Diving Stations

TWO

Despite the cooling draught from the deck head fans the cabin was oppressively hot, and Hamilton could feel the sweat trickling down his face as he stood stiffly to attention in front of the Deputy Chief of Staff. Not even the row of opened scuttles in the bulkhead behind the deck brought any relief to the airless atmosphere, and Rapier’s commander looked hopefully at the enticing line of bottles on the captain’s sideboard. He ruefully reflected that his flamboyant attempt to impress the Hong Kong garrison had been a dismal failure.

Rapier had attracted the usual crowd of onlookers as she entered Victoria Harbor from the direction of Stonecutters Island. But apparently blind to the battle-torn ensign and bullet-scarred paintwork, the citizens of the Colony had quickly lost interest in the new arrival, and the piers fronting Connaught Road were deserted by the time the submarine nosed its bows towards the dockyard. Even a narrowly averted collision with a passing cargo junk had failed to bring forth the anticipated rebuke from the harbormaster. If was as if Rapier was an unwelcome visitor◦– a harbinger of bad tidings or a carrier of plague◦– and Hamilton’s justifiable pride in his ship and his men was ruffled by the chill of their reception.

Only the Port War Signal Station showed any interest in the submarine’s arrival. A searchlight flashed berthing instructions which, as soon as acknowledged, were followed by a curt Imperative and Personal for the Captain to report to HMS Tamar once his boat had been brought safely to her moorings between the destroyers Thracian and Thanet.

Tamar, as Hamilton soon discovered, was no more than an engineless hulk, fitted with additional deckhouses to serve as HQ and receiving ship for the Hong Kong Station. In 1882 she had taken part in the bombardment of Alexandria, but now she was a mere shadow of her former glory◦– a relic of a bygone age when Britannia had truly ruled the waves. Arriving at the gangway, he presented his papers to the marine secretary on duty and was then escorted to a small cabin near the stern, which served as the office of the Deputy Chief of Staff.

Captain Reginald Snark, another relic of the past who had served as a junior gunnery officer on the battle cruiser Lion at Jutland, looked up as Hamilton entered. He then promptly lost interest in his visitor and busied himself with a store’s list which he carefully marked off item by item. Rapier’s commander knew it was all part of the treatment◦– a device to cut him down to size by demonstrating his insignificance in the august presence of a post-captain. He had suffered similar indignities before and he waited patiently. Snark ticked the last entry on the list, scrawled his initials dutifully in the left-hand margin and blotted the ink pedantically, before putting the document into his out tray. Then leaning back in his chair and placing his fingers together under his chin in the best judicial manner, he surveyed the young submariner with cold blue eyes.

‘You’ve got off to a bad start, Lieutenant Hamilton,’ he said curtly and without the usual polite preliminaries.

Hamilton said nothing. It seemed ridiculous to make so much fuss about Rapier’s near-miss with the junk on entering the harbor. But it was the sort of triviality in which senior officers delighted during peacetime, when they had nothing more important to think about. It was a pity, he decided, that Snark couldn’t be posted back to Europe to discover the grim realities of a shooting war.

‘You will, of course, have to apologize,’ the captain continued. ‘Providing, that is, the Governor is able to avoid more serious repercussions.’

Hamilton wondered what he was babbling about. Why the hell should the governor give a damn about a minor collision between one of His Majesty’s ships and an old trading junk that had seen better days. And ‘more serious repercussions’? No doubt some wily Chinese merchant was making an exorbitant claim for damages◦– putting on the squeeze as they called it in the Orient.

‘I don’t think you need worry too much, sir,’ he said easily. ‘I remember running down a Grimsby trawler just before the war. We invited the skipper to the wardroom for a drink, gave him a carton of best Scotch, and he went away as happy as a sandboy.’ Hamilton smiled at the memory.

‘Are you completely out of your mind, Lieutenant?’ Snark snapped. ‘This is a serious matter◦– an international incident of the first magnitude.’

Oh for God’s sake, Hamilton groaned, inwardly. If this was the attitude of the Colonial authorities, no wonder the Empire was going down the drain. The owner of the offending junk needed a good boot up the backside for sailing too close to the naval anchorage in any case.

‘Naturally, I will apologize if the Governor wishes me to,’ he agreed diplomatically. ‘But it seems an awful lot of fuss to make over one damned junk.’

Captain Snark frowned. ‘Junk? I do not understand, Lieutenant. I am referring to your ship shooting down a Japanese aircraft.’

