Diving Stations

FOUR

‘Captain to the control room!’

Hamilton pushed the slide rule to one side and considered the results of his revised calculations. Despite his lack of experience Mannon’s trim figures were mathematically correct – which meant the drain valve to the bow tubes was malfunctioning. And that was a dockyard matter.

‘You’ll have to shift the ballast in the for’ard section, Number One,’ he told Mannon as he put his pencil away. ‘It’s only a temporary expedient, but I can’t have the bows sinking every time we flood up the tubes. And if we find ourselves in an emergency situation there won’t be time to start balancing the trim.’ He pushed the wardroom curtain aside and made his way aft.

Scott was waiting in the control room. He looked pleased with himself. Underwater navigation could be a damned unreliable game of chance but, on this particular occasion, luck had been on his side.

‘We’re directly off the bay, sir. Three minutes to high water.’

‘Well done, Pilot.’ Hamilton turned to Baker, who was sitting at the hydro-phone equipment in his miniscule cabinet at the rear of the control room. ‘Any HE, Baker?’

‘Nothing, sir. Apart from the surf under the cliffs.’

‘And the Asdic?’

Baker leaned across and twisted a large red knob. The steady pulse revealed no answering echo. ‘No contacts, sir.’

‘Up periscope.’

Hamilton set the upper lens on to the bearing indicated by Scott and examined the narrow entrance to the bay. Steep tree-clad cliffs descended down to the sea on either side, and the bobbing orange colored floats of the boom were clearly visible on the surface. Not even the faintest breath of wind ruffled the waters of the bay, and the leaden sheen of the sky confirmed the storm warning he had received from the Fleet Met Officer on leaving Hong Kong. Hamilton was unable to decide whether bad weather was likely to be an advantage or a disadvantage. But one factor worried him. The forecast had shown the center of the storm as approaching from seaward and, like all experienced sailors, he had no desire to find himself trapped on a lee shore. Too many good ships had been lost that way.

‘Steer two points to starboard.’

The slight alteration of course brought Rapier into a position where he could see right inside the land-locked bay. The Japanese destroyer, purposeful and menacing in her dark grey war paint, was anchored close inshore on the right-hand side while, almost half a mile away to the left lay the white hulled gunboat◦– a wisp of smoke rising vertically from her buff colored funnel, her white ensign hanging limp and dejected in the still air. Nothing was happening. There was no sign of activity on either ship, no signals were passing and there was none of the usual small-boat traffic. Hamilton noted with relief, however, that the destroyer’s guns were safely pointing fore and aft and that was a reassuring sign.

‘Down periscope.’

Walking across to the chart table, Hamilton motioned Mannon and Scott to join him and, taking a clean sheet of paper, he drew a rough sketch of the bay and the position of the two warships. ‘I think our best place is inside the bay and alongside Firefly,’ he told them. ‘But we’ll have to gamble on passing through the entrance without being spotted. If it’s an anti-submarine defense boom, we won’t stand a chance. But the floats look too light to support a steel net so I think we’ll be okay. Any questions?’

‘What do you intend doing once we’re inside, sir?’ Mannon asked.

‘Wait and see,’ Hamilton said flatly. It sounded off-hand and impressive. But it was an empty promise. In reality Hamilton had no idea how he was going to handle the task that lay ahead. He was a man who disliked planning and following a set pattern. He preferred to exploit a situation as he found it, relying on his reactions under stress and his intuition. Once inside the bay something was bound to happen. And when it, did he hoped he would be able to turn it to their advantage.

‘We’ll go under the boom submerged,’ he told Mannon.

‘Apart from luck we’ll need two things◦– sufficient depth of water and inefficient look-outs on the Jap destroyer.’

‘I would think the latter requirement highly unlikely, sir,’ Mannon said primly.

‘And so do I, Number One. But my guess is they’ll be watching the surface. No one but a fool would try to take a submerged submarine into a landlocked bay with its only exit guarded by a destroyer. The Japanese are a logical race. They’ll have considered the possibility◦– and dismissed it.’

