Diving Stations

TEN

‘Charlotte Island dead ahead, sir!’

Hamilton made his way forward to take over the periscope for the final approach and he carefully focused the low wedge of land in the center of the upper lens. The island resembled a saddle placed astride the blue rim of the horizon. The hummocked hill at the western end formed the pommel, while the gradual upwards slope to the east, ending with abrupt suddenness in the cliffs at Mi Lim Point, completed the illusion. To the south, and nearest to the submarine, the encircling arm of the palm-studded sandspit elbowed the sea aside to enclose a fine natural harbor within its protective grasp.

‘Stand by Diving Stations. Slow ahead both motors.’ He checked the bearing of the hill against the gyro repeater. ‘One point to starboard.’

It was a familiar routine. At least once a week for the last two months Rapier had nosed her way past Taichee Rock into the secluded bay and then slid under the camouflage nets covering the tiny inlet on the west side of the lagoon, to begin unloading the torpedoes and stores which Hamilton had carefully spirited out of Hong Kong in readiness for a situation such as this.

A line of red painted floats marking the fishing net suspended beneath, was clearly visible as Rapier edged within three miles of the island◦– innocent enough at first sight but, in fact, deliberately laid by the submarine’s crew during their first survey visit to mark an area of treacherous shoals to the southeast of the island.

Hamilton carried out a standard sky-search for hostile aircraft and then moved back from the ’scope. ‘Take over the watch, Sub,’ he told Villiers. ‘I want a few words with Roger in the wardroom. Give me a shout as soon as you see the starboard channel marker.’ He grinned. ‘You’ll find it on the north shore of the entrance◦– it looks like a pile of stones with an empty barrel on top.’

Despite the seemingly carefree way in which Hamilton had selected and prepared Rapier’s secret hiding place he had, in point of fact, tackled the scheme with considerable thought and a surprising attention to detail. Scott and his two assistants had used the submarine’s rubber dinghy to survey the anchorage on Rapier’s first inspection visit to the island and, on returning to the boat, the navigator had drawn up an accurate chart complete with cross bearings and depth soundings. Then, in consultation with Hamilton, an approach course was plotted and where the natural features were non-existent, artificial navigation marks had been put down◦– an untidily piled heap of stones on the beach or perhaps a section of bark carved from an old palm tree lying in a prominent position close to the shoreline.

Villiers took his place at the periscope and watched the island sliding past on the port side, while Hamilton rifled through the chart-table drawers in search of the maps he needed for his Council-of-War with Mannon, Scott and O’Brien.

‘Can’t see Betty Grable coming down the beach to welcome us ashore,’ the young reservist joked to pass the tedium of Rapier’s slow approach. ‘I hope you blokes remembered to bring the map showing where the treasure was buried.’

The men on duty watch in the control room grinned. Villier’s casual attitude made a change from the skipper’s customary dour concentration or Mannon’s pedantic attention to detail.

‘As long as you can’t see Errol Flynn swinging about in the trees I don’t mind, sir,’ Venables retorted from his seat at the diving panel. ‘I don’t fancy having any competition when I meet all them hula-hula girls!’

Villiers winked broadly at the chief ERA and then returned to his solitary vigil at the periscope. Suddenly something caught his attention and he flicked the lever of the high magnification lens.

‘Hey! Scotty! I thought you said those two volcanoes were extinct?’

Hamilton looked up sharply. ‘They’re as dead as dodos. I’ve been up and inspected the craters myself. Why?’

The grin on the sub-lieutenant’s face faded. He stared through the lens again to make sure he wasn’t mistaken. ‘There’s black smoke coming up in the direction of the more northerly one, sir.’

Hamilton put the charts down on the table and took over the periscope. He stared at the smoke, scanned along the length of the island, and then returned the lens for a more detailed examination of the northern sector. Villiers’ report◦– and it was a natural enough error◦– had been wrong in locating the smoke as rising from the extinct crater of the squat volcanic hill dominating the lagoon on the left hand side of the island. It was, in fact, coming from a wooded area at the base of the hill and less than half a mile from the north shore itself. It was impossible to determine the exact location, because the fire was spreading rapidly through the dense undergrowth, but Hamilton felt his mouth go dry as he realized that somewhere in the midst of the smoke and flames, was Rapier’s carefully prepared base camp and storage depot. Was it just a spontaneous bush fire◦– or had the enemy discovered their secret?