‘Well I certainly don’t intend to apologize for that,’ Hamilton snapped back.

Snark stood up suddenly, his face white with anger. ‘You forget where you are, Lieutenant,’ he said coldly. ‘I do not tolerate insolence. You can make your excuses to the C-in-C in due course but, firstly, on the express orders of the Governor you will apologize to Commander Aritsu.’

‘For defending my ship from hostile attack?’ Hamilton found it difficult to believe his ears. What the hell was the Royal Navy coming to? ‘With your permission sir, I would like to see the C-in-C immediately. I have no intention of apologizing to those murdering bastards. And,’ he added tartly, ‘I take my orders from the C-in-C not a civilian official.’

Snark chose to ignore the defiant challenge in Hamilton’s final statement. ‘Commander Aritsu does not see your action in that light. His complaint to the Governor indicates that your submarine deliberately opened fire on three Japanese aircraft without provocation.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I might add, for your information, Lieutenant, that the authorities here had been expecting some hotheaded young incompetent to do something stupid like this. And the Japanese have been waiting for such an excuse to give them the pretext for marching in and occupying the entire Colony.’

‘Well, Commander Aritsu has got it all wrong,’ Hamilton retorted curtly. ‘Rapier did not open fire until the aircraft had actually dropped their bombs◦– and we made every effort to establish our identity and avoid an incident.’ He swallowed his anger with difficulty. ‘Am I to understand, sir, that it is now an offence for a British officer to defend his ship in the face of an enemy attack?’

‘In certain circumstances that could well be the case, Lieutenant,’ Snark told him firmly. ‘You must remember that Britain is not at war with Japan, and it is the government’s earnest desire to avoid a confrontation in the Far East when our resources at home are stretched to the limit. The situation in China requires great tact and diplomacy◦– it is a tinder-box that requires only one small match to send the whole of South-East Asia up in flames. The C-in-C will acquaint you with the position when you see him.’

Despite outward appearances, Snark had also been a fighter in the past and he had a certain amount of sympathy for Hamilton. But, no matter how unpalatable they might be, orders were orders. He allowed himself a frosty smile, ‘I can understand your bewilderment, Lieutenant. Coming from the war zone, this sort of thing must seem very strange. And, believe me, I don’t like it any more than you do. But we are in the hands of the diplomats. We have our specific instructions and they must be carried out. The Governor has arranged for you to see Commander Aritsu tomorrow morning. Take my advice. Go across to the club, have a few drinks, and cool off. Your new colleagues will be happy to fill you in on the peculiarities of service on the China Station. And I have no doubt that you are more likely to listen to them than you are to me.’

You’re too damned right, Hamilton thought to himself as he replaced his cap, saluted, and left Snark’s airless cabin. No brass-hat was going to tell him to leave his ship undefended in the face of enemy attack. And he doubted whether the other officers would be any more successful in the task. After two years of combat operations, he was unlikely to be convinced of his errors by a group of officers who had never fired a gun in anger….

The Officer’s Club was conveniently close to the guard ship and Hamilton picked his way through the traffic on the Bund and slowly walked up the sweep of the wide stone steps leading to the entrance. The cold bite of the air-conditioning was a welcome relief after the sweltering heat on the waterfront. As Hamilton removed his cap, a white-coated Chinese attendant bowed him obsequiously towards the main bar◦– an attractive, spacious room overlooking the harbor, with a long polished mahogany counter, a glittering display of inviting bottles, and deep comfortable club armchairs.

He settled himself on a leather-topped stool and lit a cigarette. The bartender, a retired chief petty officer wearing a row of ribbons from the Kaiser war on his white mess jacket, put down the glass he was polishing and came over to take his order.

‘A large Scotch with ice.’

Bennett put his glass under the optic, measured out a generous double Haig, and deftly added two large lumps of ice. He put it down in front of Hamilton with a cheerful grin.

‘New in, sir?’ he asked.

‘This afternoon,’ Hamilton nodded. The bite of the whisky helped to calm his still ruffled temper. ‘The trouble with this place is they don’t know there’s a war on.’ He tilted the glass and swallowed the remains of the whisky in one gulp. ‘Another double,’ he told the bartender. ‘If you ask me, the only way to look at Hong Kong is through the bottom of a glass.’

Bennett grinned tactfully and went back to the Haig. A small group of officers were gathered further along the bar, and he watched as one of them got up from his stool and walked across to the new arrival.

‘You must be from the submarine?’

