The Passion and the Glory Read online

  The rest of the news was as bad as ever, as the Japanese had now occupied Manila and the United States naval base of Cavite outside the city. The Americans had retreated into the Bataan Peninsular, and were preparing to fight there, but there still seemed no sign of a check to the Japanese advance. More reassuring for Clive, the American sailors were able to tell him that his father had survived the attack on Pearl Harbour, and like him, was waiting assignment to a new battleship. They had no news of what might have befallen Joan and her husband, however.

  Admiral Doorman now commanded a fleet consisting of two heavy cruisers, Exeter and the USS Houston — which was almost exactly the same age and size of the British ship, save that she had nine eight-inch guns — as well as four light cruisers: Marblehead, a seven thousand ton American veteran; Perth of the Australian Navy, a nine thousand tonner armed with eight six-inch guns which had begun life as HMS Amphion before being transferred; Java, a very old Dutch cruiser, and the fleet flagship, De Ruyter, the most modern of the ships, for she had only been launched in 1935; armed with seven one hundred and fifty millimetre guns and displacing seven and a half thousand tons, she was a fine looking vessel, and all the Dutch seamen seemed eager to carry the fight to the enemy. There were also nine destroyers, of which half were American.

  ‘It’s not much, but it is all we have,’ the admiral told his assembled officers. ‘And we must use it to our best advantage. I anticipate your best support.’

  It was some time before the little squadron was able to put to sea. It was, in fact, not until 12 January that the Japanese actually declared war on the Dutch, and although the combined squadron was already preparing for action, they were terribly aware of their lack of adequate air cover, as the Japanese planes entirely controlled the sky. Doorman’s first move therefore was further down the coast of Java to the relative safety of Surabaya, which was beyond the present range of the enemy bombers. Clearly there was nothing to be done about the Japanese in Malaya or in the Philippines — the idea was to strike at any enemy force seeking the oil rich Dutch East Indies or the invasion of Australia. The men grumbled, but although no one doubted that theirs was a suicidal task, it made no sense to commit that suicide without taking as many of the enemy with them as they could.

  Meanwhile, they could enjoy life in Surabaya, where the Dutch planters and colonial officials were delighted to have the chance to entertain the allied officers. Hard as everyone was working to prepare for battle, there was still a constant round of dances and cocktail parties in the evenings, and the attractively blonde young ladies made it very clear that there was no sacrifice they would not undertake to make the life of the gallant sailors more enjoyable.

  Clive felt this was somehow almost a betrayal. They were there to fight a war, not sleep with every available woman. But his rejection of the innumerable flirtations which were thrown his way was at least partly because he had never actually had a woman of his own. As the eldest of the McGann children he could remember too well his mother. He had told Bryson that he did not believe the stories about her. But that had been a lie. He had known they were true, as a boy had more than once returned to her London home to find her sharing her bed — and always with a different man. He had, in fact, no doubt at all that she had been murdered by a jealous Japanese lover in Tokyo: she had enjoyed men of every shape, size and colour. The fact that she had by then been reconciled with Dad — or, more truthfully, that Dad had decided to take her back in a rare moment of weakness — only made the whole business more disgusting.

  His whole attitude to women had been coloured by those memories; he did not suppose he would ever be able to trust one in his life. Even with Joan, his little sister, while he loved her dearly and his blood boiled every time he thought that she had fallen into the hands of the Japanese, he had never become really intimate. Now he let his fellow officers get on with it, and preferred to be entertained by the more sober and somewhat older burghers and their wives.

  These were, in many cases, people whose whole lives had been devoted to the East Indies; some of them were third and fourth generation colonials. They were tough-minded — there had until quite recently been problems with independence-minded natives — God fearing, determined people, who, he was sure, would resist the Japanese with all their might; he was less sure about the soldiers and sailors whose duty was to defend them, and who seemed obsessed with the paucity of their resources and too mindful of the way the national army in Holland had been shattered in less than a week in 1940.