‘Down periscope! Stop motors. Are you getting any HE, Glover?’

The hydro-phone operator slipped the pads over his ears and moved the knobs of his listening apparatus. He shook his head.

‘No HE, sir. Just the surf breaking on the beach.’

‘Try an Asdic probe.’

Glover swivelled his seat to the right and transmitted a series of sonar pulses that pinged sharply in the loudspeaker above his cabinet. ‘No contacts, sir!’

‘I reckon this is when we could do with one of these new-fangled radio location sets,’ Hamilton grumbled quietly to Mannon. ‘But I’m certain about one thing◦– if there is an enemy vessel in the vicinity it must be anchored or else we’d have picked up its engine noises on the hydrophone.’ He paused to consider his next move. ‘Slow ahead both motors. Stand by Torpedo Room. Up periscope.’

The fire was still burning and the northerly breeze was sweeping the dense smoke out across the lagoon, where it hung above the water like a heavy sea mist. Rapier glided silently inshore while Hamilton carried out a detailed examination of the anchorage. Satisfied there was no enemy ship in the lagoon he turned the lens towards the entrance. This time there was something◦– a small boat chugging slowly towards the shore from the direction of Taichi Rock.

‘Close up Attack Team! Steer one point to port… blow up all tubes!’

Hamilton could well understand the reluctance of an enemy commander to enter the lagoon. Its waters were uncharted and treacherous and he would have had no time to survey the depths or locate any hidden reefs. In addition, no sensible captain would want to find himself trapped inside a virtually landlocked harbor in the event of a surprise attack. And this appreciation of the enemy’s reasoning led him to one inevitable conclusion◦– a conclusion backed by Glover’s failure to pick up any HE and his own inability to sight the ship through Rapier’s periscope. The intruder must be anchored in the lee of Taichee Rock.

Swinging the eye of the upper lens to starboard, he waited tensely as the submarine moved into the area which would enable him to see what was lurking on the inshore side of the gaunt, granite rock. Yard by yard, more of the northern face of the rock became visible and then, suddenly, the dark grey paintwork of a Japanese warship came into view.

‘Enemy destroyer anchored between Taichee Rock and the island. Small boats going ashore,’ he reported back to Mannon and the other men in the control room. ‘Estimated range two miles…’

‘Someone must have given us away to the Japs,’ Mannon said bitterly. ‘It would have taken them months to find this place.’

‘Steer zero-six-five. Reduce to half power. Open bow caps.’ Hamilton waited to complete his instructions and then glanced at Mannon. ‘No one’s given us away, Number One,’ he said sharply. ‘Chai Chen realized she would die whether she talked or not. She must have told them about the island in order to put them on a false trail.’

‘I can’t see anything false about it, sir,’ Mannon objected. ‘If the enemy has destroyed our storage depot Rapier will be about as battle-worthy as a bloody canoe without paddles.’

‘Perhaps so◦– but, in my opinion, she was trying to lead us to the men responsible for her death. And that destroyer anchored under the Rock proves it. If she’d told them the truth the Japs would have ambushed us when we arrived at the refueling point. And the reason they didn’t do so is because they did not know we were planning to meet the junk at sea.’

Mannon shrugged. ‘I’m not denying the girl’s courage, sir. She may not have told them about the rendezvous, but she certainly seems to have given away the secret of our supply base. And while I don’t blame her after what they did to her I’m damned if I can see any advantage in it.’

‘In that case, Number One, I’ll spell it out to you,’ Hamilton said coldly. ‘If Chai Chen had told the Japs about our refueling plans, Rapier would be lying on the bottom of the South China Sea by now because they would have caught us by surprise. She knew, however, that once we found the junk we’d be very much on the alert.’ So she told them the oil was being shipped to the island◦– it would have sounded a plausible enough story. As a result, the Japs are still under the impression that they have surprise on their side and they’re hiding behind Taichee Rock waiting to jump us when we arrive.’

‘But Chai Chen was obviously thinking several moves ahead. She realized we’d make for the island and she knew, also, that we’d be prepared for trouble after finding the junk. So by telling them about the replenishment base she made sure that retribution would follow within a few hours. And, in addition, I would know that the officer commanding the Japanese ship waiting at the island must be the man responsible for her death.’