Hamilton nodded as the lieutenant commander held out his hand. ‘Welcome to Hong Kong – my name’s Ottershaw, Harry Ottershaw. I run one of the gunboats – Firefly. We’re berthed down by the Star Ferry Pier.’

Hamilton gripped Ottershaw’s hand firmly. ‘Nick Hamilton◦– Rapier,’ he acknowledged by way of introduction. ‘Just in from the Med. And I can’t say I think much of your C-in-C’s welcoming committee.’

Ottershaw perched himself on the empty stool next to Hamilton and grinned. ‘We heard about your spot of bother with the Japs. I’m afraid the authorities don’t like it when we start shooting back. I expect you got a rocket from Snark.’

Hamilton shrugged. ‘I can look after myself,’ he said defensively. ‘But I’m damned if I’m going to apologize.’

Ottershaw smiled sympathetically. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to, old man. Most of us have had to eat humble pie with the Japs at various times since we’ve been on the Station. It’s all part of the way of life out here.’ He glanced up as his drinking companions came down the bar to join him.

‘This is Mike Grimshaw◦– another gunboat man,’ he said by way of introduction. ‘And Jock McVeigh. They’ve both been out here for so long they’re practically natives. This is Nick Hamilton, chaps, skipper of the sub we saw coming in this afternoon.’

Hamilton shook hands and called Bennett across to order another round of drinks for his new colleagues. As he turned away from the counter, he saw Grimshaw looking at the ribbon of the DSO on his breast. The gunboat commander frowned thoughtfully for a moment and then broke into a wide grin.

‘Of course◦– I thought your face looked familiar. You must be the chap who rescued the prisoners from Nordsee last year. Your picture was splashed all over the newspapers at the time.’ He raised his glass in salute. ‘Good to have you with us. But what the devil are you doing in a dump like Hong Kong? I thought they only posted us old has-beens out here.’

Hamilton shrugged. ‘I’ve been asking myself the same question ever since I received my orders. What the hell am I supposed to do with an operational submarine on a peacetime station◦– sit around and make myself look pretty all day?’

Ottershaw exchanged glances with his companions. ‘You’ll have plenty to do, old boy. We might not be directly involved in the war out here, but we manage to get ourselves shot at on most patrols. And it’s not only the Japanese. Everyone seems to be trigger-happy in China.’

‘Except the British,’ Hamilton said pointedly.

‘We call it restraint,’ the lieutenant commander corrected him gently. ‘But we have our moments. We’re permitted to open fire on certain occasions. But most of the time our orders are to keep out of trouble and achieve our ends by negotiation.’

‘Most of us felt the same as you when we arrived out East,’ Grimshaw intervened. ‘But you must live and learn. It’s a tricky problem. And as you’ll soon discover, we’re in no shape to take on the Japs in a full-scale war.’

Hamilton remained skeptical. ‘They ran off soon enough when Rapier gave ’em a taste of their own medicine. What they need is a sharp lesson.’

‘Aye◦– perhaps they do,’ McVeigh conceded. ‘But just watch out and make sure ye dinna learn one yeself.’ Ottershaw glanced at his watch. He could see Hamilton was in no mood to be objective and it seemed a diplomatic moment to withdraw. No point in rubbing a newcomer up the wrong way on his first day ashore.

‘Come on chaps. We’ll just be in time for the five o’clock at Happy Valley.’ He put his empty glass on the bar and smiled at Hamilton. ‘That’s the local racecourse,’ he explained. ‘You’ll find most of the Navy there during the season. Why not join us tomorrow?’

‘Thanks, but I’ve asked for an appointment with the Governor tomorrow. I expect I’ll see you in here again once I’ve sorted things out.’

Like hell I will, he promised himself as the three officers went out. I’m used to fighting seamen◦– not bloody cocktail commanders. He stared broodingly at the bottles glittering against the mirror behind the bar counter. Perhaps if he got roaring drunk he’d feel better. He called Bennett over and ordered another double.

The ex-chief petty officer filled his glass, dropped in the regulation two ice cubes, and placed the drink down on the bar top.

‘I know what you’re thinking, sir,’ he said quietly. ‘But you’ve got it all wrong. They have to put up a show to hide their feelings. They hate the Jap’s guts just as much as you do. But the Navy’s under strict orders out here. They’re merely doing what they’re told.’

‘It’s a convenient excuse, chief. But it won’t wash with me. This war has taught me how to look after myself – and my boat.’

