Pride and the Anguish by Douglas Reeman Page A

had an air of alert caution about him, like a wild animal surrounded by its natural enemies.
    When he had first joined the gunboat as first lieutenant, and Hammond could recall the exact moment, he had seemed like a man who had seen and done too much in a short time. Hammond had imagined that he would resent serving under a temporary officer, but quite the reverse had happened. Trewin was unlike Mallory, for instance, who from the moment he had stepped aboard had kept up a steady flow of criticism and complaint about the Navy in general and the British in particular.
    He tried to picture Trewin as he must have been before the war, but he could not visualise him as anything but what he was now. Even Corbett seemed content with him, and that was surprising. The captain had frequently and noisily disagreed with poor Foley, the previous first lieutenant. Foley had been an affable but not too intelligent officer, and it was quite impossible to see him playing Trewin’s role during the past few days, Hammond decided.
    Last night, for instance. He glanced quickly at the tired sailors. The rattle of tracers, and the terrifying scream of cannon shells whipping overhead, it had been far worse than he had believed it would be. But just before the guns had opened fire Trewin had spoken to him on the bridge telephone. His quiet, unemotional voice had acted as a buffer when the actual moment of danger had arrived. And afterwards in the noisy excitement and wild aftermath of battle Trewin had come to visit the gun position. He had been calm and cheerful, as if the whole thing had been part of a drill.
    He recalled too the moment when he had almost confided in Trewin about the girl in Singapore. It seemed stupid now, but at the time, with the smoke from the air raid drifting over the island like a pall, he had wanted to tell Trewin about her.
    A sailor rolled on his stomach and cocked his head nervously. He said, “They’re comin’ back, sir.”
    Hammond stood up thankfully and stretched his arms in the sunlight. His smile changed to shocked surprise as Trewin and the petty officer pushed through the bushes their faces streaming with sweat.
    Between them, hanging like a limp puppet, was a young army lieutenant. His uniform was in tatters, and a revolver hung unheeded from a lanyard about his neck. His eyes and forehead were hidden under a filthy bandage, and his cheeks were covered in several days’ growth of beard.
    Trewin said sharply, “Here, you men! Carry him to the beach, and be quick about it!”
    The soldier groaned and rolled his head from side to side as the sailors lifted him from the ground.
    Trewin gripped the signalman who had been sent ashore to keep contact with the ship. “Bunts, run like hell for the beach and call up the
Porcupine.
” Hammond could see Trewin’s chest heaving from exertion, the small lines of strain around his eyes. “Tell the captain to up anchor at once. Tell him to recall
Shrike,
too.” He glanced back up the hill. “Christ, what a mess!”
    Hammond asked, “Did you find the Army?” He waited, feeling his mouth go dry. “What is it, Number One?”
    Trewin pulled a map from his belt and stared at it. Then he said quietly, “This section of the road is supposed to be controlled by the 50th Indian Brigade, or part of it.” He stuck the map carelessly inside his shirt. “Yes, I found them all right.” He walked after the sailors and added shortly, “The village has been burnt out. We found that poor devil crouching beside a useless radio set. I think he’s been blinded.” He spat out the words, “His men left him!”
    Petty Officer Kane slung the tommy-gun across one shoulder. “He’s delirious, sir. But if ’alf of what ’e says is true, we’re in a bad way.”
    â€œI—I don’t understand?” Hammond stared sideways at Trewin’s unshaven face. “Where did