Scott looked up from the chart table where he had been studying a large-scale map of the mainland coast. It was not an official Admiralty chart, but a crudely drawn native map used by local fishermen. He had purchased it in a Hong Kong shop behind the harbor a few days earlier.

‘I reckon we’ll have fifty feet of water over the bar, sir. This map shows fish in the area that wouldn’t normally live in shallow water.’

Hamilton nodded approvingly. Scott was the type of officer he appreciated◦– a man who was anxious to use his brain and his initiative. He wondered how many other navigators would have thought of estimating the depth of the water by studying the type of fish inhabiting the sea. It reminded him of the time he had used the feeding habits of seagulls to steer Rapier through the shallows of the North Sea in pursuit of a U-boat.

‘We’ll have to go through blind,’ he explained. ‘If the Japs are watching the surface they’d spot a periscope immediately. And we’ll have to proceed at our slowest speed to avoid causing too much disturbance on the surface.’ He looked around the control room. ‘Is everyone ready?’

There was a murmur of assent and Hamilton clicked his fingers sharply. ‘Up periscope… down periscope!’

The lens had poked inquisitively up through the waves for no more than ten seconds. But it was sufficient for his skilled eye to estimate the bearings and distance involved. He decided to keep to the westerly side of the entrance so that Rapier was as far away from the destroyer as possible. Then, outwardly relaxed, he walked across to the gyro-repeater and checked the reading. He projected a mental picture of the entrance to the bay in his mind as he made his final calculation.

‘Steer three-zero-zero, Helmsman. Slow ahead both motors. Take her to forty feet.’

‘Three-zero-zero, sir.’

‘Down planes, level at forty feet.’

‘Forty feet, sir.’

‘Thank you, Cox’n. Hold her steady.’

There was nothing more to do but wait. Hamilton had already started his stopwatch and he followed the sweep of the second hand as Rapier crawled towards the boom. ‘Stop all fans and motors. Rig for silent running.’ Mannon tried to hide the tension gnawing in his belly by carefully studying the warning lights of the venting panel over Venables’ shoulder. As he did so, he mentally rehearsed which levers would have to be pulled to blow the appropriate ballast tanks◦– Numbers Six and Nine if the bows grounded. Numbers Twenty-two and Twenty-five if the stern touched bottom. He wiped the perspiration from the palms of his hands and stretched his fingers like a concert pianist preparing to play.

Scott seemed unconcerned. Unlike the executive officer, he was a regular Navy man and he’d been in submarines since 1938. Picking up a pencil, he began sketching a series of directional arrows on the chart, to indicate the probable flow of the tidal currents inside the bay. Although he had not voiced his opinions aloud, he was certain that Hamilton had made a grave error by choosing to go through at high water. If Rapier had been taken in on the flood tide, the strength of the current could have added at least two knots to their speed. But now, battling against the ebb, the motors could dissipate fifty per cent of their power in just fighting the tide.

Hamilton smiled to himself as he watched the navigator drawing his little barbed arrows. It wasn’t difficult to guess what was passing through Scott’s mind. But Hamilton had already considered the point when issuing his original orders. The changing of the tide, especially in the confined waters of the narrow entrance, would create a considerable disturbance on the surface as the ingoing and outgoing currents clashed. It would only last for two or three minutes, but the tumbling waters would help to conceal the presence of the submarine creeping stealthily beneath the surface. He thought about explaining his reasons to Scott but, on an impulse, changed his mind. He glanced down at the stopwatch.

‘Three minutes,’ he said quietly. ‘We should be approaching the boom at any moment.’

The success or failure of the mission was now beyond the control of human hands. Rapier was committed to her course, depth and speed. And, as if he could still play some part in the submarine’s destiny, each man inside the control room stared at his instruments and concentrated on the task in hand. The tense silence was broken only by the faint vibration of the motors, the soft whisper of the sea against the outer plating, and the familiar sound of Ernie Blood sucking his teeth.

‘Let’s hope Alistair’s fish know what they’re doing,’ Hamilton said lightly, in an effort to ease the tension. The men in the control room grinned, but no one felt in the mood for joking and the oppressive silence descended once again, as each man shut himself away in his own private thoughts….

