‘Well, we won’t be able to talk much once we get into the jungle, will we, Sarge?’ Dan, everybody’s champion, commented. ‘It’ll be all hush and hand signals.’
‘Very true, Veasey.’ The sergeant made a few meaningful jerks of his thumb towards Dan’s bed.
As he made the gestures, ‘Lights Out’ was sounded by the trumpeter and all over the camp the Tilley lights were extinguished. As Dan slid into the bed nearest the door, the sergeant pulled down the mosquito netting for him.
Alan thought it a kind act to close his eyes upon, and soon the camp was threaded by the assorted snores of men who were too exhausted to be worried, while others lay staring into the darkness and into their own particular thoughts and fears.
Alan lay thinking of Liz and Rinsey, then of tomorrow’s mission. It all suddenly felt so different for him. If he believed what was said, he had really not been needed. He need not be going. The thought needled, made him nervous and resentful. He hoped the camp cook would be prompt in posting his letters — to Liz and to his mother. There seemed so much that was not quite right, so much plotting, lots of rumours being spread.
By the light of the moon he could see his pack and wireless all ready for the morning. An early breakfast, porridge, perhaps even fried bread dipped in egg and bacon, then into the jungle.
Rumour again had it that they were to be gone some time because of the amounts of stores and ammunition that had been shared among the loads to be carried. Then someone said the patrol was being delayed because George Harfield has been arrested in Ipoh for raping a Chinese girl and the major had been to see about it.
Alan had found this rumour so outrageous that he had hopes that some of the others were false too.
*
Nearly two weeks into the jungle operation Alan felt he had never been out. The few days in between had been mere illusion and the time at the derelict bungalow sheer fantasy.
Sight bleared with the sweat he had no free hand or energy to wipe away, he moved after smeared green figures in a green and brown world booby-trapped with rocks, ground creepers and those damned vicious thorns.
Worst of all, he knew he was becoming bitter, for it seemed to him that whatever he did Major Sturgess was never going to approve. He had done his best to make radio contact when asked, risked his neck getting his aerial up trees, did his share of other work, but while the odd approving pat on the shoulder or nod of confidence could go to the other eight in the unit, he was never given more than a swift hissed order or a peremptory gesture of command. He had not realised how important these small acknowledgements were until they were denied him.
Perhaps, he reasoned, it was the surest evidence he had of Liz’s love, this change in the other man’s attitude to him, this split in Sturgess’s character. The soldier he admired and had worked so well with in the old nurse’s exploding home was a giant compared with this man who plainly could hardly bear to look at him.
He pressed his arm to the oilskin-wrapped photograph; the action stuck the package to his chest.
So Sturgess was jealous. Babyface had probably not been far wrong when he had warned him to watch his back. It seemed at once over the top and yet petty to think in such terms, but if it was petty of him to think it, it was even more petty of an officer to indulge in such discriminations.
Dan had noticed for he had given a decisive V-sign to the officer after he turned his back on the two of them. Alan thought it was pretty unprofessional of Sturgess to allow his men to see any sign of prejudice to any soldier.
On the thirteenth night they were told that there would be an airdrop the next day, so as soon as the dropping zone was cleared and ready they could rest up for an hour or two.
The following morning all ten began clearing a circle of jungle flat enough to allow the broad fluorescent orange strips to be laid in the prearranged Z-shape. Then they retreated into the surrounding jungle and waited, rested and listened.
By the time the Dakota was heard it was near midday. Waiting until the unmistakeable drone of its engine came nearer, Alan radioed to ascertain that it was their dropping aircraft.
There was a crackly affirmation with the added information that they had located the marker and would circle once and drop on the second run.
Alan acknowledged. Then all waited expectantly for the supplies to be parachuted down, aware that the activity could also give away their presence to the enemy.
The Dakota circled once, then came in tighter and as the aircraft came down within a few hundred feet of the clearing they could see the men in harnesses standing in the open doorway. The plane tipped to one side to make it easier for the men to push the large wooden crates out with their feet. Almost immediately the aircraft was up and riding out of their sight over the jungle, the noise retreating into the distance as they watched four parachutes open and the crates tumbling rapidly down, towards the dropping zone, they hoped.
They watched carefully. ‘Bugger!’ Major Sturgess exclaimed as one went completely out of sight, well short. Two others landed spot on and the third hooked itself in a perimeter tree, hanging for a few moments until branches creaked, groaned and cracked under the weight, seeming to the watchers to lower the crate down from one layer to the next and to the ground.
‘Full marks,’ Sergeant Mackenzie approved.
‘Three out of four,’ Alan said.
‘Reckon we could have a fire tonight then, sir? Plenty of dry wood.’ Dan tapped the first crate with his toe. ‘Make a hot meal.’
‘The drop’s bad enough, we don’t want to alert the whole of Perak to our presence.’ Sturgess said shortly, then added, ‘Sorry, chaps, nothing hot until this one’s finished — it’s too important.’
‘Sergeant, you, Veasey and the Sutherlands open these three, distribute the loads between the packs, while I take one man and find that stray crate.’ As he took his compass from his pocket, he signalled to Alan to go with him, while Entap, their Dyak tracker, and the Smiths were detailed to keep lookout.
Danny caught Alan’s eye as he left, grinned but put his hands behind his back as if shielding it. Alan nodded grimly. His recent speculations had taken any humour from the situation.
The two of them had not gone far, making sure they marked their way back on various trees, when they could hear a different sound.
‘Can you swim, Cresswell?’
‘No, sir,’ he lied.
‘Let’s hope the crate’s not in the water then.’
Alan thought, judging by the sound, that if it was it would have been washed away. Then he caught sight of a drape of parachute over a tree to their right. The major obviously had not seen it, so Alan bounded forward and touched the officer’s arm. Sturgess drew away as if burned. Alan stood still for a moment, looking the man straight in the eye, then pointed out the chute.
Without a word the major turned in that direction. Alan, following, seethed. It had to be Liz, the older man was sweet on Liz and resented a mere guardsman being preferred to a high-ranking officer.
Sturgess came suddenly to a halt and turned to see the contempt on his inferior’s face.
Before him Alan saw a rushing, raging torrent and in front of it his officer, whose face was suffused with fury.
‘What is it with you, Cresswell?’ he hissed. ‘What makes you think you’re so bloody superior?’
‘No, sir. I don’t, sir,’ he answered, gritting his teeth against what he wanted to say, that he certainly had the advantage in the matter of Elizabeth Hammond for their love was mutual, consummated, a meeting of two made in heaven for each other.
Faced with the fury of the other man, the man who had for the moment forgotten his role as superior example-setting officer, he remembered an old soldier saying that the only weapon a private had against victimisation by a higher rank was silence and the capacity to keep taking the abuse.