Page 151 of The Sapphire Child
‘Penny for your thoughts, Lomax?’ John interrupted his tortured pondering. ‘You’re not going to the gallows yet.’
Andrew gave a wry smile and stubbed out his cigarette. ‘I’m just thinking what an idiot I’ve been.’
John gave an enquiring look. ‘Anything in particular?’
Andrew took off his bush hat and rubbed his temples. ‘Over women.’
‘Ah,’ John said, sitting down beside him. ‘Is this anything to do with the lovely Miss Dubois?’
Andrew shot him a look. ‘How did you know?’
‘Because you’ve been pining ever since we left Mussoorie, Lomax.’ John clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘And that Christmas card Stella sent you is falling apart from being read so much. Besides, you never talk about your fiancée in Scotland any more. It’s obvious to me who you’re in love with.’
‘But Felicity. I feel so guilty...’
‘When was the last time she wrote to you?’ John pointed out.
‘She’s never been great at letter-writing – neither of us has. That’s not a good excuse for letting her down.’
John said, ‘We’re on the eve of battle. It might all be academic in a few days’ time. But for what it’s worth, I’d write to Stella and tell her how you really feel. Write to the fiancée too.’ His look turned grim. ‘Write to them both while you can.’
Before the sun set that evening, Andrew wrote a letter to Stella. For months he had been torn by mixed feelings, but once he finally put pen to paper, he found what he had to say came easily.
As night fell and they bunkered down, alert to attack under cover of darkness, Andrew gave the letter to John.
‘Grant,’ he said. ‘If anything happens to me and I don’t make it through, will you make sure Stella gets this, please?’
John gave him a long enquiring look. ‘Don’t you want to send it anyway?’
Andrew shook his head. ‘I don’t want to force anything on her that she doesn’t want. If I survive, then I must pluck up the courage to tell her in person.’
‘Of course, Lomax.’ John nodded and, taking the letter, put it safely in his leather attaché case.
Chapter 57
Sinzweya (‘Admin Box’), Burma, 6th February 1944
That day, the Borderers fought their way over the Ngakyedauk Pass – the ‘Okeydoke’ pass as the Tommies and Jocks had soon named it – to arrive at Sinzweya, the hastily defended administration area at the east end of the pass. With characteristic speed and stealth, the Japanese had slipped through the front lines of XV Corps’ forward divisions, encircled them and routed the headquarters of 7th Indian Division. Everyone had been taken by surprise.
After the Allies’ successful capture of the small port of Maungdaw in January, Andrew’s platoon of Borderers had been protecting the doggedly courageous Indian sappers from sniper fire as they’d blasted and widened the pass. But suddenly, the attack they had been expecting from the enemy had come from the north and west – the opposite direction from where the Japanese army lay – and also over the Mayu Range by a seemingly impossible route.
By nightfall the Scottish soldiers reached Sinzweya, which in the past twenty-four hours had become the de facto headquarters for the 7th Division. Troops from the surrounding area, hastily ordered to defend the new HQ, had been struggling in all day. In the fading light, Andrew could see it was a clearing of small fields among hilly, tree-covered slopes, barely half a mile wide.
It was a chaos of milling soldiers running at the double with equipment, hauling artillery and ammunition boxes and digging trenches, while enemy guns fired on them sporadically from the surrounding hills. British tanks were rolling in from the pass behind them. Officers bellowed orders as dressing stations were swiftly set up in dugouts with makeshift bamboo coverings. Ammunition dumps were being piled up at the foot of a central hillock.
With urgency, John Grant was soon detailing their men to dig in. He relayed the stark position to Andrew. ‘We’re completely cut off from the supply route along the coast but we’re to defend the ‘admin box’ until reinforcements arrive. There’s to be no retreat.’
‘Let’s hope Wingate’s Father Christmas comes dropping parcels from the sky,’ said Andrew with gallows humour.
That night, as they continued to dig slit trenches, set up gun placements and lay barbed wire, the enemy attacked the perimeter. In the pitch dark, Andrew heard strange animal and bird noises followed by bursts of rifle fire. Only then did he realise the jungle calls were the enemy signalling to each other. Grenades exploded and briefly lit up the conflict. The bitter smell of cordite filled his nostrils and he gritted his teeth at the screams from nearby wounded. All night, they took it in turns to man the posts and open fire on the sounds in the bush.
As day dawned, the attackers crept back to their dugouts in the surrounding hills and a ferocious barrage of shelling began. The Indian and British artillery fired back and the screeching of jungle animals was drowned out by the scream of mortars while the hills reverberated to the pounding of guns.
Then the skies overhead filled with dogfights. Squadrons of Japanese Zeros engaged in battle with Spitfires and Hurricanes. Astonishingly, during these fierce fights, the Dakotas of Troop Carrier Command flew in and dropped vital supplies of food, ammunition and fuel. Andrew watched in awe as the pilots camein low over the Range, almost brushing the jungle canopy to drop their loads by parachute.
Andrew and his platoon gave covering fire as men rushed to retrieve the supplies and carry them to the central dumps. All day, the supply planes kept up their courageous missions.
Amid the noise and danger, the cooks and orderlies managed miraculously to produce meals of rice and tinned meat, and a plum duff pudding made of fruit cake mashed up with crushed biscuits and chocolate.