A sudden jolt shuddered through the submarine, followed by a soft slithering rasp from under the keel. Scott’s fish had obviously let him down◦– his estimate of the depth of water over the bar had been too optimistic. Hamilton reacted without hesitation.

‘Full ahead both!’

The hum of the motors rose to a shrill whine as the power came on. Rapier lurched like a prehistoric sea monster rising from its muddy nest on the sea bottom, and then slid smoothly forward as the propellers kicked her clear of the underwater obstruction.

‘Slow ahead both.’

The high-pitched whine faded away to the familiar soft hum and the ammeter needles flicked back as the drain on the batteries eased. The dials showed the submarine riding level and the depth gauges indicated forty feet.

‘Any HE, Baker?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Do you want an Asdic sweep, sir?’ Mannon asked.

Hamilton shook his head. ‘Negative. They might detect the pulses. As it is, I’ve got to gamble that they didn’t spot the disturbance on the surface when we switched to full power.’

He glanced down at his stopwatch to calculate how far they had penetrated inside the bay. He felt like a blind man feeling his way down an unfamiliar street by counting his footsteps. In a few moments he would have to cross the road. If he had counted correctly, he would have reached the safety of the other side. If not, he was likely to be struck down by a large truck. The minute hand of the watch clicked into the third segment of the dial. He looked up.

‘Steer one point to port, Helmsman.’

‘One point to port, sir.’

The overwhelming temptation to raise the periscope and check their position was almost irresistible and only Hamilton’s long experience and iron nerve enabled him to fight off the urge. Rapier was by now well into the bay and moving invisibly towards the anchored gunboat. The stretch of clear water ahead would be under close observation by the Japanese look-outs, and the faintest wisp of spray from the tip of the questing periscope would be sighted and reported as soon as it broke surface. And once trapped inside the bay, Rapier would stand no chance of escaping from the inevitable depth charge attack.

Hamilton seemed unconcerned by the strain of the blind approach, and he stole a quick glance at Mannon to see how he was reacting. He could recall his own nervous tension when the skipper of Surge had crept unseen into Kiel Bay before the war. And he had not forgotten the tragedy that followed. But despite his lack of experience, Mannon was standing up to it well. Leaning forward over the ‘outside’ ERA’s shoulders, he kept watch on the glowing warning lights of the venting panel like the alert hawk he in many ways resembled. Hamilton decided it was time he took the young RNVR officer into his confidence.

Taking a rough sketch map of the bay from his pocket, he called Mannon over to join him and spread the paper out on the chart table so that he could see it.

‘This is our estimated track,’ he explained drawing a line with his pencil. ‘And this…’ he marked a cross on the map, ‘is where we altered course a few minutes ago.

The idea is to get around behind Firefly so that the destroyer’s look-outs won’t see us when we surface.’

‘A bit like Blind Man’s Bluff, sir,’ Mannon observed.

‘I suppose it is,’ Hamilton agreed. ‘A great deal will depend on the strength of the tidal currents inside the bay. The pilot reckons a two knot surge on the ebb.’ He paused to draw a directional arrow. ‘If he’s right, that would make us just about◦– here. We don’t seem to have been spotted so far, so I’ll maintain course to here…’ Hamilton marked another small cross behind and astern of the gunboat. ‘Then I’ll have to raise the periscope to check we’re in position before we surface.’

Mannon nodded. He was beginning to understand the skipper’s strategy. ‘I think I follow it so far, sir. We come up on the blind side of the gunboat so that the Japs can’t observe what’s happening.’

‘That’s part of the plan, Number One. But there’s more to it than that. If we do have the misfortune to be spotted, the gunboat will act as a shield. And if the Japs open fire they’ll have to sink her before they can get at us. Needless to say, by that time we’d be well under the surface again and out of harm’s way.’

It sounded a trifle cold-blooded to Mannon. He wondered what the men onboard Firefly would say if they knew of Hamilton’s scheme. He had not served with Rapier’s skipper long enough to have seen the ruthless streak in his character before◦– and he was not sure that he liked it. But, being objective, he could appreciate the careful thinking behind the plan. Hamilton was protecting his boat and his men. And if anyone got hurt, he was making sure it would not be one of Rapier’s crew. In the circumstances Mannon supposed he should be grateful.

