Storm at Sunset Page 14

  “Sure thing; thanks a lot; I’ll be with you in a jiffy.” And with that Freddie scampered off to his billet to pick up his flying kit.

  Ken watched the crew depart in the gharry with two of his own men in tow. It hadn’t surprised him that they’d volunteered to fly on their day off. Ninety-nine percent of the squadron would have done the same, if asked. Free days were nice in theory, but the limited choice of leisure pastimes and the men’s fascination with the job meant that flying was always a popular option. He turned back to the letter he was writing.

  ****

  Two hours later, with the sultry heat of mid-afternoon sending shimmering waves through the atmosphere, Freddie watched as the Dak took off from Magalang’s short strip and disappeared over the treetops for its onward hop to Semerang. As soon as they’d landed, he’d stepped out onto the makeshift apron to be met by the local British army commander. It was only a small landing ground, and although Dakotas had been there before, most of the garrison’s resupply had been done by para-drop, and a landing was an event sufficiently rare as to make it a spectacle. Much of the local population had turned out to watch, together with a number of Japanese soldiers who were working as a labour force while awaiting their own repatriation. And it was to the leader of these that the lieutenant turned once Freddie had explained his mission and requirements. A brief exchange resulted in a rapid torrent of Japanese orders from the squad’s NCO, and one of the soldiers made off at once, to return quickly in a battered old car.

  “He understands what’s needed and he’ll take you there, wait while you do your business and bring you back,” relayed the lieutenant. “It’s not too far and you’ll find British troops in charge at the camp. I’ve phoned them and they’re expecting you. They’ll do what they can for you.”

  Freddie thanked him and prepared to climb into the car.

  “Just a couple of words of warning,” continued the lieutenant by way of an afterthought. “Although we’ve been running the place for a while now, some of the ex-prisoners are still in very poor condition. Don’t be shocked at what you might see.”

  Freddie nodded. “I’m used to that. We’ve been ferrying these people out for the past few months so I’ve seen plenty. We’ll no doubt get around to your place sometime soon. Have you had any word of timescales?”

  “No. But for the internees’ sakes I hope it’s not too long. The other thing I was going to mention is that many of the older Dutch people don’t have much English. Do you know whether your man can speak the language?”

  Freddie hadn’t thought to ask Nelli. But in any case he’d got hold of an elementary text book in the town not long ago and had been quietly using some of his off-duty hours to learn a few of the basics. The aim was to surprise and impress his girl, but without an instructor he was finding it hard going. Not least, Dutch pronunciation seemed to be utterly beyond the range of his English vocal chords. He was by no means certain that his stumbling efforts were ready for a public airing, but today might be his chance for a trial run.

  “No, I don’t know. But we’ll manage somehow. Now, I haven’t got much time before my chariot returns so I must get under way. Thanks a lot!” And with a wave he slammed the car door and was off.

  ****

  Barely another two hours later, Freddie’s driver deposited him in the late afternoon back at the now-deserted airstrip. The Japanese driver shot off as soon as Freddie was out of the vehicle, and as the plume of dust drifted away the WOp settled down to await his Dakota. The army unit had finished its day’s work at the landing ground and all was silent bar the natural background noises of insects and small creatures. Freddie found himself a comfortable spot under the shade of the jungle canopy that edged the strip, and after checking for ants and other undesirables he sat himself down with his back against a log to wait.

  He reflected on the day’s events, and of his meeting with the lovely and dignified old man that Nelli’s father had turned out to be. If indeed ‘old’ was the adjective to use. Freddie hadn’t really been able to put an age on him, but felt it quite likely that the frail condition and sparse hair made the man appear much older than he really was.

  At the makeshift camp, the initial few minutes had passed uneasily while he had made his introductions and established that the man he needed to see was indeed still alive and among the group. Once those formalities were over and the answers had come in the affirmative he’d begun to relax. But then, as he’d waited in the sparsely-furnished room for the man to be brought to him, he’d begun to fret about the shock that the news might be to one whose mental state could, after all he’d endured, have been fragile. The faintly unreal atmosphere at this internment camp hacked out of the Javanese jungle added to his anxiety.