Mannon made no immediate reply. Hamilton’s theory was a little too trite for his liking. And it involved a hell of a lot of supposition. But whether the skipper was right or wrong there was no disputing the fact that, on the balance of probabilities, the man who had tortured Chai Chen to death was the captain of the destroyer now anchored off the island. Any other explanation would be stretching the long arm of coincidence a trifle too far.

‘You’re probably right, sir,’ he agreed reluctantly.

At that precise moment Hamilton was not particularly interested whether Mannon agreed or not. He wanted revenge. And no one was going to stop him from carrying out his self-appointed task. He picked up the telephone to the bow compartment.

‘Is everything ready, Number Four?’

‘Bow Compartment, aye, aye, sir,’ Villiers reported. ‘Doors open and tubes flooded up. Standing by.’

‘Well, keep your fingers crossed that we don’t miss. They’re our last four torpedoes and it looks as if our reserves have already gone up in smoke.’ He cradled the phone on its hook and nodded to Bushby. ‘Up periscope!’

He found the enemy destroyer almost immediately. The dark grey warship with its strangely cranked funnels and knuckled bow was lying broadside on to the submarine in an almost perfect attack position. Hamilton felt a sudden surge of adrenalin pump into his bloodstream as he recognized the sleek silhouette. It was Suma. The man he was hunting was Aritsu!

Hamilton controlled his excitement and mechanically wiped the damp sweat of his hands on his trousers. The range was down to eight hundred yards. This time he had no need for the back-up support of the Attack Team – with a stationary target course and speed were irrelevant and there were no problems of deflection or aim off. All that counted was the accuracy of his eye and steady nerves. Moving to the attack ’scope he ordered it to be raised and carefully brought the anchored destroyer into the center of the graticule sights.

‘Stand by to fire. Fire One… Fire Two… Fire Three… Fire Four…’

A slight increase in air pressure inside the control room indicated that the tubes had been fired and the four green warning lights on the for’ard bulkhead display glowed brightly in confirmation. Glover bent over his box of tricks as he listened for the sound of the whirring propellers.

‘Torpedoes running, sir!’

‘Hard a’port, helmsman! Stand by to surface. Close up for gun action… surface!’

‘Up helm ’planes! Close vents and blow main ballast!’

Although Mannon rapped out the routine commands with disciplined obedience, he was puzzled by Hamilton’s decision to surface. Most submarine commanders dived deep immediately after a torpedo attack in anticipation of the enemy’s counter-action. And if the skipper had miscalculated, it seemed foolish to invite a fight on the surface when the odds would be all against the submarine. Perhaps Hamilton had allowed his excitement to override his natural caution.

The muffled clang of the vents being slammed shut coincided with the shrill scream of high-pressure air as the ballast tanks were blown clear. Acting on his own initiative, Mannon decided to increase speed so that the submarine would make a more difficult target when she emerged on the surface.

‘Group up◦– full ahead both motors!’ He glanced at the dials and saw that the bows were rising too sluggishly.

‘Blow Q!’

‘Ten feet, sir!’

‘Stand by for gun action!’

‘Come on, lads,’ Morgan urged the gun crew. ‘Up you go!’

Hamilton had just unclipped the upper hatch and thrown back the heavy steel cover, when the blast of the explosion nearly hurled him from the ladder. He hung on grimly, as a vivid flash lit the sky and a thunderous roar deafened his ears. A second detonation followed a moment later and then a third. Pulling himself up through the narrow opening he hurried to the starboard side of the bridge.

The dying echoes of the three thunderous explosions were still reverberating back from the sheer north face of Taichee Rock and the screaming protests of the gulls disturbed from their nests added to the confusion. Suma had been struck fair and square amidships and the second torpedo had broken the destroyer in half. The stern section was already sinking beneath the surface and, as he stared at the awful spectacle, Hamilton saw the bows tilt upwards, hang suspended for a few seconds, and then slide back beneath the sea with a sibilant hiss of quenched white-hot steel. Wreckage and bodies bobbed aimlessly in the water and a cloud of steam hung wraith-like above the surface to mark Suma’s grave.