The second hand of the stopwatch circled the dial twice more and, in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture, Hamilton passed the tip of his tongue over his dry lips. His outward air of calm detachment hid the maelstrom of inner tension. His crotch was wet with sweat and he felt slightly sick as a violent spasm knotted his stomach muscles.

‘Up periscope!’

The column glided upwards and he stopped its ascent as soon as the tip broke surface. He had already brought the lens onto an estimated bearing to save time and it took him only a few seconds to fix the submarine’s position.

‘Down periscope. Steer one point to starboard. Stop motors. Stand by to surface.’

‘One point to starboard, sir.’

‘Switches off◦– motors stopped, sir.’

Hamilton concentrated on the stopwatch. ‘We’ll be going straight up, Number One,’ he warned Mannon. ‘Stand by to blow the tanks. I intend to rely on positive buoyancy so we won’t need to use the ’planes.’

Mannon wiped his hands down the sides of his trousers to get rid of the sweat and leaned forward over the venting panel, ready to give Venables his support when the order came.

‘Blow main ballast! Surface!’

‘Close main vents◦– blow all tanks.’

As Venables moved the hydraulic levers to close the vents, Mannon reached forward to turn the valve wheels of the compressed air reservoirs and a shrill scream of high pressure air echoed the length of the submarine.

‘Duty watch on deck!’

Hamilton pulled the clips of the lower hatch as the yeoman and look-outs lined up behind him at the bottom of the ladder.

‘Gun crew stand by! Morgan◦– bring your men topside at the double if I give the word.’

‘Aye aye, sir.’

‘Fifteen feet, sir.’

Hamilton reached up and pushed back the hatch cover. Swinging his body sideways with the agility of a monkey, he avoided the worst of the water streaming down into the control room from the conning tower compartment, and he heard the yeoman swear as he caught it full in the face. Then, hoisting himself up through the narrow opening, he started climbing the ladder leading to the upper hatch….

LIEUTENANT FORSYTH, Firefly’s executive officer, raised his binoculars with a weary sigh and trained them on the destroyer again. He wondered how much longer Ottershaw was going to be. The Japanese commander had been studiously polite, and the skipper had offered no objections when the destroyer’s motor boat had come alongside to take him across to the Suma. But that had been more than eight hours ago.

‘Have they replied to my last signal, Yeoman?’

‘No, sir. They acknowledged receipt◦– but nothing else.’

‘How many damned signals have we sent now?’

Bartlett consulted the signal log. ‘Seven, sir.’

‘And no replies to a single one of them?’

‘No, sir.’

Forsyth looked towards the narrow entrance to the bay. It was difficult to resist the temptation. His background and training, to say nothing of the age-old traditions of the Royal Navy, urged him to make a break for it and take Firefly through the boom and out into the open sea. And to hell with the Japs if they tried to stop him. But his loyalty to Ottershaw overcame his natural instincts. It wouldn’t be right to abandon the skipper to his fate, and he reluctantly decided to hang on a little longer.

‘They’d blow us out of the water before we were halfway across the bay, sir,’ Bartlett observed flatly, as if reading the officer’s thoughts. Forsyth nodded. The yeoman was right. But they couldn’t sit around waiting much longer. And why the hell didn’t Hong Kong send some assistance?

‘What d’you make of that, sir? Starboard side of the entrance.’

Forsyth welcomed the diversion. At least it took his mind off their present predicament. Putting his binoculars to his eyes he stared seawards towards the entrance. The orange floats of the boom were still bobbing gently on the surface and he could see nothing untoward.

‘Looks normal to me, Jones. What was it?’

‘Couldn’t say for sure, sir. It happened too quickly. There was some sort of disturbance just below the surface. Those bloody floats were bobbing up and down like a Maltese whore on piece-work.’

Forsyth lowered his glasses and shrugged. ‘Probably the tide on the turn◦– it’s just about due, or perhaps a large fish swimming into the bay looking for food. It all seems quiet enough to me.’ He paused for a moment and then made his way across the voice pipe. ‘Send Sub-Lieutenant Peters to the bridge.’

