Sad Wind From the Sea - Jack Higgins [39]
Hagen got to his feet and leaned against the deck-house. There was a mist before his eyes and he had no strength left in him at all. As Mason moved towards him he turned and staggered away along the side of the deck-house. He felt sick and faint and behind him he could hear the roar of anger from Mason. He knew if he didn't do something drastic he'd be pounded into the deck within the next few seconds. He stumbled round the corner of the deck-house and suddenly flung himself down so that Mason, who was following hard behind, tripped over him and crashed to the deck. Hagen stood up and began to kick him methodically in the stomach and suddenly there was a great roaring in his ears that deafened him to everything except the one purpose. To smash Mason into the deck.
Through the roaring he heard a voice screaming: 'Stop it, Mark! You'll kill him!' And then hands dragged him away. He remembered staggering into the cabin and holding on to the table in an effort to retain his senses, and then the cabin floor heaved towards him and he dived into darkness.
His head was in her lap and she was crying and cleaning his face gently with a damp cloth. As he stirred and lifted his head she said frantically: 'Oh, Mark. Are you all right? Say something, please.'
Surprisingly he discovered that his mouth retained its original shape but one side of his face was considerably swollen where it had met the deck. He tried to grin. 'I bet I look a hell of a sight.'
She sobbed with relief. 'Thank God! For the last half hour I've been nearly out of my mind.'
He struggled to his feet and stood swaying, supporting himself on the table. 'I'm sorry you had to see that,' he said.
'I thought you were going to kill him.'
He raised an eyebrow. 'What do you think he was trying to do to me?'
He stumbled out on to the deck in time to see Mason struggle to his feet and vomit. The big man stood swaying for a moment, as if he might topple over again, and then he tossed the canvas bucket, on its line, into the sea and washed away the vomit with a vigorous spray of water. 'Always the gentleman,' Hagen said.
Mason turned towards him. His face wasn't too good and his lips were split. He grinned without rancour. 'Another time, Hagen.' He stripped his shirt away, exposing the livid bruises on his stomach and chest, and dived cleanly over the rail and broke into an effortless crawl.
Hagen pulled his sweat shirt over his head and followed him over the rail. The water was warm but refreshing and the salt got into his cuts and grazes stinging him into life again. After a few minutes he shouted to Mason and then returned to the boat and pulled himself back over the rail. Rose handed him a towel and he dried himself briskly and pulled on his shirt. 'Your pants are still wet,' she pointed out.
He grinned and suddenly felt very tender towards her. 'You can never stop acting like a woman,' he said. 'You're all the same.' She pouted and as Mason climbed over the rail, Hagen added, 'I'll get the boat moving again now the performance is over.'
Mason grinned at him and went below and Rose said, 'I'll bring you a cup of coffee in a few minutes.' Hagen nodded and went back to the wheelhouse. Within a few moments Hurrier was sliding rapidly through the water again.
It was exactly ten o'clock when he cut the engines and the boat glided forward silently for a little while before coming to a halt. The other three were all on deck and Mason had one of the sub-machine-guns cradled in his arms ready for action. Not more than a quarter of a mile through the darkness the Kwai Marshes waited for them and Hagen's palms began to sweat a little as he prepared for the most difficult part of the journey.
He had charted a course into the marshes by a little-known channel he had once used when running guns in to the Reds. He was banking on the fact that Kossoff would be waiting for him at the river mouth if indeed he was waiting at all. He would never imagine that a boat could enter the marshes by any other route. Fog was rolling from the land in patches and he could smell the foetid