‘I know it isn’t my place to go talking behind their backs, sir…’ Bennett lowered his voice. ‘But those three gentlemen ’ave all seen plenty of action in their time. Take the Lieutenant Commander. He was at Narvik in Lapwing◦– ’ad it sunk under his feet in a runnin’ fight with three Jerry destroyers. And not before he’d taken one of ’em to the bottom with ’im. He might tell you about it one day, but I doubt as ’e will. And old Jock McVeigh won his first DSO in 1919 against the Bolsheviks in the Baltic. Then he ups and gets a bar at Dunkirk. They sent ’im out here for a rest and what ’appens? A Jap sentry puts two bullets in his arm when he tries to tow one of the Jardine & Mathieson steamers out of trouble up the Yangtse earlier this year.’

Hamilton drained his glass. ‘Thanks, Chief. You’ve probably saved me from making a bloody fool of myself. It’s my own fault for judging by appearances. But with that sort of service behind them, why the hell do they let the Japanese walk all over them?’

Alf Bennett picked up an empty glass and started polishing it. ‘You’ll find out, sir,’ he said dismally. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’

It was almost dark when Hamilton finally left the club, and the short tropical twilight had already deepened into a velvet blackness by the time he reached the quayside. Rapier was berthed between two destroyers and a precariously long gangplank stretched out across the murky water to the nearest ship, Thracian. Hamilton considered it carefully for several moments and then launched himself on to it a trifle unsteadily. The swaying of the gangway did not help his equilibrium but, squaring his shoulders and staring straight ahead, he managed to stay on the narrow planking.

A marine sentry was guarding the far end and saluted smartly as he saw the officer approaching.

‘Your pass, sir.’

Hamilton grabbed at a stanchion to maintain his balance and blinked at the burly figure blocking the step on to the destroyer’s deck. He was not drunk, but the whisky, after an enforced abstinence of almost a fortnight, was making his head swim.

‘Lieutenant Hamilton◦– Rapier.’

‘Sorry, sir. Must see your pass. Captain’s orders.’

‘I am the captain, man. Let me through.’

Somehow the Marine corporal contrived to expand, so that his already large body completely blocked the shipboard exit from the gangway. He shone his night-lamp on Hamilton’s face.

‘No, you ain’t, sir◦– with respect. Never seen you before.’ He moved his head slightly and spoke to someone standing in the shadow of the starboard cutter. ‘Nobby, go and fetch the OOW – this ’ere bloke says he’s the Captain.’

‘Not of this boat, Corporal,’ Hamilton snapped impatiently, as the unseen Nobby vanished in the direction of the quarter-deck in search of the officer of the watch. ‘I’m in command of Rapier, the submarine berthed alongside.’

‘Let’s see your pass then, sir,’ Isaacs said stolidly. He was a man of somewhat limited conversational power.

The cool night air had cleared Hamilton’s head, although it had done little to assuage his temper. He was about to give the corporal the full benefit of his impatience when he heard the sharp footsteps of the destroyer’s OOW approaching.

‘What’s going on, Corporal?’ The question was asked in the high-pitched voice that Hamilton detested, and he squinted through the darkness at the OOW’s uniform to see if he could pull rank. He was disappointed by the two gold rings on Jessop’s epaulettes. Despite his growing irritation, he bottled his temper. After all, he reminded himself, the marine corporal was only carrying out his orders.

‘Gentleman trying to come aboard without a pass, sir,’ Isaacs explained portentously. ‘Says he’s the Captain.’

Lieutenant Jessop epitomized everything Hamilton hated about the Royal Navy. He was immaculately dressed in his tropical whites, with shorts just that trifle too long and the tops of his white stockings adjusted with almost mathematical exactitude an inch below his knees. Hamilton suppressed a snort of derision as he saw the telescope tucked under his arm in the approved Dartmouth fashion. Unaware of the impression he had made, Jessop stepped forward and examined the visitor carefully with his shaded lamp.

‘He’s not the Captain,’ he confirmed to the corporal, in a tone suggesting an important discovery.

Hamilton clenched his hands. He had an enormous desire to push the pompous little duty officer into the sea, but he restrained the impulse. ‘I am Lieutenant Hamilton◦– Commanding Officer of the Rapier. My boat is berthed to seaward and my only means of access is via your gangway. Now if you have completed this little farce, perhaps you’ll let me go aboard my own boat!’

‘He don’t have a pass, sir,’ Isaacs pointed out impassively.

‘Of course, I don’t have a pass. We only arrived today and I was immediately called ashore to see Captain Snark. I know nothing of your security system, but no doubt I can come to some amicable arrangement with your Captain in the morning. Right now I just want to get aboard my own boat.’