Peters, an RNVR officer and a former Hong Kong shipping agent, bustled up the companionway to the bridge and saluted cheerfully. He’d been involved in similar incidents before as a civilian, and he did not seen unduly worried by the skipper’s enforced absence. While Japan and Britain remained at peace Ottershaw would be quite safe. The Japs might bluff and bluster, but they would take great care not to overstep the mark.

‘Any news, Number One?’

‘Not a damned thing, Sub. What the hell do you think they’re doing to him?’

‘Probably filling him full of booze and trying to make him so drunk he won’t know what’s going on. Then they’ll talk him into a signing a public apology for shadowing the convoy.’

Forsyth did not feel so optimistic. While Peters was probably correct in this particular instance, the gunboat’s executive officer had judged the Japanese character more accurately and he knew they were quite capable of torturing Ottershaw into signing a confession if it suited their purposes. If, and God forbid, war should break out, he hoped and prayed he would never fall into their hands as a prisoner.

‘The bottom’s dropping out of the glass,’ Peters added by way of conversation. ‘And I don’t like the way the clouds are building up to the south-west.’

Forsyth glanced towards the entrance of the bay. The breeze had died away and the air was unnaturally still. And, as Peters had remarked, the sullen coppery sheen of the sky looked distinctly unpromising. He shrugged. ‘Certainly seems like a storm brewing. Perhaps we’d better lay out an extra anchor. I don’t want to get caught on a lee shore.’

‘Looks more like a typhoon than a storm,’ Peters told him.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Sub. The typhoon season ended a couple of months ago. There’s no point in being alarmist.’

‘Suit yourself,’ the sub-lieutenant shrugged. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never been in England when it’s snowed on Midsummer’s Day. Seasons are all very well in their way◦– don’t rely on them. All the signs point to a typhoon and I ought to know. I’ve lived out here for fifteen years.’ Forsyth looked thoughtful and then, without saying a word, he went into the wheelhouse to check the barograph. The jagged purple trace left by the pen showed the isometric pressure falling rapidly◦– more rapidly than he had ever seen in the whole of his career. He moved across to the synoptic weather chart and studied it carefully. The center of the depression lay to seaward and was clearly approaching at unusual speed. Although he was no meteorological expert, Forsyth could see they were in for a hell of a storm within the next hour or so. He opened the door and went back to the bridge.

‘Weigh out a storm anchor, Chief, and pass the word below to secure all scuttles. Then bring up a deck party and lash down all loose equipment.’

‘Aye aye, sir.’ Johnson glanced up at the threatening sky. ‘Looks like we’re in for a packet.’ He seemed to derive a certain enjoyment from his pessimism.

‘The boilers are still on two hour’s notice, sir,’ Peters reminded the first officer. ‘We’ll need a good head of steam if we’re hit by a typhoon◦– the anchors won’t hold unless we can take the strain on the engines.’

‘I daren’t take the risk, Sub. If the Japs see us raising steam they’ll think we’re going to make a dash for it. Let’s hope we can work up enough pressure when the storm breaks.’

’Officer of the Watch to the starboard side!’

The look-out’s shout brought the discussion to an abrupt end as the two officers hurried to the starboard side of the bridge to investigate. Forsyth peered down at the water. There certainly was something happening. The surface of the sea was heaving violently and streams of air bubbles were rising up from the depths like an evil brew simmering in a witch’s cauldron.

‘Cor!’ breathed the look-out. ‘Looks like a bloody underwater volcano◦– I’ve ’eard about them sort of things in these parts.’

The sub-lieutenant’s explanation of the unexpected phenomena was more prosaic, but no less dramatic in its implication.

‘Good God, sir! It’s a submarine!’

Forsyth hesitated indecisively as the top of the conning tower thrust out of the swirling water. What the hell were the Japs up to now? He wondered whether Firefly’s bosun would know the pipe for ‘Stand by to repel boarders’ and decided it was highly unlikely.

‘Action Stations! Submarine on starboard beam!’