  But he needn’t have worried. The camp welfare staff had pre-warned their patient of the gist of the story his visitor was to relate, and when the two of them at last met it was, considering the incongruous circumstances, the most natural of events.

  Slowly, for his physical state had clearly suffered and he evidently had some way to go to a full recovery, the man entered the room and stood before Freddie. Hesitantly the Dutchman put out a hand and Freddie could feel the bones through skin that felt as thin as tissue paper. Nelli’s father raised his head and looked steadily into the young airman’s eyes. A faint smile flitted across his features as they sat down at a table.

  Freddie had prepared his opening line, but the older man beat him to it.

  “You have news of my Nelli?” His English was halting and heavily accented, but accurate. Freddie realised gratefully that there was not, at this point, any necessity to test his rudimentary Dutch.

  “Yes, sir, I have.” And he drew out from his wallet a snapshot of the girl beside her canteen wagon. He passed it across.

  The man studied it carefully, screwing up his sun-bleached eyes. He was almost certainly in need of spectacles – either his own had disappeared during his internment or his eyes had deteriorated during his long spell in Japanese hands – for he now held the photo at arm’s length in an effort to bring it into better focus. He studied it for an age, Freddie surreptitiously observing his features as he did so. The whole range of emotion passed across the man’s face during what seemed like many minutes, and throughout there remained a total silence between them. Freddie felt his heart going out to the old father, and he had to swallow a couple of times to contain his own feelings. Finally, the Dutchman composed himself and asked just one question.

  “She is alive?”

  The airman nodded. “Yes, she is alive.”

  The dam burst. The man clasped the photo to his chest, gazed at the ceiling, and let himself go. Tears welled up in his eyes, pouring down his cheeks onto his ragged singlet. A series of noisy sobs choked out from somewhere deep within his being.

  Although Freddie had half considered the possibility of such a reaction, he nevertheless found himself thoroughly taken aback. But instinctively he placed a hand on the Dutchman’s arm, and the older man instantly took it. Slowly the sobs subsided, and after a while Freddie reached into his pocket and offered the same dirty handkerchief that Nelli herself had used at their first meeting. Now her father took it gratefully, and after wiping his cheeks he drew himself upright and composed himself. Blinking through still-wet eyes, he studied the photograph anew.

  “I am sorry. It was such a moment.”

  Freddie said nothing for a while, merely holding the man’s emaciated hand. Eventually, he spoke gently: “I have seen her several times, at Bandoeng. She has told me that she too was imprisoned, but that she was freed some time ago. At first she believed that you had not survived. But then she heard rumours. And she asked me to find out what I could. And here I am.”

  There was a pause while the father looked again at the picture.

  “And here you are.” He looked again. “She seems so thin. Is she well?”

  “Yes. She has lost much weight but she is well enough and getting better with every passing day.”
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  “She was just a girl when I last saw her, but I can see that she is a woman now. And she looks happy. Did you take this photograph?”

  “I did, sir.”

  “Then she was looking happy for you?” The man was back in control, and he studied Freddie’s face intently. “Was she happy to be with you?”

  The airman paused before answering. “Yes …” He hesitated. “Yes … I think she was happy to be with me.”

  The Dutchman passed the photograph back to Freddie. “Then you must have the picture. I think it is important to you.”

  He pressed it into Freddie’s hand, but the younger man resisted. “I think it is more important to you. I will see Nelli again soon and bring her news that her father is indeed alive and well. Then I will take another photograph showing her even more happy. You must have this one for now.”

  The old man nodded, and took back the picture. “I will have it, then, and soon I too will see the real Nelli again.” With some difficulty he stood up. “But now I am feeling very tired. You must go now, and I must rest.”