‘We have to make sure the Chinese don’t get into the ship,’ Jessop explained earnestly. ‘That’s why we have passes.’

‘Good God, man! Do I look like a bloody Chinaman?’ Hamilton exploded.

Jessop agreed that he didn’t. But without the magical pass, there appeared to be no way of crossing the threshold on to Thracian’s deck. Hamilton fumed in the darkness and weighed up his chances of bursting past the gangway guard. He concluded, however, that Corporal Isaacs was a trifle too solid to be swept aside.

‘Look, Lieutenant,’ he gritted. ‘I know I don’t have a pass. But perhaps if my Number One was called over to identify me that would suffice until the morning?’

Jessop visibly brightened. ‘Sounds a good idea, old man. Styles! Go across to the submarine, give the Executive Officer my compliments, and ask him to come to the gangway.’ Nobby merged back into the shadows again on his latest errand, while Jessop endeavored to fill the interval with his own brand of light conversation.

‘Sorry about all this, old man. Have to take all these precautions, you know. Can’t have any of these damned Chinese on board◦– never know what they’ll get up to.’

‘I would have thought it more important to worry about the Japanese,’ Hamilton said sourly. ‘I was under the impression that the Hong Kong Chinese were on our side.

The sarcasm was lost on Jessop. His high-pitched laugh reminded Hamilton of a donkey braying. ‘To be frank, old boy, I can’t tell the difference. Both look the same to me. But I take a jaundiced view.’ He sniggered at his own tasteless pun.

‘This should be Mannon,’ Hamilton interrupted, as he heard the footsteps echoing across the deck planking. The tall familiar figure of the Rapier’s executive officer ducked under the blast screen of the for’ard gun, and grinned cheerfully as he recognized the skipper.

‘Thank the Lord you’ve arrived, sir,’ he said without ceremony. ‘We’re having a spot of trouble on board◦– your girlfriend refuses to leave. Keeps on telling us you’re her master. The other two are just as bad◦– gibbering away like a wagonload of monkeys.’

Jessop’s jaw dropped incredulously. He’d heard that submarines were a piratical undisciplined bunch◦– but to have their own women aboard! He looked at Hamilton and gulped.

‘Okay, Number One,’ Hamilton said cheerfully. ‘I’ll come and sort them out.’ He nodded towards Jessop. ‘Our friend here wants you to identify me. Seems I don’t have the right visiting card.’

Jessop was feeling slightly demoralized. He stepped back from the gangway as if Hamilton’s licentiousness would contaminate him. Women aboard one of His Majesty’s ships! What next? He forced his mouth into a ghastly smile.

‘We can waive the formalities, Lieutenant Hamilton. I’m sure there is a great deal to be attended to on your boat◦– please proceed.’

‘You’ll have a word with your skipper in the morning and arrange about the passes? I don’t want my men going through this charade every time they come aboard.’ Hamilton made his way to the port side and paused as he reached the narrow gangplank leading down on to the Rapier’s fore casing. ‘By the way, old boy,’ he said casually. ‘Can we borrow one of your boats? Got to get rid of the evidence, you know.’

Jessop’s shudder was mercifully hidden from view by the darkness. Surely they didn’t intend to dump the women overboard. He recovered his composure. They probably wanted to ferry them ashore without being seen.

‘There’s a dinghy and a jolly boat tied up to the portside boom.

Hamilton guessed what was going through his mind. He started down the gangway to the submarine, grinning to himself. Jessop seemed such a bloody fool he couldn’t resist a parting shot.

‘Thanks, old boy. And don’t worry if you hear a splash. It’ll only be my Number One disposing of the bodies.’ He winked broadly at Mannon. ‘That’ll give the pompous little prick something to think about,’ he said in an undertone. ‘Now let’s go down and get our guests sorted out.’

The two Chinese seamen and the girl were squeezed into the control room, with what appeared to be at least half of Rapier’s ship’s company. The three survivors were strenuously resisting the combined efforts of the submariners to drag them out on deck, and jabbering wildly to anyone who would listen. The arrival of the captain brought the fight to an abrupt stop and the men straightened up respectfully as Hamilton ducked through the forward hatch and entered the brightly fit compartment.

‘Sorry about the commotion, sir,’ Blood apologized anxiously. ‘But we can’t get these bloody Chinks to leave the boat. And I can’t make head nor tail of what they’re yelling about.’

Hamilton turned to the three Chinese, who immediately threw themselves on to their knees and began kowtowing to him.