It was the only order he could think of in the circumstances. But even as he gave it, he knew that the submarine was too close for the guns to bear. The rush of water fell back to a frothing tumult from which emerged the glistening steel plating of Rapier’s conning tower. Viewed from such close quarters, it was almost impossible to identify and it bore little resemblance to the neat silhouettes issued for recognition purposes.

‘It’s okay, sir, she’s one of ours.’

Forsyth did not know how Peters could be so certain, but he was willing to accept his judgement. And, as he ordered Firefly’s crew to fall out from Action Stations, he saw the upper hatch of the submarine swing back and an officer emerge onto the bridge…

Hamilton seemed unaware of the furor he was causing aboard the gunboat. At that moment he was too busy with his own problems. And as the yeoman and look-outs scrambled out onto the bridge he moved to the voice pipe. ‘Start motors and send up the deck party.’

Petty Officer Blake led the sea-duty men up through the gun hatch and Hamilton ordered them on to the foredeck, with instructions to secure a line from the submarine’s bows to the stern of the Firefly. There was a moment of confusion aboard the gunboat, but Forsyth quickly appreciated what was wanted and sent a party to the stem to grab the line and secure it around a bollard.

‘Ease the line when I tell you,’ Hamilton shouted across. ‘I want to swing my stern ninety degrees so that I’m lying abaft your rear.’

‘Understood, Rapier. Go ahead when you’re ready.’

Hamilton moved to the voice pipe again. ‘Half-ahead starboard. Full right rudder.’ The submarine quivered as the motors increased speed, and a confused tumble of white water erupted from the fantail as the starboard propeller churned the sea to foam. The stern of the submarine began to swing outwards. ‘Slacken off bow lines◦– port motor half-astern.’ The swinging action increased as the counter movement of the port propeller tightened the angle of the turn. Rapier’s bows drifted slowly away from the stem of the gunboat and Hamilton watched the maneuvers anxiously. ‘Hold hard on the lines, Firefly. Keep them taut.’ He leaned over the voice pipe. ‘Stop port motor. Stop starboard. Half-ahead starboard… stop!’ Rapier was now standing at right angles to the gunboat, with her bows just clear of Firefly’s stern and her torpedo tubes pointing directly at the Japanese destroyer.

‘Secure bow lines! Lay off a stern anchor to stop us swinging in the current, Chief. But use a hemp hawser and have a man standing by it with an axe in case we need to cut ourselves free in a hurry.’ He returned to the voice pipe. ‘Report to the bridge, Number One. And tell the gun crew to come topsides.’

Walking to the side of the conning tower nearest to the gunboat, Hamilton surveyed the mooring position with the expert eye of a seaman. Bearing in mind the difficulties, they hadn’t done too badly. Then raising his glasses he examined the destroyer. There was some movement on her bridge but, as yet, the Japanese showed no signs of responding to Rapier’s sudden appearance. He wondered how the destroyer commander would react when he realized his ship was lying broadside on to the submarine’s torpedo tubes.

‘Nicely executed, sir,’ Forsyth called down from Firefly’s bridge. ‘Do you need any more help?’

‘Yes◦– I don’t like getting my feet wet. Drop a rope ladder over the stern so that I can come aboard.’ Hamilton glanced round as Mannon joined him on top of the conning tower. ‘I’m going over to Firefly, Number One. You’ll be in charge while I’m away. As things stand at the moment, the next stage will be a visit to the Japanese commander to see if I can persuade him to release Ottershaw.’ He paused for a second. ‘If anything goes wrong you have my authority to torpedo the enemy immediately he opens fire. But make bloody sure he fires the first shot. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Mannon hesitated. ‘But supposing you’re still on board?’

‘Then it’s too bad for me,’ Hamilton told him flatly. ‘My primary task is to protect Rapier and secure the release of Firefly. If it means putting two lives at risk, so be it. Any questions?’

Mannon knew what the skipper meant. He was beginning to understand the awesome responsibilities of command. He nodded. ‘Understood, sir. If the destroyer opens fire I am to torpedo her and then escort Firefly clear.’