  He struck up a particular friendship with William and Stefanie van Gelderen, who were only in Surabaya temporarily, attempting to find a passage out of the danger area for their daughter Juliana. Juliana was fourteen, and they were desperate to get her to Australia, where, apparently, she had an aunt. The van Gelderens were considerably older than himself — he put Stefanie down as in her late thirties, and her husband several years more than that — and operated a copra plantation in Dutch New Guinea, some distance away from Java; they were wondering if they were going to be able to get back. But they had no intention of abandoning it. The plantation had been founded by Bill van Gelderen’s great grandfather, he had been born there, and as he said bluffly — they both spoke excellent English — he intended to die there.

  His wife, oddly petite and dark for a Dutchwoman, had married him in Holland and only seen the East Indies for the first time after the wedding. She had fallen in love with it, even the utter primitivity of northern New Guinea, where there were no cities and very few other white people. ‘It is the loveliest place on earth, Lieutenant McGann,’ she told Clive, her dark eyes sparkling as she thought of it. ‘We would so like you to visit it.’

  ‘Then I shall,’ he promised. ‘After we’ve beaten the Japanese.’

  *

  They were people to fight for, he thought. And win for, too. At the beginning of February immensely cheering news arrived. The American aircraft carriers Enterprise and Yorktown had carried out a surprise raid on the Japanese base in the Marshall Islands, and got away again unscathed. Reports as to the amount of damage caused varied, but it was good to know the allies were at last hitting back. ‘Oh, to have one of those out here with us,’ Bryson said.

  But this good news was countered by learning that the British and Australian troops in Malaya had retreated across the causeway into Singapore, and that the Japanese were now landing in the Celebes and attacking Amboina. This was of course the moment the squadron had been waiting for, and they put to sea immediately. The Japanese landing forces were reported to be in the Straits of Macassar, where a week earlier another troop convoy had been successfully attacked by four American destroyers. Morale was therefore high. But the earlier attack had been under cover of darkness. This time it was daylight, and no sooner had the transports been sighted and fire opened than the sky swarmed with enemy planes. Then it was every ship for herself, as they twisted and turned in attempts to avoid the bombs and torpedoes. The great speed of the cruisers and destroyers stood them in good stead here — although it made the life of gunnery control officers like Clive nearly impossible — and no ship was sunk, but both Houston and Marblehead were hit, and Doorman hastily ordered the attack abandoned. They withdrew to Surabaya to lick their wounds, when it was discovered that Marblehead was so badly damaged she could no longer hope to fight; sadly she set out to make her way back to the States, if she could.

  ‘What the hell are we supposed to do?’ Bryson inquired, as he and Clive superintended the rearming of their guns, listening to the clanging of hammers all around them; Exeter had also sustained considerable damage. ‘Without aircraft we are all sitting ducks.’

  Clive made no reply. He had never felt so despondent in his life. It had never occurred to him that the ships on which he served would be so relentlessly beaten every time they put to sea. The damage to morale was incalculable, as he could tell by the reluctance of the ratings to carry out the tasks which would again prepare the ship for action. And repairs, delayed b
y a severe Japanese air raid even of Surabaya, had not yet been completed when news arrived of the surrender of Singapore.

  This shocked everyone. If there had been one aspect of their continuous defeats which had seemed certain, it had been that Singapore, the reputedly impregnable bastion of British power in the Far East, would hold out for ever. But the garrison had surrendered with no fewer than eighty thousand men still capable of bearing arms. When Clive thought of the way the defenders of Hong Kong had fought virtually to the last ditch he felt angry, although he understood that General Perceval’s decision might have been influenced by a desire to avoid the horrors which had followed the fall of the northern colony.

  No one could doubt that the Dutch East Indies would now be subjected to an all out Japanese onslaught, and the new naval commander in chief of the Pacific, Vice Admiral Helfrich, ordered Doorman to take his squadron to sea. Gallingly, Exeter was not yet able to work up maximum speed, and had to watch the rest of the ships steam away without her. The engineers laboured round the clock to complete their repairs, but before they were finished the squadron limped back. They had actually been outsteamed and outfought by a flotilla of Japanese destroyers, and one of the Dutch destroyers had been sunk.