‘Mister Captain,’ Chen Yu began. ‘We no go. We belong you. British sailors no understand.’

Hamilton hid his smile and looked sternly at his unwanted guests. Having made his speech, Chen Yu was again bowing with frantic urgency, while his companion kept his face pressed against the deck. The girl, however, sat back on her haunches and looked the lieutenant straight in the eye.

‘You know ancient customs, sir. I am yours. You no want?’

At that precise moment Hamilton decided he wanted her very much. Now that she had recovered from her ducking, she looked delicately pretty with a soft mouth and dark, inviting eyes. And, despite the unflattering shapelessness of the submariner’s sweater someone had lent her, he could see the promise of her slender body. He motioned them to get up off their knees.

‘I did a tour out here in 1937,’ he told Mannon, as the two men and the girl got up from the deck. ‘It’s a custom amongst the river people. If a Chinaman is saved from drowning, he becomes the property of his rescuer for the rest of his life.’

‘I bet you’re glad you were the one who saved the girl, sir,’ Mannon grinned. ‘I don’t fancy Morgan’s chances with that brute on the left.’

The gunner’s mate apparently shared Mannon’s apprehension. He had already been involved in the struggle to get the Chinese on deck and looked as if he had received the worst of the argument.

‘You’re pulling my leg, sir. What the hell can I do with him when I go back to Cardiff after the war? And what’s my missus going to say about it?’

Hamilton rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Fortunately, I think I know a way to solve the problem. It was a few years ago now, but I can still remember how one of our gunboat skippers got around the difficulty.’

‘What did he do, sir?’ Morgan asked eagerly, with a sideways look of vengeance at Wan Fu. ‘Threw ’em back in again?’ The Chinaman, unable to understand what was being said, glowered back at the Welshman and bared his teeth ferociously.

‘Not quite, Chief. We just take them inshore where the water’s shallow and leave them to paddle the last few yards. That way we observe the ancient custom and they don’t lose face. And ‘face’ is very important in the East.’ He turned to Mannon. ‘Take a couple of men with you, Number One, and bring Thracian’s dinghy alongside.’ The two Chinamen had not understood Hamilton’s explanation and, expecting to be thrown over the side and drowned, renewed their struggle with Morgan and the other submariners as they were dragged out of the control room towards the fore hatch. The girl, however, seemed unperturbed. She stepped in front of Rapier’s captain, looked up at him with her large dark eyes, and smiled. Apart from a slight difficulty with grammatical construction, her English was good, although Hamilton detected traces of an American accent.

‘I am naturally disappointed, Lieutenant,’ she told him with a wicked dimple, ‘but perhaps you are a man of wisdom. I will explain to the others.’

‘Thank you,’ Hamilton paused awkwardly. ‘What will you do about the boat? I hope it was insured.’

‘The boat is of no consequence,’ the girl said easily. ‘My father has others. I will see that he rewards you for what you have done.’

‘There’s no call for that,’ Hamilton said quickly. He didn’t want some poor Chinese fisherman giving up his life’s savings although, somehow, the girl didn’t quite fit into that picture◦– and the Chris Craft cruiser must have been worth all of £20,000. ‘It’s just part of the Royal Navy’s service.’ He paused and searched for something else to say. ‘You speak excellent English,’ he added a trifle lamely.

‘I ought to, Lieutenant,’ the girl laughed. ‘I graduated from Harvard two years ago. You mustn’t think that all Chinese people are peasants. And, in any case, I am half-Portuguese.’

Pandemonium suddenly erupted above their heads, as the submariners dragged the two protesting Chinamen up onto the fore casing and struggled to put them into the waiting dinghy. The din was indescribable and it sounded as if Wan Fu and his companion were fighting a battle to the death with the British sailors. Hamilton was about to start up the fore hatch ladder to try and sort matters out when he felt the girl catch hold of his arm.

‘No, Lieutenant. They are my people. I will go. They will listen to me.’

She kissed him lightly on the cheek and disappeared up the ladder before he could think of anything adequate to say….

Wan Fu’s protestations quickly faded away as Chai Chen appeared on deck. She addressed the two men sharply in Cantonese and they exchanged sheepish looks with each other. Then, with expressive shrugs, they climbed down into the dinghy without further argument.

By the time Hamilton had reached the bridge, the little boat was already threading its way past the anchored destroyers towards the shore. And as it was finally swallowed up in the evening mist the small figure, still wearing the white regulation issue submariner’s sweater, raised an arm and waved. As Hamilton waved back, he suddenly realized that he didn’t even know her name….