  Freddie stood too, and picked up the small canvas holdall he had brought with him. He’d thought carefully about what might be suitable gifts for someone who’d lived for so long on meagre rations, without treats. He brought out a bag of boiled liquorice sweets.

  “These are for you.”

  The man took the traditional Dutch favourite with almost childlike gratitude. “Thank you. Thank you. Liquorice drops; I haven’t had these for many a year. I shall enjoy them.”

  Freddie rummaged around again and brought out a faded novel that he’d found in the second-hand shop where he’d got his Dutch-English textbook. He passed it across.

  The man examined it, again with evident pleasure. “This will be so nice to read. You are a good man, Freddie. I know I will see you again.”

  And with that he looked the WOp in the eyes, clasped his hand again, turned, and shuffled slowly back to from whence he had come.

  CHAPTER 18

  Now, as Freddie waited for his pick-up, the pictures of their meeting returned to him over and over again, and he replayed the dialogue a thousand times. Remarkable. Truly remarkable, he thought. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Nelli’s face when he brought her the news of her father. His first job tomorrow would be to button-hole the ops officer and arrange for his crew to be put on the Bandoeng run at the earliest opportunity. His continued to mull over the afternoon’s extraordinary meeting.

  Eventually he became conscious that the heat was going out of the day, and he could see that the shadows were lengthening. The tropical sun would set quickly, and he knew that there was no flare path for night landings. He had no wish to be stuck in this unfamiliar place; in fact, he realised that he didn’t even have the first idea of the location of the British army camp. His escorts had left him and he was utterly alone. He glanced at his watch and was shocked to see that his Dak should have landed a couple of hours ago. Where the hell were they, the incompetent shower? He cursed them for letting him down.

  He paced the landing strip for a few minutes, before thinking better of it. Despite the neigbouring British garrison, he didn’t know whether the area was completely free of guerrilla forces, and he had no desire to become a victim, or even a hostage. He was a sitting duck out on the open airfield and it would be only too easy for a small band to leap out of the jungle and take him. He fingered his service revolver nervously and scuttled back into cover.

  He glanced at his watch again.

  “Come on, you chaps. Get a move on.”

  His own voice startled him. He hadn’t intended to speak aloud, and the sound seemed to have been amplified as sunset approached and the day sounds of the jungle began to subside. For God’s sake, he thought; this could be turning into a real mess.

  A couple of times he persuaded himself that he heard the reassuring growl of Wasp engines, only for the phantom sounds to fade in the breeze amongst the treetops. But now … he was sure … there was something. He jumped up and ran to the edge of the landing strip. But there seemed to be nothing. Another false alarm and he retreated to cover, disappointed.

  Then the familiar drone came again, rising steadily as the source grew closer. And before a minute was up he’d spotted the comforting bulk of a Dak as it hove into sight above the tree-line, barely visible against the darker, eastern sky. With its wheels down, the plane’s engine noise softened as the power came back for the final approach, and the Dak touched down with a small puff of dust from the tyres. Freddie stepped out from concealment and waved his arms. The aircraft swung round and headed towards him.

  “Thank gawd for that.” The words came out loud again, but this time Freddie didn’t care. He knew he was safe now. As the machine came to a halt the cargo door swung open and he set off at a brisk walk. He could see the captain waving from his open side-screen high up on the cockpit side, transmitting a new urgency about the pick-up. He broke into a trot, and as he did so he became aware that there was something odd about the scene. What was going on? He couldn’t put his finger on it.

  As he drew closer he finally registered the disconnect. This Dakota was not ‘Uncle’. It was ‘B for Baker’. Now he could see that, he realised that he’d not recognised the figures who’d been gesturing to him from the aeroplane. And as he threw himself aboard he saw that this was, indeed, not the crew he’d expected.

  There was no time to ask questions, for the door slammed and the engines were already opening up. The hold was empty and Freddie grabbed himself a seat, managing to get the lap-strap done up just as the wheels left the ground. Gratefully, he concentrated on regaining his breath. There would be ample time in-flight to catch up on what had been happening, but for now he’d leave the crew to get the machine on course and up to altitude. Eventually, a settling of the engine note told him that the aircraft was in the cruise. His curiosity could wait no longer and he went forward.