  The fleet was absolutely crushed by this disaster. Previously they had been able to blame their defeats on the lack of air support. Now there could be no excuses. The Japanese had revealed greater dash and determination, as well as skill.

  A week later they were visited by Admiral Helfrich. ‘I have to tell you, gentlemen,’ he said, looking from face to face across the crowded wardroom of De Ruyter, ‘that there is a Japanese invasion fleet now sailing for Java. This fleet must be stopped, or all of the East Indies will be lost, and then Australia will be defenceless. The Japanese, to all intents and purposes, will have won the war. Gentlemen, the Japanese escorting fleet is approximately our own strength; observers have identified two heavy cruisers, Nachi and Haguro, two light cruisers, Jintsu and Naka, and fourteen destroyers. Gentlemen, this fleet must be dispersed and if possible destroyed. There can this time be no question of withdrawal, even if attacked by enemy aircraft. You must prevent that convoy from reaching Java. I wish I could accompany you. Instead, I will wish you God speed.’

  He shook hands with each officer in turn.

  ‘Well, Clive, old boy, it looks like this is it,’ Bryson said. ‘Approximately equal, by God. Fourteen destroyers to our nine, and Nachi and Haguro. I suppose the old gentleman didn’t want to tell us the facts about those.’

  ‘Heavy cruisers,’ Clive commented. ‘Damn near small battleships. Thirteen thousand tons each, ten eight-inch guns, two aircraft … ‘

  ‘We’ll just have to try to take at least one of them with us,’ Bryson said.

  ‘At least one,’ Clive agreed. That night he wrote letters to his father and Walt, and to Joan as well. He didn’t know if any of them would ever be received, but he wanted to be avenged, because he had to believe that vengeance would be possible. One day.

  *

  The squadron steamed out of Surabaya the following morning, and at four that afternoon rounded Cape Pangkah, some ten miles offshore; the land remained clearly visible. By now smoke had been sighted to the north, but miraculously there were no planes. ‘We will cross the enemy’s tee,’ Doorman signalled. ‘Our business is to reach the transports and destroy them. Any vessel that accomplishes that will have carried out his task. God bless you all.’

  Pulse racing, Clive sat in the gunnery control room, actually one of three officers on duty; Exeter’s own Lieutenant Marston, Bryson, who as a lieutenant commander had overall command, and himself, as very much the junior, in command of the secondary armament. ‘Enemy in sight,’ came the word from the bridge. ‘Range twelve miles.’ A few moments passed. ‘Range eleven miles.’ A few more moments. ‘Range ten miles. Open fire.’

  The ranges were being correlated in the control room, and now Marston, after a glance at Bryson, gave the order to shoot the main armament. Clive’s four-inches were still well out of range, so he could step to the door and look out, at the line of smoke which marked the Japanese destroyers, and beyond them, the four cruisers. Beyond them again was the heavy pall which marked the convoy. The time was sixteen minutes past four.

  The ship trembled and rolled as the eight-inch guns exploded, and Clive could see the plumes of water rising from amongst the Japanese ships, but none seemed to be hit. Yet the two fleets were steadily closing, when there came the crisp comment from the bridge. ‘Destroyer attack. Torpedoes. Torpedoes.’

  Clive was at his monitor, and the four-inch guns were blazing away as the Japanese destroyers swung in to launch their torpedoes. Soon he had to stop firing as the Dutch and American ships undertook a counter attack. There were a series of explosions, and Exeter was thrown left and then right as she took evasive action.

  ‘My God,’ commented the voice from the bridge. ‘One’s gone. Just exploded.’

  Clive knew he wasn’t speaking about the Japanese.

  ‘Squadron is turning away,’ the bridge told them. ‘We are steering south.’

  ‘Damnation,’ Marston commented. ‘Just as we had the range.’

  ‘Hold your fire,’ the bridge said. ‘Our intention is to turn behind the enemy destroyers, then swing north again and penetrate the enemy cruisers to reach the transports.’