COMMANDER ARITSU UNHOOKED his sword and laid it carefully on top of the low bamboo table against the wall. Then, dismissing the two army guards, he settled back in a comfortable armchair and gestured Hamilton to join him.

‘Now that we have concluded the formalities, Lieutenant, I see no reason why we should not be friends. May I offer you a drink?’

Hamilton could think of several reasons for rejecting Aritsu’s olive-branch. The public apology delivered at the end of the funeral of the two dead aviators had been an unnerving and humiliating experience and it had taken iron discipline to go through with it. The text of the apology had been drafted by the Foreign Office representative in Hong Kong, and the hypocritical and demeaning words had stuck in his throat. Hamilton personally entertained no regrets for what he had done, and he was still seething with fury at the British authorities for imposing such an unnecessary indignity on the Royal Navy. But when Commander Aritsu invited him back to his office after the ceremony, curiosity had got the better of his feelings. The gesture of friendship, abhorrent though he found it, only served to whet his curiosity even further.

‘Thank you, Commander. A Scotch if you have one, please.’

Aritsu went across to the drink’s cabinet and busied himself with the bottles.

There was something intriguingly different about this particular Englishman and he was anxious to learn more about him. It was never possible to know too much about a potential enemy.

‘You understand, Lieutenant, that there is no enmity between your Navy and my own,’ he observed blandly as he poured a large measure of Vat 69 into Hamilton’s glass. ‘The Japanese Navy does not enjoy this sort of thing. But, just as you have to obey your masters in Whitehall, we too must carry out the instructions of our leaders in Tokyo.’ He handed the glass to Rapier’s captain and then resumed his seat.

‘In the East, as you are probably aware, it is important to maintain “face”,’ he continued. ‘Japan must prove to the Chinese that she is the dominant power. We have no quarrel with Britain or America. But, if an unfortunate incident occurs, it is important that we demonstrate our equality with the Western powers by demanding, and receiving, an appropriate apology.’

‘Even when Japan is in the wrong, Commander?’ Hamilton asked sharply.

Aritsu shrugged. ‘Who is to say what is right or wrong, Lieutenant? I have no doubt that yesterday’s incident was an unfortunate error of judgment by our pilots. They were, perhaps, unlucky to have picked someone who was prepared to hit back.’

‘I may have been ordered to apologize, Commander,’ Hamilton said coldly. ‘But let there be no misunderstandings. If your aircraft or ships attack my boat again, I shall defend myself and my men in precisely the same manner.’

‘Of course you will,’ Aritsu smiled. ‘Of course. But as I have said, these incidents unhappily happen. The Japanese Army is anxious to go to war with the British Empire and the United States. Our Navy wishes friendship. We do our best to control these wild men in Tokyo but…’ he shrugged and left the sentence unfinished.

‘But why create incidents?’ Hamilton asked.

‘Because to survive as a first-class power we must control all the resources of South-East Asia. To do this we must demonstrate our superiority, so that people fear us more than they fear you.’ Aritsu leaned forward confidentially.

‘There are many colonial races, the Indians for example, who wish to be free from English domination. Such people look to Japan for their freedom. It is understandable. If the English and the Americans stopped interfering with our actions, there would be no need for these unfortunate incidents.’ The Commander sipped his drink thoughtfully.

‘Believe me, Lieutenant, there is absolutely no possibility of war between our two countries. We in the Navy are realists. We know that Japan cannot win such a conflict. We do not have the raw materials or the industrial capacity to wage war against the British Empire or the United States. Even Admiral Yamamoto agrees◦– and he is in the best position to understand these matters.’

‘So you are telling me that we should let the Japanese walk all over us?’

‘Only in the cause of peace, Lieutenant. We are sitting on a powder keg◦– it only needs the smallest spark to start the fuse. And once the fuse has been lit, nothing can save the British Empire.’

Hamilton contemplated Aritsu’s remarks as he finished his Scotch. Despite his antipathy to the Japanese, he sensed genuine sincerity behind the commander’s words. ‘But if you think Japan must ultimately lose a war with the Western Powers why bother to start one in the first place?’ Aritsu shook his head sorrowfully. ‘In Japan we have a proverb◦– a man who lights fire does not expect to burn his hands. The war party in Tokyo and the Army generals do not accept the possibility of defeat. It is only the Navy that understands the risks involved. But one fact is crystal clear, Lieutenant. If war comes, it does not matter whether Japan wins or loses◦– British influence and power in Asia will be finished for ever!’

