William Boyd - An Ice-Cream War

He saw another battleship steam out from the direction of land. Shortly after, Bilderbeck was summoned over to it and a boat was lowered for him. That evening the battleship — the Fox — steamed with the Kartnala .

The convoy sat off Mombasa for another two days. Gabriel inspected his men. They were weary and disgruntled, many of them having been sea-sick for a full month. He got some of them up on deck for PT but the resulting shambles was so embarrassing that he dismissed them after five minutes.

The Karmala returned to the convoy and Bilderbeck came back to the Homayun to pick up his kit. He was to be permanently attached to General Aitken’s staff. Gabriel stood in the doorway of the cabin watching Bilderbeck pack.

“Where are we going?” Gabriel asked. “Dar-es-Salaam?”

“I shouldn’t really tell you,” Bilderbeck said. “But no. It’s Tanga.”

“Oh,” Gabriel said. He’d seen Tanga on one of Bilderbeck’s maps. A port to the north of Dar, starting point for the northern railway that ran up to Kilimanjaro.

“Got a pillow?” Bilderbeck asked, holding up his own.

“Yes,” Gabriel said. “I have. Why?”

“And a basin? Pillow and a basin. The two most essential pieces of equipment to have on active service. Get some decent sleep and have a chance for a wash and a shave. Always make sure you’ve got them with you. Best advice I can give.”

“Thanks,” Gabriel said distractedly. “Yes, I’ve got both.” He paused. “Are we invading Tanga?”

“That’s the idea,” Bilderbeck said, a look of withering cynicism on his face. “It’s the first invasion of a hostile beach for forty years or thereabouts, and they pick this lot.” He put his hands on his hips and shook his head sorrowfully. “There’s another problem, though. It seems the Navy made a truce with the German governor in Tanga at the very beginning of the war. Now the Navy are insisting that we must inform the authorities there that ‘belligerent hostilities’ are going to be resumed. They feel their dignity demands an official abrogation of the truce.” Bilderbeck’s face lit up in one of his most beaming smiles.

“Good Lord.” Gabriel sat down on his bunk. “Isn’t that a bit…? I mean, won’t they know then that we’re going to attack?”

“Of course they will.” Bilderbeck gave a great hoot of laughter. “Of course they will. But try telling that to the Navy.” He rubbed his hands together like a fly. His mood seemed one of profound satisfaction, as if he’d just had some hotly disputed fact confirmed in his favour. “Remember,” he said, looking up. “Whatever happens, don’t forget your pillow and basin.”

Gabriel stood at the rail of the Homayun and gazed out at the shoreline a mile away. It was six o’clock in the evening. He looked down at the map in his hand and then back again at the shore. What he was looking at, he calculated, was the headland called Ras Kasone that jutted out on the southern side of Tanga bay. Behind the lee of the headland, about two miles distant, lay the town of Tanga which, from his position, was invisible. At the tip of the headland was a signal tower, and nearby that was a white stone house. Five hundred yards down, to the left of the white house, was a red house. All of these buildings seemed deserted, though the German flag flew from the signal tower. From what he could see through the thickening dusk the shore facing him was composed of cliffs, at the bottom of which was dense and tangled vegetation, and curious twisted trees which he had been told were mangroves. Beneath the red house, however, was a beach some two hundred yards long. This, according to Lt Col. Coutts, was where the Palamcottahs were to land later tonight: Beach ‘A’.

At the briefing he’d just attended, and where the map had been issued, Lt Col. Coutts (still in pain from his broken rib) had read out Major-General Aitken’s orders. The first sentence had been immensely reassuring. “From reliable information received,” it read, “it appears improbable that the enemy will actively oppose our landing.”

Gabriel watched his company edge down the gangway into the huge wooden lighters that had been towed from Mombasa to provide transport from the ships to the beach. All around the headland he could see the ships of the convoy moored in line. Earlier that morning, Lt Col. Coutts had informed them, the Fox had steamed into Tanga harbour and officially abrogated the truce and had demanded the surrender of the town — which was not forthcoming. Tanga, it appeared, was deserted.

Gabriel followed his second-in-command, 2nd Lt Gleeson, down the gangway. Gleeson was gazetted to the Palamcottahs, a young man, just twenty-two, with pale blue eyes and a blond moustache that reminded Gabriel of Nigel Bathe. He had very yellow teeth. Gleeson seemed not to have the slightest objection to a newcomer being placed in command over him. Gabriel had made some attempts to strike up some sort of a friendship with him during the voyage, but with little success. He suspected Gleeson of being a little ‘simple’.

Lt Col. Coutts was not fit enough to take part in the invasion of Tanga and the adjutant — Major Santoras — was now in temporary command of the battalion. In the lighter Gabriel looked around for the subadar of his battalion, subadar Masrim Rahman. To Gabriel it seemed that every second man in the Palamcottahs was called Rahman. Unfortunately, subadar Rahman was one of those most prone to seasickness and the pitching and wallowing of the lighter had already rendered his brown skin a pale beige colour.

“Everything in order, subadar?” Gabriel asked, having to raise his voice above the babble of conversation.

“Sir,” the subadar replied, removing his hand from his mouth to perform a shaky salute.

“Do you think you could shut the men up?” Gabriel said, and pushed his way through the press of soldiers to the stern of the lighter where Major Santoras and six of the other officers were gathered, all peering at copies of the map of Tanga by the light of torches. The Palamcottahs could only muster three full companies — illness during the voyage having taken its toll. Two companies were to land and a third was being kept in reserve.

“What’s this mark?” someone asked.

“It’s a railway cutting,” Major Santoras replied. “Between the landing beaches and the town.” He went on less confidently: “There’ll be bridges over it, I think…Should be, anyway.”

“Anyone know what the country’s like beyond the beach?”

“Someone’s put ‘rubber’ down here. I assume that means rubber plantations.”

“Are the North Lancs landing on our beach?” Gabriel asked. These were the only regular British troops in the entire invasion force. Gabriel thought he would feel more secure, somehow, if he knew they were nearby.

“Don’t think so,” Santoras said. “They’re round on the other side of the headland — Tanga side. Beach ‘C’. No, sorry, Beach ‘B’.”

“Actually it’s Beach ‘C’, I think,” another volunteered. “In fact aren’t we meant to be landing with them?”

“Are you sure?” Santoras asked. “I thought the Colonel said Beach ‘A’.”

“Look! There go the Rajputs!”

Everyone looked over towards the transports to their right. A small tug was towing a string of three lighters towards the shore. It was nearly dark, but they could just be made out. About three hundred yards offshore the tow lines were slipped and the lighters drifted in towards the beach on the surf until they grounded. As the first men jumped into the water a flat crackle of shots rang out briefly, then there was silence. About two minutes later the Fox fired a salvo of shells. Everybody jumped with alarm. The shells exploded impressively around the red house. Gabriel realized he’d just witnessed his first shots fired in anger.