‘Machine guns to the bridge! Reduce to half-speed!’

MacIntyre and Davidson came up through the hatch clutching their cumbersome Lewis guns and Hamilton sent them to their battle-stations in the port and starboard wings. Then, raising his binoculars, he searched the floating wreckage for survivors. But the torpedoes had done their deadly work almost too efficiently. Suma had gone down in less than half a minute and those members of the crew who survived the first torpedo had died in the water, their ribs smashed and their lungs ruptured by the pressure wave radiating outwards from the second explosion.

‘Boat approaching on port side!’

Hamilton swung round to focus his glasses on a small rowing cutter emerging from the entrance to the lagoon. The sailors on shore had obviously heard the noise of the explosions and were hurrying to the scene in search of survivors.

‘Target red-eight-zero!’ Hamilton shouted to Morgan. ‘Open fire!’

Rapier’s deck gun traversed to port and the layer’s arms pumped like pistons as he reversed the elevation wheel to depress the barrel. The loader slammed the first shell into the breech, closed the block, and pulled down the locking lever.

‘Loaded and ready Chief!’

But Morgan hesitated. Pitching steeply as its bows met the swell of the sea beyond the sheltered waters of the lagoon, the cutter thrust forward as its crew strained on their oars. The boat was less than five hundred yards off the submarine’s port beam and the Welshman’s keen eyes could make out every detail.

‘They’re not armed, sir,’ he shouted up to Hamilton.

Rapier’s captain examined the cutter through his binoculars. There were four men at the oars and the fifth, a petty officer, was at the tiller. Hamilton studied him closely and saw the holstered pistol at his hip.

‘They’re carrying guns, Mister Morgan. Open fire!’

Years of discipline had destroyed Morgan’s initiative. He knew that the men in the cutter were carrying only side-arms. They posed no threat to the submarine and intent on the task of finding survivors, they wen; showing no hostility towards Rapier. He knew too that in his present mood for revenge Hamilton would not rest until every single member of Suma’s crew was dead. But he had been given an order by a superior officer and it was not for him to question it. He turned back to the men working the deck gun.

‘Fire!… Reload!’

The first shell fell short by twenty yards and exploded harmlessly in the sea ahead of the cutter. Morgan saw the petty officer glance at the splash of the bursting shell and then concentrate his attention on the steering again. Ignoring the threat of Rapier’s gun the oarsmen continued to row steadily towards the spot where Suma had gone down.

‘Up ten… fire! Reload!’

The shell exploded with a blinding flash as it struck the starboard gunwale of the cutter. Jagged splinters of red-hot steel scythed through the men bending over the oars and simultaneously, the tiny boat disintegrated. Only the petty officer survived and, as he bobbed to the surface some twenty yards astern, two ugly triangular dorsal fins darted through the water. Hamilton lowered his glasses and leaned his elbows on the conning tower rails as the sea around the struggling man was suddenly ripped into a frenzy of boiling foam. The petty officer let out a single despairing shriek as he vanished from sight and a circle of bright red blood rose to the surface….

‘Coxswain to the bridge! Stand by to transfer steering to upper position.’ Hamilton waited for Ernie Blood to come up through the hatchway and take his position at the helm. ‘Obey telegraphs◦– full ahead together. You can take her into the lagoon, Chief.’

Fifteen minutes later Rapier was snugly berthed under the camouflage netting, with her bow and stern tied up to the makeshift wooden jetty the submariners had constructed the previous month. However, nothing else remained of their carefully prepared hiding place. Both of the bamboo huts had been torn down. The aqueduct which Scott had designed to bring fresh water down from the hill had been destroyed and only the smoldering ashes remained of the wooden crates containing the victuals, stores, and spare parts which had been so laboriously transported from Hong Kong a few weeks earlier.

Hamilton looked at the heartbreaking remains of his labours unemotionally. He consoled his disappointment by admitting it had been a crazy idea from the outset. And yet, although everything had gone wrong, he had no regrets. Without torpedoes, his grandiose plans for a lone marauding sweep of the South China Sea in search of enemy shipping would have to be set aside. And now, deprived of its oil reserves, Rapier had barely enough fuel to retire to a safe base. Tightening the gun belt around his waist, he made his way down the rickety bamboo gangway and joined Mannon on the jetty.