  ‘Now that’s a bit more like it,’ Bryson said. ‘I thought we were running away. Again.’

  The ship heeled as she came round. But then she sheered off to the south east again. ‘Damn destroyers,’ said the bridge.

  ‘What the hell are ours doing?’ Marston complained.

  ‘We’re turning again,’ Bryson said, and Exeter heeled to port as she swung back to the north. In that instant there was a huge explosion. Clive was never sure where it came from. The entire deck buckled and he found himself staring at blue sky. In the control room?

  He was aware of total deafness, caused by a loud singing in his ears, and of various areas of pain. But he was clearly alive. He tried to sit up, fell down again, and sat up again, watched two steel helmeted medics standing above him. They dragged him across the deck, away from the flames which were licking at his feet. They spoke to him, but he couldn’t hear them. Instead he stared at the wreckage of the bridge. The shell must have penetrated the control room and exploded. How he had survived was a total miracle, and he did not even seem badly hurt, although there was blood, his blood, everywhere, from a myriad of small cuts. But Marston, and Bryson!

  He tried to get up, and the sailors tried to restrain him, then one fell at his feet. The other dived for cover, and Clive also lay down again, rolling on to his stomach to look out at the Japanese destroyers closing in for the kill; one of their shells had just struck home. Between them and the stricken cruiser a British destroyer raced, blazing away with its four-point-seven-inch guns; lacking control, Exeter’s own guns had fallen silent.

  Clive could only watch in horror as the British ship, smothered in shell fire, burst into flames and started to sink. Then he realised that Exeter was again under control; someone had reached the auxiliary steering position. But she was only making half speed, and was now again turning to the south east: clearly she was too badly damaged to remain in the battle.

  Clive reached his feet again and staggered to the rail to look aft. The British destroyer had sunk, and behind them was a furious melee in which the other ships were engaged. ‘Damn,’ he said. ‘Damn.’

  ‘At least we’re not swimming this time,’ Bryson said.

  He turned. ‘Mark!’ he shouted. ‘By God, I thought you were dead.’

  Like him, Bryson had lost his cap and was covered in blood. But he was standing up. ‘We’re both born lucky,’ he said.

  Clive turned back to the rail. ‘But to run away … ‘

  ‘We’re a liability,’ Bryson told him. ‘That hit penetrated the engine room. We have only two guns left, half speed, no control … we’ll have to fight another day.’


  *

  Another day, Clive thought bitterly. Soon darkness fell, but to the north they could still hear the rumble of gunfire and even see the flashes of the explosions. ‘We’re giving them hell,’ Captain Bell said over the tannoy. But he didn’t sound as if he believed it himself.

  Most of their radio aerials had been shot away, and they were unable to speak with Surabaya until they were within ten miles of the port. This was just on dawn. It had been a miserable night, with the dead assembled on the deck awaiting burial, the wounded groaning in the wardroom, which was relatively undamaged, the engineers working desperately below decks to restore full power, other repair gangs attempting to restore some order from the tangled mess above, and the whole ship stinking of scorched metal and wood; the fires were soon put out, but the stench remained.

  The news from Surabaya was grim. The squadron had been badly defeated. De Ruyter had gone down, together with the admiral. All the other ships were at least damaged. And the Japanese invasion fleet was disembarking its army on the island. ‘We are instructed,’ the captain said, ‘not to enter the port, but to leave these waters and seek safety in Australia. It is my intention, therefore, to pass north of the islands as far as Timor, and then turn south.’

  ‘That sounds to me as if the Dutch are preparing to surrender Java,’ Clive said.

  ‘Conforms to the pattern,’ Bryson agreed. And grinned. ‘Pity we’re going that way; I always wanted to see Krakatoa.’

  *

  Exeter hove to in the early morning, to bury her dead. They were within five miles of the coast, and looked at the mountains of south Java serrating the south western horizon. The ceremony was short and to the point, as everyone was anxiously watching the sky, and before the last man was consigned to the deep smoke was seen approaching at speed from the north.