The evening brought welcome relief from the heat, but the holds’ limited air remained fetid and dominated by unwanted, often terrible odours. The night was cold but that was the least of its terrors. An Allied plane buzzed overhead for five minutes and dropped a bomb. It missed but caused the ship to buck and then swerve. The plane made a second, lower run, but missed again. The water surged from the close call and swamped the deck. It splashed into the holds, causing minor flooding. Only Red Lead appeared unperturbed. While the POWs cursed, she jumped down to the floor and sloshed around.
A different, more worrying disturbance came after dark, in the form of the patter of little feet, followed by gnawing teeth. Rats took advantage of the men being unable to stand up. They could kick but usually they struck a fellow POW rather than a rodent.
Bolt allowed Red Lead loose.
‘Get ’em, girl!’ he urged. The cat ran across bodies and attacked. The squeals were nerve-jangling as she throttled one and then tore at the head of another. POWs called for her assistance all through the hold for nearly an hour. Then all went quiet. She sat in a pool of water on the floor at the foot of the steps, breathing heavily, mouth open and tongue showing. Once she had recovered, she cleaned her paws.
After about a half-hour, she was distracted by one more rat. It came close to inspect this feline serial killer. A torch was shone on Red Lead. She meowed and did not even bother to stand as she pushed two paws down hard using the weight of her powerful front legs, and dug her claws into the victim’s neck. The rat choked and was soon dead. Red Lead pawed it to make sure it wasn’t foxing. Like a curious morgue attendant, she ascertained that rigor mortis was setting in. Then she went on cleaning. A few minutes later she bounded up to Bolt and landed gently on his chest. He could feel her heart thumping. She was sucking in oxygen in quick gulps. Bolt gave her some water from his dwindling supply. He patted her and whispered soothing words.
He managed fitful sleep, and was woken by the first two POWs allowed up on deck at first light.
‘Bloody hell!’ one cried. ‘Look out for the carnage on the floor. Red Lead killed about nine or ten.’
‘You can bet there are more, hiding,’ the second man up said.
‘Yeah, but super-cat has scared ’em off for the moment.’
The men returned with a bucket and newspaper for a clean-up.
The heat of day two arrived fast and dragged on. There were stories of a man dying in another hold. He was, the tale went, slid off the boat in an unceremonious manner.
The rumour spread that their destination was Singapore.
‘Red Lead’s right again,’ Grout crowed.
Another night of chaos ensued. Red Lead had slept about sixteen hours during the day. Her strength regained, she padded over legs, arms and torsos. One POW screamed as a small rat bit the nail on his big toe. A torch was shone on the bloodied foot. Red Lead attacked. After a short, screaming tussle, with the man chiming in with a chorus, Red Lead prevailed. This time, she went to the trouble of carrying the corpse by the neck to the floor near the ladder. More scampering went on. Little scratchy feet and squeals signalled more rodents. Thumps and slides and loud screams registered one wild cat, loving the challenge, for this was sport and/or duty, and not for nourishment. She had yet to leave any evidence that she had savoured her victims.
Not one man complained. By midnight there was no action, apart from the march of the cockroaches that replaced the rats. The latter had been defeated for a second night in the small hold that held about 40 men, and the POWs reckoned about twice as many rodents. Despite only eight rats being dead the next morning, the POWs agreed that Red Lead’s ferocity had seen them retreat into hideaways. Most men gained some much-needed sleep, in between the noises of others succumbing to their upset guts.
On the third day, the men were allowed on deck to see Singapore’s famed Keppel Harbour, the centrepiece of the hitherto impregnable fortress. The POWs’ hearts sank as they noted about 50 ships, all bearing the red-dotted flag of Japan.
‘So many bloody arseholes,’ Grout shouted, and was told by several POWs to drop his voice.
There was a delay when the ship docked. The deck was crowded. The swimmers sat with a few others in a hold. They could see the rats peeking out of holes in the floor and woodwork looking for discarded food. Red Lead wriggled, ready for combat. Bolt restrained her.
‘You’ve done your bit, my beauty,’ he said, and the cat relaxed, purring loudly enough for all to hear. She had stopped the rats rushing out, yet nothing, not Red Lead or a nuclear explosion, could stop the cockroaches, who beat the rats to the scraps.