‘O’Brien has found one of Suma’s motorboats hauled up on the beach, Number One, and that means there are still some survivors hiding ashore. I intend to remain here until every last man is dead.’

‘The Japs are trained in jungle fighting, sir,’ Mannon pointed out. He disliked his continual role of devil’s advocate but as Rapier’s executive officer he considered it his duty to underline the difficulties. Hamilton’s unreasoning thirst for vengeance made him blind to any defects in his plans. ‘Most of our lads hardly know how to aim a rifle.’

But Hamilton was not listening. ‘The motorboat suggests there’s an officer with them, and there’s just an outside chance it’s Aritsu.’ He turned to Mannon. ‘How many men can be made available for a search party?’ he asked sharply.

‘Every man in the ship’s company has volunteered for shore service, sir. But as we only had ten rifles aboard I’ve had to prune them down a bit. They’re waiting over by the trees.’

Hamilton strode over and gave the hurriedly constituted landing party a cursory inspection. Individually they looked tough enough and, despite Mannon’s pessimism, he knew that three of them had obtained marksman badges. It was a rough and ready little army, but Hamilton considered it adequate for the task he had in mind. The enemy was unlikely to be better armed and, judging by the size of the destroyer’s diminutive tender, he felt confident he had superiority in numbers. Even so, like most sailors, he felt slightly uneasy at the prospect of fighting ashore. His knowledge of military tactics was limited to a fortnight’s course at Excellent and the uninspiring contents of the Royal Naval Handbook of Field Training◦– most of which was devoted to the niceties of parade ground drill and ceremonial occasions, although he could vividly recall a bloodthirsty photograph demonstrating ‘withdrawal of bayonet after kill on the ground.’

‘Take five men and search the north hill, Number One. The remainder will go with me to cover the southern section of the island.’

‘What happens if we find them?’ Mannon asked. Hamilton stared at him impassively. ‘Don’t ask bloody silly questions, Number One. If you find them – kill them.’

‘But suppose they surrender, sir?’

Hamilton unholstered his revolver and broke it open to check that the cylinder was fully loaded. ‘The Japanese do not surrender, Mister Mannon,’ he said coldly. ‘To lay down their arms when they are still capable of fighting would be regarded as an act of dishonour.’

‘Not always, Lieutenant…’

Hamilton spun around as he recognized the voice. His right hand swung up and his finger tightened on the trigger as he saw Commander Aritsu, another officer and two ratings emerge from the trees and walk slowly down the beach towards him. Aritsu’s hands were stretched out in front of his body and he was bearing his sheathed sword.

‘Stop where you are, Commander!’ As Suma’s captain obeyed the order, Hamilton turned to Mannon. ‘It could be a trap. Search the bushes. If you find anybody hiding… shoot them!’

‘There is no one else, Lieutenant.’ Aritsu told him quietly. ‘I regret to inform you that we are the only survivors.’ He bowed stiffly, ‘Permit me to hand you my sword.’

Hamilton flicked the safety catch of the Webley as the Commander took a pace forward. ‘Stay where you are! Throw the sword on the ground.’

Aritsu hesitated for a moment and then obeyed. Hamilton lowered his revolver fractionally. Although he had Suma’s captain at his mercy, he intended to take no chances. His brain worked quickly as he considered what to do with his unexpected bonus. According to the book, he should take all four of them prisoner and hand them over to the proper authorities when Rapier returned to base. But as things stood at the moment, he could not even be certain that the submarine would ever succeed in reaching a friendly harbor, and with a shortage of stores and fresh water he saw no reason for carrying any extra passengers. He had little doubt what the fate of his men would be if they fell into the hands of the Japanese in similar circumstances.

‘I should take you back and have you charged with war crimes, Commander.’

‘You found the junk then?’

Hamilton parried the question. ‘I always thought that an officer of the Imperial Navy was a man of honor. Having seen what you did to the crew I realize I was wrong◦– the Japanese are nothing but a race of sadistic barbarians!’ Sub-Lieutenant Mihoro had not spoken since Aritsu had led the survivors out to surrender. His small black eyes watched the English submarine commander with the chilling intensity of a mongoose stalking a snake. It was apparent from the expression on his face that he had no respect for Suma’s captain and Hamilton’s accusation stirred him to life.