  “Well, you’re a lucky bugger then, aren’t you?” The nav, whom Freddie knew slightly, grinned at him. “Another few minutes and it would have been too dark for us to land. Then all you’d have had for company for the night would have been the creepy-crawlies!”

  “Yes, well – I’m sure I’d have managed.” Freddie felt slightly irritated. His own situation, or what might have occurred, didn’t concern him. He really wanted to know what had been going on. “So why were you so late?”

  “We weren’t late at all, sunshine. We were diverted in to pick you up because there’s been some kind of an incident. ‘Uncle’ has gone down in the jungle. So you’re twice lucky. You were meant to have been on board.”

  A chill immediately spread through Freddie’s being. Even though, after years of conflict, he was more or less used to hearing bad news, it was always worse when friends were involved. Keith had been on board. And the nav was right. He’d flown with the whole crew that morning and was due to have been on the second flight, so he was lucky. A cold shadow swept over him, as though a cloud had drifted over the sun.

  “So what happened, then? Are they all right?” He needed to hear whatever information was available.

  “Well, we don’t know all that much. We were well behind them in the Semarang stream and they’d left by the time we landed there. But while we were unloading a message came through that we should divert into Magalang to pick you up. There was no return load for us, being the last flight of the day, so we were with you in no time flat.”

  “Yes. Well I appreciate that of course, and I’m very grateful. But what do you know of the accident?”

  “Not much I’m afraid. Apparently they had an engine problem. Nothing too major – at least nothing that prevented them from returning to base. Although significant enough for them not to want to take the chance of landing at Magalang and getting stuck. So they sent a message that another aircraft would have to pick you up, and continued en route. As we understand it the problem got worse and they finished up having to shut the engine down. They weren’t far from Kema
joran by then, and would ordinarily have been able to make it comfortably home on the remaining engine. But it seems the prop refused to feather, which left them with no option but to put down in a handy clearing. The good news is that Keith and the others did an excellent job. A Thunderbolt had been scrambled to intercept and escort them, and its pilot saw them walk away from the aircraft – the whole crew and the troops they had on board. They waved at the Thunderbolt pilot, so it seems they got away with it pretty well scot free. I’ve no doubt they’ll all be in the bar by now, and I only hope they don’t drink the entire stock before we get there!”

  Freddie’s dark cloud cleared away like a flash and he breathed a sigh of relief. The way the news had come over initially, he’d feared the worst.

  He went back to sit in the hold again, alone with his thoughts. The nav hadn’t seemed overly concerned. After so many years of conflict they were all a bit blasé about accidents, and if what he’d been told turned out indeed to be the case, this one could be rated fairly low on the scale of incidents they’d learned to live with and accept. Combat losses; accidents during the abbreviated training process that wartime conditions had forced upon the RAF; crashes which were down to green young crews being sent on operational missions well before they’d had time to build up the experience they really needed; accidents due to pressing on in weather that wasn’t up to it because of the operational pressure to get the job done; crashes due to pushing old and worn-out equipment beyond its limits; accidents which could be put down to the unfamiliar terrain and conditions in which they were operating; and, not least, deaths resulting from enemy action. All those hazards had to be successfully side-stepped before a crew could consider its operational tour complete, and then, after sometimes all-too-brief periods of rest away from the front line, they would be back for more of the same. And although on that second operational tour many of the earlier problems would not apply to the same extent, others would creep up to take their place. Over-confidence; lack of appreciation of the need to stay continually on one’s guard for the unexpected; preoccupation with the administrative responsibilities which inevitably added to the workload as rank and seniority increased; weariness; and complacency. While over and above it all the unpredictable factor of enemy action still lurked, ready to put an untimely end to the life of the most experienced aircrew.