one of you would risk his precious neck if there was the slightest chance of being shot or ill-treated by the Japs. It’s a hundred to one——”
“I assure you—–” Siran made to interrupt but Nicolson stopped him.
“Save your breath,” he said contemptuously. “Do you think anyone would believe you? You’re obviously in cahoots with the Japs, one way or another — and we have enough on our plates without making ourselves the present of another seven enemies.” There was a pause, then Nicolson went on thoughtfully, “A pity you promised this man to the gallows, Captain Findhorn. I think Van Effen went to the heart of the matter at once — it would simplify things all round if we shot the lot of them now. We’ll probably have to do it later on anyway.”
There was a long pause, then Findhorn said quietly: “You are very silent, Siran. You miscalculated, perhaps? Almost your last blunder? You can be very grateful, Captain Siran, for the fact that we are not callous murderers of your own stamp. But please bear in mind that it will require very little provocation indeed for us to carry out the suggestion just made.”
“And just move back a bit, will you?” Nicolson asked. “Right to the edge, there. And maybe a quick search of your pockets wouldn’t do any harm, either.”
“Already done, Mr. Nicolson,” the captain assured him. “We took a whole arsenal off them after you left the saloon last night . . . Still see that sub?”
“Almost due south ‘of us now, sir. About two hundred yards offshore.”
He suddenly dropped the binoculars and pushed himself back down into the hollow. A searchlight had just been switched on in the conning-tower of the submarine, its dazzling white beam swinging rapidly along the rocky shore of the island. Almost at once it found the little notch in the shoreline where the lifeboats lay, steadied there for a couple of seconds, then started moving slowly up the hill, almost in a line with the hollow where they lay hidden.
“Brigadier!” Nicolson’s voice was sharp, urgent.
“It’ll be a pleasure,” Farnholme grunted. He slid the carbine forward along the ground, cradled it to his shoulder, sighted and fired, all in one swift movement. It was set for single shot firing, but the single shot was enough: through the fading echoes of the crash of the carbine they caught the distant tinkle of glass, and the white glare of the light faded quickly to a dull red glow, then died away altogether.
“Stay with us a few more days, will you, Brigadier?” Findhorn said dryly. “I can see that we’re going to need you around . . . Hardly a very bright move on their part, was it, Mr. Nicolson? I mean, they’ve already had a sample from the Brigadier here.”
“Bright enough,” Nicolson differed. “A calculated risk, and it paid off. They’ve found out where the boats are and they know now, from the flash of the brigadier’s rifle, where we are, two facts it might have cost a landing party a long time and a good few lives to find out. But it was really the boats they were worried about, not us. If they can stop us from leaving the island, they can get us at their leisure, preferably in daylight.”
“I’m afraid I agree with you,” Findhorn said slowly. “The boats come next. Sink them from the sub, you reckon? We can’t stop them if they do.”
“Not from the sub.” Nicolson shook his head. “They can’t see the boats and it would take them all night to sink them with random fire: a hundred lucky shots at least. A landing party to knock the bottom out of the boats and spike the air tanks is more likely — or tow them or row them out to sea.”
“But — but how do they get ashore?” Vannier asked.
“Swim if they have to, but they don’t have to. Most subs carry collapsible or inflatable dinghies of some kind. For a sub operating in close waters, almost certainly in contact with their own troops on a score of different islands, it would be essential.”
No one spoke for several minutes. The little boy was muttering to himself in his sleep, and Siran and his men were whispering in the far corner of the hollow, their words indistinguishable. Then Willoughby coughed to catch their attention.
“The flood of time is rolling on, etc., etc.,” he quoted. “I have an idea.”
Nicolson smiled in the darkness. “Careful, Willy.” “Base envy hates that excellence it cannot reach,” Willoughby said loftily. “My plan has the simplicity of true genius. Let us sail away.”
“Brilliant.” Nicolson was heavily sarcastic. “Muffled oars in the moonlight. How far do you reckon we get?”
“Tush! You underrate me. Willoughby soaring in the realms of pure thought and our worthy chief officer still trudging in the mire. We use the engine, of course!”
“Oh, of course! And how do you propose to persuade our pals out there to wear ear-plugs?”
“I don’t. Give me an hour on that exhaust-pipe and baffle plates and I guarantee you won’t hear that engine a hundred yards away. Lose some speed of course, but not much. And even if they do hear it, you know yourself how difficult it is to get a bearing on a faint sound over the sea at night. Freedom beckons, gentlemen. Let us no longer delay.”
“Willy,” Nicolson said gently, “I have news for you. The human ear is not to be depended on for finding bearings at night, but then the Japs don’t have to depend on it. They use hydrophones, which are very accurate indeed — and which couldn’t care less whether you muffle the exhaust or not as the propeller thrash in the water will serve them excellently.”
“Damn them,” Willoughby said with feeling. He lapsed into silence, then spoke again. “Let no one despair. Willoughby shall think of something else.”
“I’ve no doubt you will,” Nicolson said kindly. “Don’t forget that the north-west monsoon only lasts for another couple of months or so and it would be handy if — down, everybody, down!”
The first bullets were thudding soggily into the earth around them, ricocheting with a vicious whine off the rocks and whistling evilly overhead as they heard the barrage opening up from the deck of the submarine. It had moved a good deal closer inshore and it sounded as if at least a dozen different guns, machine-guns, two at least, included, were all firing at once. And someone aboard the ship had been fast enough to take a bearing on the flash of Farnholme’s carbine: the fire was as accurate as it was heavy.
“Anybody hurt? Anybody hurt at all?” It was difficult to hear the captain’s low, hoarse voice above the crackle of gunfire.