‘You are directing your insults at the wrong man, Lieutenant! Commander Aritsu had no part in the affair. I carried out the interrogation of the crew.’ His eyes blazed suddenly, as if defying Hamilton to do something lo him. ‘Is this correct, Commander?’

Aritsu shook his head. ‘Any action taken against prisoners is my responsibility. When I saw the oil drums I knew they were intended for your submarine. It was my duty to obtain information. Mihoro was merely the instrument who carried out my instructions.’

Realizing that he had just signed his own death warrant, he bowed politely and composed himself with dignity to await Hamilton’s inevitable order.

‘I appreciate your candour, Commander. Perhaps I was mistaken in saying you were a man without honor.’ Hamilton stared hard and deep into Aritsu’s eyes as he put the question. ‘Did you tell your Sub-Lieutenant how the interrogations were to be carried out?’

‘No… I left him to do whatever he thought fit.’

‘He was too weak!’ Mihoro spat defiantly. ‘He went back to his ship so that he did not have to witness what happened. He is not fit to serve the Emperor.’

Hamilton switched his attention to the Korean. His eyes were completely expressionless as he looked at him, and his index finger was trembling on the trigger of his revolver. ‘You are the one who interrogated Chai Chen?’

‘If you mean the girl◦– yes. And I succeeded. She told me all about the island and your plans to use it as a secret refueling base. She was stubborn◦– but I consider myself to be an expert in such matters…

Hamilton’s right arm came up before Mannon or anyone else could stop him.

The sudden crack of the revolver sent the birds wheeling into the sky with fright, and Mihoro clutched his stomach as the heavy caliber bullet threw him backwards into the sand. Forcing himself up onto his knees, he stared wide-eyed at the British officer, and then folded forward. It was a slow and agonizing way to die, and the Korean’s body threshed wildly as he tried to staunch the blood with his hands. Hamilton waited a brief moment and then fired again. Mihoro jerked as the bullet struck his head and then, suddenly, he was still.

Every eye was on Hamilton as he turned towards Aritsu and the Japanese Commander braced himself in readiness. Yet, even in the face of death, his expression remained as impassive as ever and he held himself with quiet dignity.

Hamilton lowered the gun and bent forward. He said nothing but, picking up the sword, he walked towards Aritsu and handed it to him hilt-first.

The Japanese officer understood the gesture. He bowed politely, took the weapon from Hamilton’s hands, and bowed again. Unable to control his emotions any longer, he began to weep silently, the tears trickling down his cheeks as he struggled to find the right words.

‘You are a chivalrous man, Lieutenant Hamilton,’ he said very quietly. ‘I pray that my ancestors will look kindly upon you and protect you in battle.’

‘Thank you, Commander. I appreciate that you were only doing your duty as you saw it. The ways of Japan are something that we in Europe will never fully understand.’ Hamilton paused for a moment. ‘Although I know you would never countenance the barbarities employed by your Sub-Lieutenant to obtain information, you have acted in accordance with the traditions of the Imperial Navy by accepting responsibility for what happened because you were the senior officer. You must therefore die◦– but you may die with honor.’

Aritsu bowed his acknowledgement. Getting down on his knees in front of the lieutenant, he pulled open his bush shirt and unfastened the belt of his uniform trousers. Hamilton swallowed his instinctive revulsion and steeled himself to witness the barbaric, yet strangely noble, ceremony Aritsu was about to perform. Seppuku◦– ritual suicide.

Grasping the hilt of the sword with both hands the Japanese directed the point of the blade against the center of his stomach, closing his eyes as if summoning up the spiritual strength he needed to perform the act, and with a sudden powerful jerk of his arms, rammed the sword into his body. He uttered no sound despite the agony of the self-inflicted wound and, closing his eyes, he moved the blade upwards to make the first vertical incision.

Hamilton felt the bile rising in his throat but, out of respect for the ancient traditions of a brave man, he forced his unwilling eyes to watch. Blood was already welling from Aritsu’s belly, and the grey-mauve mass of his intestines protruded obscenely from the wound as he centered the point of the sword for the second cut. Mills, the young cockney able seaman from Poplar, who had never even seen a chicken have its throat cut, suddenly rolled his eyes and collapsed on to the sand in a dead faint. The other submariners looked away from the horrific spectacle and prayed it would soon be over. Only Mannon, like his skipper, stood firm and faced it out.

