Ryan Plut

Selection from Heavy Cargo:

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Mallinson shook his head. “Sorry, gentlemen but, no. I have my orders. My ship is fully loaded with war materiel desperately needed at home. Your fight is not my fight. Truly, I wish all of you well in your endeavour, but I will be steaming for home and retirement. Full stop!”

The assembly shifted uncomfortably in their seats. No one spoke. Meijer covered his mouth and gave a muffled cough. Everyone looked to Shenton.

     Shenton was outwardly unperturbed, but Mallinson was alarmed to see, by a slight narrowing of the eyes and the set of his jaw, that the man had had enough of attempting to wheedle acquiescence from recalcitrant ship masters.

     “We had hoped to gain your cooperation willingly, but now …” He paused and sat up straight. He squared the papers before him in a neat stack. His voice became businesslike and official. “As governor of the Straits Settlements, and high commissioner for the Federated Malay States, I have the power to deny you the right to leave Singapore. A telephone call to the harbourmaster and your ship will be impounded, for as long as I desire. My actions will be viewed as upholding the conditions required of the Trading with the Enemy Act and will be supported by His Majesty’s Government. Make no mistake, I will use it. Now, Captain Mallinson, will you accede to our demand?”

     Mallinson thought, but not about the question Shenton had posed. His mind was elsewhere: Beryl waiting for him at the garden gate. Britain was in need of the cargo of lead for ammunition, and rubber, and wolfram for God knows what. The Finns needed those aeroplanes. Maakki had made all the arrangements to find them and transport them. Beryl! Retirement! But Roosevelt’s order! England! How he wanted desperately to be there!

     Shenton continued in a tone that was not too stern. “You see, your mission will be one of actually helping the war effort an enormous amount, shortening the war possibly by years, but to an outside observer it will look as just another lend-lease delivery of aeroplanes. Then from Perth you can steam for home. What do you think?”

     His shoulders slumped. When he spoke, it was with a note of resignation. “It seems I have been given no choice.”

     “Excellent!” Shenton replied ebulliently, with the air of an executive who had outfoxed a competitor, though this was hardly the case. “Thank you, Captain Mallinson, you are rendering a great service to Britain and her Allies. Freddie, will you act as liaison with our captain? I’ll call the motor round for you.” He pushed a button under the table, and the major-domo appeared. Mallinson, fuming at having been outmanoeuvred, was barely listening. The meeting disbanded, and Shenton disappeared. Shenton had not shaken his hand. That might have been a good thing because I would likely have refused. He told Singh he expected to leave the following Thursday, and would he please arrange for two tugs and a harbour pilot on the day, and pay the quayage on Ellerman’s tab. Singh agreed. The group retraced their steps to the entrance, where Singh and Meijer departed in a black Chevrolet.

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     Mallinson was left standing with Lieutenant Chapman. After the cool interior, the sun beat down so bright it hurt the eyes. They wandered away from the building across the parkway, gravel crunching underfoot, and soon found the lawn. Unseen tropical birds whooped from the gardens. A pair of green and blue peafowl three dozen yards away screamed loudly. They paused at a fountain at play in the centre of a shallow, round concrete-rimmed pool, orange and white koi circling lazily under Egyptian water lilies. The whine of insects seemed unnaturally loud. He shaded his eyes and squinted down the slope of the lawn to a lake in the distance, where white swans stretched their necks and adjusted their wings. He wasn’t cheered by the sight: he was in fact browned off at the treatment he had received. Freddie spoke first.

     “Sorry about all that palaver. Rotten show, I must say, but I’m awfully chuffed you stepped up to the mark, eh?”

Mallinson dropped his hand and rounded on him, fists clenched.

     “You bloody fool! I and the men I’m responsible for have been press-ganged into a mission we don’t want, in a direction we don’t want to go, into an area filled with warships in a cat-and-mouse game we want no part of – and you’re chuffed?! Bloody fool!”

     “Steady on, old boy!” Freddie said, caught on the back foot now. But Mallinson was adamant.

     “Had we been allowed to go westwards on our way around Africa there is nothing, absolutely nothing, out there. Our route would have been clear nearly all the way to England. We’re an unarmed merchant ship,” he fumed. … “Unarmed!” he repeated.

     “I may be able to help you there, captain. What arms have you now?

     Peevishly, he replied, “I have my Webley service revolver – oh, and my American wireless operator brought a twelve-bore pump shotgun aboard, which I locked away in my cabin. All of my officers have their own personal pistols, to guard against mutiny, you know.”

     Freddie laughed. “That’s it? What say I have our boys fix you up with a British quick-firing 2-pounder. Jolly good, don’t you think?”

     “Twin?”

     The lieutenant, embarrassed, replied, “No. Single-barrel.”

     “You want to fob me off with a water-cooled, pre-Great War relic?” Mallinson scowled, “Thank you, but no.”

     “Then, what say you to a 40-millimetre Bofors ack-ack gun? It’s off one of our naval trawlers that ran aground at speed a fortnight ago off Pulau Seringat. Bad show, eh? A total write-off.” The Rolls Royce ghosted up, and they climbed in. On the way back to the port they agreed the gun would be delivered tomorrow afternoon.