Hamilton drained his glass and stood up. ‘I beg to disagree, Commander, but I appreciate your frankness. I am sure our two navies can live in peace. But I repeat,’ and the submariner’s eyes hardened as he stared into Aritsu’s impassive face, ‘if anyone picks a fight with my boat again, they’ll receive exactly the same treatment your bombers did yesterday◦– even if it means I have to crawl on bended knees and apologize to the Emperor himself.’

‘I am sure it will not come to that, Lieutenant,’ Aritsu smiled. He held out his hand. ‘Remember, if I can be of any assistance please do not hesitate to contact me. And let us hope there will be no further incidents.’

Hamilton grasped the Commander’s hand. He realized that Aritsu was only trying to give him a friendly warning and he appreciated the gesture. But he could not help wondering whether their next meeting would be so cordial. Replacing his cap, he saluted the Japanese officer, and hurried down the steps to the waiting staff car.

Despite Aritsu’s reassurances, Hamilton was now firmly convinced that a major conflict was about to erupt in the Far East. And if the attack took place before reinforcements arrived from home waters, Hamilton could not see how the Navy would be able to defend the isolated colony with the pitifully inadequate resources at its disposal◦– a couple of antiquated destroyers dating back to the 1914-18 war, a few short-range MTBs and a handful of shallow-draught gunboats which, although valuable for policing duties on China’s great river highways, were totally unsuited for the task that might soon face them.

Having mentally reviewed the full extent of the British naval presence in China, Hamilton realized with something of a shock that there was only one ship in Hong Kong capable of facing the Japanese Navy on equal terms. And that ship was Rapier!

So that was the reason the Admiralty had sent him to Hong Kong. All the talk about resting and enjoying a holiday at public expense had been so much eye-wash. If his premonition was correct, Rapier would soon be fighting for survival. And all the odds would be against her….

Mannon was surprised by the skipper’s sudden change of mood. He had gone ashore that morning in the blackest of tempers and the executive officer had fully expected him to return in a similar state of mind. But, as he stepped off the gangway, Hamilton looked completely relaxed and at ease. Had Mannon known him better, he would have realized that it meant that the lieutenant was at his most dangerous.

‘Number One◦– I want the bunkers and water tanks topped up and every single bit of gear checked. Muster all hands in the fore-ends at six bells. I want to put them in the picture. And from now on I want this boat maintained in a condition of readiness for war. Forget about polishing the brass work and cleaning the paintwork. And another thing. We’ve only been off operational service for a few weeks, but the men are already slowing down and losing their alertness. See to it that things are tightened up.’

Mannon recovered his breath and saluted obediently. As the submarine’s executive officer, it was his job to see that the skipper’s orders were carried out down to the smallest detail. And while it was not part of his duties to reason why, he had a natural curiosity.

‘What’s happened, sir?’

‘Nothing’s happened, Number One. Just put it down to instinct. I’ll explain what it’s about when I address the men.’

It was hardly a satisfactory explanation, but Mannon knew it would be useless to press Hamilton further in his present mood. He nodded and started to make his way towards the for’ard hatch, stopping suddenly as he remembered the message.

‘By the way sir, there was a telephone call for you from a Senor Alburra just after you left this morning. He said he wanted to see you tonight. He gave an address in Macao.’

‘Must be a mistake, Number One. Who the hell do I know in Macao◦– we only arrived yesterday?’

‘I think he may be the owner of the Chris Craft cruiser, sir. He was very insistent. He said he thought he could be of service to you.’

‘I doubt it,’ Hamilton said shortly. ‘Probably wants to reward me for saving the crew. What’s his number◦– I’ll give him a ring and tell him to send a donation to the Royal Navy Benevolent Fund.’

Mannon fished a piece of paper from his trousers pocket and looked at it. ‘Sorry, sir, he didn’t give his phone number◦– only his address, the De Gama Oil & Wharfage Company, Isabella Strado. He asked to see you in his office at eight o’clock tonight.’

Hamilton looked thoughtful. He had no idea what Alburra wanted to see him about, but if he was in the oil business they could well share certain mutual interests. He gave Mannon no indication of what was passing through his mind.

‘On second thoughts, Number One, perhaps I will call on him this evening. But if anyone asks where I am, just tell them I’ve taken the ferry to Macao to sample the gambling tables.’

Mannon raised an eyebrow and grinned. ‘Not the women, sir?’

‘All right, Number One. If you want the truth◦– the women as well.’