Aritsu paused before the second incision, opened his eyes, and looked up at Rapier’s captain. His lips moved but it was impossible to make out what he was trying to say. Then the blade cut to the right, was dragged painfully back to the original point of entry and sliced to the left.

The commander paused for a moment, raised his eyes to the sky, and then collapsed face-forward on to the blood soaked sand◦– the weight of his body forcing the sword deeper into his vitals. His hands clenched in a spasm of unendurable pain and, in accordance with the ancient traditions of the ritual, Hamilton stepped forward and ended Aritsu’s agony with a single shot through the back of the skull.

Hamilton lowered his head briefly and then, emerging from the almost catalyptic trance which had gripped him during the ceremony, pushed the revolver back into the holster at his hip. He had had a surfeit of killing and Aritsu’s death had blunted his hunger for revenge. He was suddenly sick of the whole useless waste of war.

‘Take the landing party back to the boat, Number One. I want to get away from this damned place before we all go raving mad.’

Mannon passed the order to the petty officer in charge and, as the men lifted the unfortunate Mills to his feet and helped him back to the jetty, the submarine’s executive officer nodded towards the beach.

‘What about the seamen, sir?’

Hamilton shook his head. He had not forgotten the two Japanese sailors. But he had had enough of death for one day. ‘Leave them here, Number One. They can either stay on the island until the Japs send a search ship out◦– or they can try to make their way back to the mainland in the motorboat.’

Zibuki and his companion stared questioningly at the two British officers as they approached across the narrow stretch of sand. Both men expected to be shot out of hand, and with characteristic fatalism they offered no resistance. The taller officer spoke to them in English, but the language meant nothing to them. They waited for the guns to be unholstered, aimed and fired. The officer spoke to them again, but when they did not respond he shrugged and turned away.

Hitiose Zibuki showed no emotion at the unexpected turn of events. He watched the officers walk slowly back to the submarine and said something to his comrade. Crossing the beach to where Aritsu was lying, they knelt down and began to gather pieces of driftwood to build his funeral pyre

O’Brien was waiting inside the control room as Hamilton and Mannon came down the ladder. He was holding a sheet of paper in his hand.

‘I’ve been checking the fuel reserves as you requested, sir. It doesn’t look too good.’

Hamilton took the notes and glanced down at the figures. ‘How far to Singapore, Alistair?’

The Navigator bent over the small-scale chart with his ruler. ‘Just under fourteen hundred miles, sir.’

‘And Darwin?’

Mannon looked up sharply as Hamilton put the question. Australia! What the hell was the skipper up to- a conducted tour of the British Empire?

‘About double the distance, sir,’ Scott reported. ‘It wouldn’t be a straight run◦– we’d have to go around Borneo, down through the Celebes Sea, and south via the Molucca Straits. Then…’

‘Alright, Alistair, that’s enough. I know what a map of the East Indies looks like.’ He turned to Mannon. ‘Can you see any objection to Australia, Number One?’

‘No, sir. Other than the fact we don’t have enough fuel and your last orders were to report to Singapore.’

‘I’m glad you reminded me, Roger. I’d forgotten all about that,’ Hamilton said equably. ‘But the situation is different now. Hong Kong had surrendered and the Japs are already spearheading a new offensive into the East Indies. They’ve landed in Sarawak and Brunei. With virtually no naval forces to oppose them, I anticipate attacks on Java and Sumutra within the next two weeks. And judging by the speed of the enemy advance through Malaya, I’d say Singapore will have fallen by the end of the month. I have no intention of returning to Singapore and finding myself in a repeat performance of the Hong Kong shambles. As I see it, the whole of Australia is wide open to a Japanese invasion. There are virtually no naval forces south of New Guinea and the Americans are, for the moment, too busy defending themselves. If we were able to operate out of Darwin, Rapier could be Australia’s first fine of defense against a Japanese attack.’ He glanced across at O’Brien. ‘Could we make Darwin, Chief?’

