After a long immersion in water a man's skin becomes so soft that mere contact with a rough object is enough to bruise it. Hands Eire particularly sensitive. The slightest scrape tears strips off the fingers. The first difficulty had been untying the ropes which had been used to fasten the kit onto the raft. They were rough native cords bristling with thorny prickles.
"It sounds like child's play, Warden, but in the state we were in . . . And when you've got to work underwater, and without making a noise. Look at my hands. Joyce's are the same."
Once again he peered out over the valley. He could not stop thinking about the other man waiting over there on the enemy bank. He lifted his hands, examined the deep cuts which had stiffened in the sun, and then, with a shrug of his shoulders, went on with his account
They had both carried sharp knives, but their frozen fingers could hardly handle them. And then, even though plastic is a "tame" explosive, digging into it with a metal instrument is not exactly recommended. Shears had soon realized that the two Siamese were not going to be of any further use.
"I was frightened of that all along, and had said so to the youngster before we set off. I told him we would have to rely on ourselves and no one else to get the job done. They were completely done for. They stood there shivering and clinging to one of the piles. I sent them back. They waited for me at the bottom of the hill. We were left on our own. For work like that, Warden, plain physical stamina isn't enough. The lad stood it magnificently; I only just did. I think I was at the end of my tether. I must be getting old."
They had unpacked the charges, one by one, and fixed them in position according to the destruction plan. They had to struggle every minute to avoid being swept away by the current. Clinging to each pile with their toes, they had to lower the plastic a sufficient depth into the water for it to be invisible, then mold it against the wood so that the explosive would act with maximum efficiency. Fumbling about under water, they tied it on with those awful, prickly, searing ropes, which scored bloody furrows across their palms. The mere gesture of tightening the cords and tying the knots had become sheer torture. In the end they were forced to bob down and do it with their teeth.
This part of the operation had taken most of the night. The next task was less arduous, but more tricky. The detonators had been inserted at the same time as the charges were fixed. They now had to be linked together with a network of "instantaneous" fuse, so that all the explosions would occur simultaneously. This is a job that demands a cool head, since a slip can cause a nasty mess. An explosives "circuit" is much the same as an electric circuit, and each separate element has to be in its proper place. This was a fairly complicated one, for, in order to be on the safe side, Number One had doubled the number of fuse lengths and detonators. These cords were fairly long, and the bits of iron which had been used to trim the raft had been fastened to them so as to make them sink.
"At last everything was ready. I don't think we did too badly. I thought I had better make a final inspection of the piles. It wasn't nece
ssary. With Joyce, I needn't have worried. Nothing will shift out of place, I'm sure."
They were worn out, bruised and battered, shivering with cold, but they grew more and more exultant as they saw the end of their work in sight. They had dismantled the submarine and had let the bits of bamboo float off, one after the other. All that remained was to float downstream themselves, swimming toward the right bank, one carrying the battery in its waterproof case, the other paying out the wire which was weighted at intervals and kept afloat by the last hollow stick of bamboo. They had reached dry land at the spot they had reconnoitered. The bank there rose in a steep slope and the vegetation came down to the water's edge. They had camouflaged the wire in the undergrowth, and then hacked their way a dozen yards or so into the jungle. Joyce had set up the battery and generator.
"Over there, behind that red-colored tree with its branches trailing in the water. I'm sure that's it," Shears repeated.
"Everything seems to be under control," said Warden. "Today's nearly over and he hasn't been discovered. We should have seen from here. No one's been anywhere near him. There's not much going on in the camp itself, either. The prisoners left yesterday."
"The prisoners left yesterday?"
"I saw quite a large column leaving camp. That party must have been to celebrate the end of their tasks, and the Japs obviously don't want to keep a lot of men hanging about here doing nothing."
"That makes things still better."
"There were a few who stayed behind. Casualties, I suppose, who weren't able to walk. So you left him over there, did you, Shears?"
"I left him over there. There was nothing more I could do and it was nearly dawn. I hope to God no one gets wind of him."
"He's got his knife," said Warden. "Everything's working out perfectly. It's getting dark now. The Kwai valley is already in shadow. There's no chance of anything happening now."
"There's always a chance of something happening when you least expect it, Warden. You know that as well as I do. I don't know exactly why it is, but I've never yet come across a single instance of things going according to plan."
"That's true. I've noticed that myself."
"I wonder what we should expect to happen this time.
When I left him, I still had a little bag of rice and a flask of whisky on me—the last of our provisions, which I had been carrying as carefully as the detonators. We drank a mouthful each and I left him the rest. He assured me for the last time that he felt perfectly confident. I left him there on his own."
21
Shears listened to the constant murmur of the River Kwai echoing through the jungles of Siam, and felt strangely perturbed.
He was now quite familiar with this ceaseless accompaniment to his every thought and gesture, yet this morning he was unable to recognize either its rhythm or volume. He stood motionless and uneasy for some time, all his faculties on the alert. Gradually he became aware, without being able to define it, of something unaccountably strange in the actual physical surroundings.
It seemed to him that in these surroundings, which were part and parcel of his very being, some transformation had taken place during his one night in the water and his one day spent on top of the mountain. The first sign of it had been his feeling, shortly before dawn, of inexplicable surprise. This had been followed by an odd impression of uneasiness which had gradually seeped up through his subconscious and developed into an actual thought—vague at first, but desperately struggling to express itself in more precise terms. Now, at sunrise, he was still unable to put it more clearly than in these words: "Some change has occurred in the atmosphere round the bridge and above the river."
"Something has changed. . . ." He whispered the words over and over again. His special sense of "atmosphere" hardly ever deceived him. His uneasiness developed into real anxiety, which he tried to dispel by logical argument.
"Of course, there's been a change. It's perfectly natural. Sound varies, depending on the place from which you listen. Here, I'm in the forest, at the foot of the mountain. The echo is not the same as on a hilltop or on the water. If this job lasts much longer, I'll end up by hearing things . . .
He looked through the branches, but noticed nothing unusual. The river was barely visible in the dawn. The opposite bank was still nothing but a solid gray mass. He forced himself to concentrate exclusively on the plan of battle and the disposition of the various groups waiting to go into action. Zero hour was not far off. He and four partisans had climbed down from the observation post during the night. They had settled into the positions chosen by Warden, close to the railway line and just above it Warden himself and two other Siamese had stayed with the mortar. From up there he would be able to command the whole theater of operations and be ready also to lend a hand after the attack. That was Number One's decision. He had told his friend that they had to have a European in command at each important post, to act on his own initiative if necessary. It was impossible to foresee everything or to give detailed orders in advance. Warden had understood. As for the third, the most important member of the team, the whole operation depended on him. Joyce had now been over there, exactly opposite Shears, for over twenty-four hours. He was waiting for the train. The convoy had left Bangkok during the night. A signal had reported its departure.
"Something's changed in the atmosphere . . ." Now the Siamese with the light machine gun was also showing signs of alarm. He was squatting on his haunches, looking at the river.