Hamilton grinned suddenly. ‘Good man. But don’t look so worried◦– it won’t come to that. It’s just that I like to cover all eventualities.’ Swinging his leg over the conning tower rail, he started climbing down the rungs to the deck. Morgan, the gunner’s mate, was standing in the bows holding the rope ladder and he grinned expectantly as the skipper came down the fore casing.

‘Will you be needing some help, sir?’ he asked hopefully.

Hamilton shook his head. ‘Sorry, Chief. I think I’d best play this one solo. But keep your chaps standing by… you never know your luck.’

He grabbed the precariously swaying rope ladder and quickly hauled himself up on to the stern of the gunboat, where Forsyth was waiting to receive him.

‘Welcome aboard, sir.’

‘We’ve no time for that sort of thing, Lieutenant,’ Hamilton snapped impatiently. ‘Give me a rundown on the situation since you arrived.’

Forsyth felt slightly abashed by the submarine commander’s brusqueness. He noticed that Hamilton was only a two-striper like himself and wondered which of them was the senior. It was a pity he hadn’t checked the Navy List beforehand. The clipped authority of the demand, however, seemed to assume his subordination and, almost without thinking, he accepted his junior status.

‘The Japanese escorted us into the bay at dawn,’ he explained briefly. ‘They sent a boat at 0900 hours and Lieutenant Commander Ottershaw was invited back to the destroyer for discussions. I’ve tried signaling for information, but they just ignore everything we send.’

‘Did Ottershaw leave any instructions?’

‘He left me in command.’ Forsyth saw that Hamilton appeared unimpressed by the information. ‘He gave no precise instructions… just said he didn’t expect to be long.’

‘Why the hell didn’t you make a break for it?’ Hamilton asked curtly.

‘I couldn’t leave the Captain in the hands of the Japanese.’

‘Why not? Good God man we’re not at war with them, you know. They’ve got to release him eventually. If you’d made a run for it, at least it would have shown those squint-eyed bastards what we think of them.’ Hamilton paused to regain his temper. ‘Are you sure they haven’t taken him ashore?’

‘Definitely not, sir,’ Peters broke in. The sub-lieutenant didn’t like the way Hamilton was treating Firefly’s executive officer but, instinctively, he sensed a firm decisiveness in the submariner’s attitude which sharply contrasted with Forsyth’s docile acceptance of the situation. Hamilton was clearly a man who did not believe in dancing to other people’s tunes. ‘The Japanese only occupy the coast around the major parts,’ he explained. ‘The rest of the shoreline is still in the hands of the Chinese. If the Japs tried to land, the local guerillas would wipe them out inside an hour.’

Hamilton turned his attention to the young RNVR officer. ‘Are they likely to give us a hand if we need it?’

‘I doubt it, sir. This part of the coast is controlled by Tien Shan◦– the local warlord. He might help if he was offered enough money, but it’s unwise to trust a Chinaman.’

‘But I thought we were on the same side,’ Hamilton objected.

‘In theory, perhaps,’ Peters agreed. ‘But you’re thinking in terms of the Nationalist Government in Chungking. The trouble is that China is hardly a single united country as we understand the word. They’re all fighting the Japs right enough, but most of them are busy fighting each other as well. Up in the north there’s the Communists under Mao Tse Tung. At the moment he’s supposed to be supporting the Government, but once they’ve settled with the Japanese he won’t rest until he has control of the entire country. He and Chiang-kai-Shek are the big boys. But all the way down the line there are minor warlords fighting to maintain their local power, bandits and pirates who are only interested in loot, and the guerillas◦– usually Communists who have been infiltrated into Nationalist areas.’

‘You make it all sound very jolly,’ Hamilton smiled. ‘Where the hell do we fit into this tangle?’

‘If you want my honest opinion, sir, we don’t. No one wants the British in Asia any longer◦– or the Americans, or the French, or the Dutch. That’s why the Japanese are bound to succeed in the long run. And by continually talking about the overthrow of colonialism, they’ve got a substantial part of the native population behind them. Unfortunately, the poor devils don’t realize that Tokyo’s brand of imperialism will be even worse than ours.’ Peters paused for a moment. He didn’t mind giving Hamilton a lecture on the political situation in the Far East, in fact he rather enjoyed it, but there were other much more urgent dangers.