‘Depends on how much power we might need, sir. A couple of severe storms or a detour to avoid enemy patrols and we certainly wouldn’t. If Scotty can plot the shortest course’ to Aussie and we make use of the motors on the surface whenever we can, we might just make it. If you want my personal opinion, sir, I’d say it was touch and go.’ Hamilton smiled. ‘In that case, gentlemen, it’s go!’

COMMODORE HASLITT GOT up from his chair, walked across to the window looking out across Fort Hill and Boom Jetty, and flung it open. His office was without air-conditioning and after twenty-two days at sea with only one change of clothing and minimal washing facilities Hamilton did not exactly smell like a fresh spring rose. But with three week’s growth of beard and eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion Hamilton was past caring about personal appearance. The luxury of a hot bath, clean clothes, and a good night’s sleep could come later. His first duty was to report his arrival to the Darwin SNO.

The Commodore returned to his desk and sat down. The sea breeze wafting through the opened window was having the required effect and he sniffed the clean salt air appreciatively, like a medieval judge smelling his nosegay as he passed through the City streets on his way to the Law Courts.

‘You realize, of course, Lieutenant, that the C-in-C (Far East) had been searching the length and breadth of the Pacific for you for the past five weeks.’

‘I’m sorry, sir, but our transmitter was on the blink and I wanted to save the batteries in case we ran out of fuel and had to finish the trip on our motors.”

‘So you said earlier, Lieutenant,’ Haslitt commented drily. ‘But you still haven’t explained why you did not report to Singapore as ordered. The Admiralty will undoubtedly require your explanation.’

‘The situation was very confused, sir.’ Hamilton could not help wondering if the Commodore would be quite so pedantically calm if he’d experienced the first shock of Japan’s blitzkrieg into South-East Asia. In the circumstances he decided that he would be excusable. ‘We were picking up radio reports, sir. I was under the impression that Singapore had fallen. In view of that, I decided to make for Australia.’

Haslitt did not seem very convinced by the explanation but he accepted it without comment. At that precise moment, his greatest desire was to get Hamilton out of his office and into a hot bath and clean clothes. The post mortem could come later.

‘I must admit I am disappointed with your lack of success. It will all have to appear in your written Report of Proceedings, of course, and no doubt the Admiralty will have a few observations to make. But what you’ve been doing with yourself for the last six weeks or so is a mystery to me. You were the only British submarine in the entire area and yet all you succeeded in sinking was one bloody little destroyer!’

Hamilton said nothing. Staring at the blank wall behind the Commodore’s desk, he recalled the night battle in the narrow straits between Kowloon and Hong Kong, the destruction of Firefly, the fate of the refueling junk, and those last terrible hours on Charlotte Island. It was something Haslitt would never understand in a thousand years.

‘And another thing, Lieutenant,’ the Commodore continued. ‘The Foreign Office is after your blood for infringing Portuguese neutrality. Your private arrangements with that damned Macao oil merchant could have international repercussions.’

A picture of Chai Chen’s naked body splayed out and roped to the side of the deckhouse flashed into Hamilton’s mind. He wondered what she would have thought about Portuguese neutrality and International Law. Or, for that matter, Sub-Lieutenant Mihoro. Not that his own actions had been above reproach, and he was curious to know how he was going to explain the Korean’s execution and Aritsu’s suicide. Suddenly he realized he didn’t care any more.

‘I’ll let you have a full written report in the morning, sir. May I have permission to return to my ship?’

‘Permission granted, Lieutenant.’

Hamilton saluted, turned, and walked wearily towards the door. He could not help wondering what the future held for him now. Perhaps he should resign his commission. Or volunteer for service with the Commandos. Anything that would enable him to fight the enemy without the hampering restrictions of rules, regulations and laws. And yet not even total annihilating victory could ever repay the debt owed to people like Chai Chen and Harry Ottershaw, or to Captain Snark and Chen Yu. A sudden shout from the Commodore made him pause in the doorway.

‘By the way Hamilton, you can ship your half-stripe. The New Year promotion list came through a couple of weeks ago. You’ve been made up to Lieutenant Commander. Congratulations.’

But the door was already shut and Hamilton was making his way down the stairs towards the harbour. Haslitt shrugged. Rum sort of a bloke, he concluded. But that was the trouble with some of these upper-yardmen. They might be officers, but one could hardly call them gentlemen….