‘Whatever you decide to do, sir, I suggest you do it quickly. We’re going to be hit by a typhoon within the next two hours.’

An oppressive stillness hung over the mirror-smooth water inside the bay. Nothing stirred and even the shrill chatter of the birds was silent. Hamilton stared up at the molten copper sky and watched the black storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

‘The Sub’s exaggerating,’ Forsyth said easily. ‘We’re in for a blow◦– and a nasty one by the look of it. But this isn’t the typhoon season.’

‘You seem to know a lot about local conditions,’ Hamilton pointed out to the young RNVR officer.

‘I ought to, sir. I’ve lived in Hong Kong for the last fifteen years. Whatever Lieutenant Forsyth may say, I’m certain there’s a typhoon on the way. And I don’t care whether it’s the season or not.’

Hamilton stared down at his feet thoughtfully. For some reason the old proverb about an ill-wind kept running through his brain. A typhoon would certainly complicate the situation◦– yet it might just provide the key he needed to obtain Ottershaw’s release.

‘Bring your motor sampan alongside,’ he told Forsyth. ‘Give me a couple of minutes while I go back to Rapier and give my instructions. Then I’ll take the sampan across to the destroyer and find out what’s happening.’ He glanced over the side. ‘What’s the depth of water here?’ he asked unexpectedly.

‘Ten fathoms according to the echo sounder,’ Forsyth told him. ‘But it’s shifting ground and I doubt if the anchors will hold.’

‘Well, that’s your problem,’ Hamilton said unsympathetically. ‘But if I were you, I’d try to get her out to sea before the typhoon breaks. She’ll be smashed to pieces if you stay inside the bay.’

Forsyth ignored the advice. He objected to Hamilton telling him how to handle his ship. And he resented the way in which the submarine commander was taking over and running the show. He vented his irritation on the chief petty officer, waiting respectfully for orders at the rear of the bridge.

‘Well don’t just stand there, Bosun! Clear away the sampan and bring it alongside. Lieutenant Hamilton will tell you what he wants you to do when he returns. I’ll be in my cabin if I’m wanted.’

No one’s likely to want you, mate, Phillips grumbled to himself as he saluted and made his way for’ard. There was little love lost between them and he had derived considerable satisfaction from the way Hamilton had trampled over the gunboat’s executive officer. And serve the bugger right.

‘Sampan alongside port quarter, sir,’ Firefly’s bosun reported smartly as Hamilton came back on board. ‘Ready when you are.’

‘Thank you, Chief.’ He turned to Forsyth who had emerged from his cabin to supervise the sampan’s departure. ‘Have you sent a signal to say I’m coming?’

‘No.’

‘Good◦– let’s keep the buggers guessing. I don’t see why they should have a monopoly on initiative.’ He stepped down into the motor sampan. ‘There’s no need for you chaps to hang around once you’ve dropped me off,’ he told the bosun. ‘The Japs will be far more impressed if I go aboard and send you back. They have an odd way of looking at things. If they think I’ve deliberately got rid of my only means of escape they’ll be much more likely to listen to what I have to say.’

‘And how to you intend to get back?’ Forsyth asked tartly. ‘I suppose you’re also an expert at walking on water!’

‘There’ll be no need for miracles,’ Hamilton said easily. ‘I’ll arrange for the Jap skipper to bring Ottershaw and myself off in one of the destroyer’s own boats. I’m a great believer in kicking a man when he’s down.’

Forsyth hated Hamilton for his supreme self-confidence. He could not help wondering what made the submarine commander so certain he could succeed in obtaining Ottershaw’s release.

He would have been surprised to discover that Hamilton was asking himself exactly the same question as he settled into the sternsheets of the sampan. In point of fact, Rapier’s skipper hadn’t the remotest idea what he was going to do when he arrived on board the destroyer. But he did not believe in worrying about things until they happened.

Having been commissioned from the lower deck, he had never set foot inside the sacred portals of the Royal Naval College at Dartmouth but he had often heard of the motto painted up over one of the doors: ‘There is nothing the Navy cannot do.’ Well, he decided, let’s put the boast to the test and see if it works….