Diving Stations

EIGHT

‘Stand by for gun action!’

Hamilton moved back as the periscope sank down into its well under the deck plating and waited while Morgan and the gun crew scrambled into the cramped tunnel of the gun tower.

‘Gun crew closed up and standing by, sir.’

‘Stand by to surface! Blow main ballast. Full ahead both motors.’ There was a hiss of compressed air as Venables opened the valves and, restored to positive buoyancy, Rapier lurched upwards like a cork. Only the skill of the two coxswains controlling the fore and aft hydroplanes kept her safely below the surface, and Hamilton could see the sweat beading Blood’s face as he jockeyed the big diving wheel with the delicate care of a chef de cuisine mixing a soufflé.

‘Main ballast clear, sir.’

‘Surface!’

‘Up helm ’planes… blow Q! Watch the trim… blow stern compensating tank.’

‘Ten feet, sir.’

‘Reverse ’planes. Open gun hatch.’

Hamilton was already climbing into the empty steel vault of the conning tower. The damp salt air tasted good after the sour atmosphere inside the submarine and he drew it deep into his lungs as he pulled back the clips of the hatch. A blast of foul-smelling vapor, forced upwards by the pressure inside the boat belched through the open hatchway and, with the wisdom of experience, Hamilton held his breath until it had blown clear. Then, gripping the edges of the narrow hatchway, he heaved himself up on to the bridge.

Butterfield and Swire’s shipyard at Taikoo lay to port and, so far as Hamilton could make out, it seemed to be deserted◦– no doubt the Chinese workforce had fled at the first sign of trouble. A heavy pall of smoke hung over the mainland and fierce fires were burning in Kwun Tong and amongst the shattered remains of the Kai Tak airfield. Further to the west, the glow of more fires reddened the sky above Kowloon and the stabbing flames of Japanese field guns ranged along the waterfront showed that the enemy was now in occupation of the entire mainland area of the New Territories.

Hamilton put his mouth to the voice pipe. ‘Obey telegraphs. Transfer helm to upper steering position.’ A small nagging doubt made him wonder whether he was being wise. A fast dive would be impossible with so many men on deck. However, on the other hand, Rapier would be three times more effective as a surface warship in the event of the enemy attempting to launch an attack across the waters of the Strait. Torpedoes would have little value against small landing craft. ‘Stop motors. Engage both engine clutches. Half-ahead together.’

There was a momentary pause. Then the diesels rumbled into life and a blast of oil smoke erupted from the exhaust trunks.

‘Send both Lewis guns to the bridge.’

Hamilton raised his glasses and searched the darkness ahead of the bows. He wondered how many ships of the original Hong Kong defense force were still left. He had passed Circala patrolling to the south of the island during the final approach past Cape El’Aguilar, so at least one of the gunboats was still afloat. The destroyer Thracian had not been so lucky. Mannon had reported her as aground and beached on the eastern side of the island an hour or so earlier. Hopefully Tern and Firefly were still in the fight although, so far, he had seen no sign of them.

As the two machine gunners emerged onto the bridge and clamped their weapons to the support brackets on the port and starboard wings, Hamilton lowered his binoculars and bent over the voice pipe again.

‘Hand over to Alistair, Number One, and then come topside. Things are likely to get nasty if the Japs try and attempt a landing. I’ll need a back-up on the bridge in case something happens.’

‘Aye aye, sir.’

Hamilton raised his glasses and continued his careful search of the darkened shoreline as Rapier circled northwards and then eastwards around Quarry Bay. In the far distance, he could just make out the dockyard with Moth canted over and abandoned in dry-dock after being scuttled by her crew. And he could see a series of fires raging in the city itself where enemy shells had found vulnerable targets. How long could the poor bastards hold out? Lt General Sakai, the Japanese field commander, had already sent his peace envoys across the Straits under a flag of truce to demand the Colony’s surrender, but the Governor, Sir Mark Young, had sent the emissaries packing in no uncertain manner. But as a realist, Hamilton could not help wondering what sort of defense the troops could put up in the face of such overwhelming enemy numbers. Brave words were no substitute for bullets.

Mannon joined him on the bridge and together they surveyed the grim scene in silence. There were still no signs of any other British warships waiting to challenge an enemy attempt to cross the narrow Straits which separated Hong Kong from the mainland New Territories. It was becoming increasingly clear that only Rapier stood between the Colony and Japanese occupation.

‘Harbor launch five hundred yards on port bow, sir.’

Hamilton was the first to pick out the small tender patrolling along the southern side of Quarry Bay. It was flying a White Ensign from its stern and he could just distinguish the skeletal outline of a two pounder in the bows. The stranger was moving purposefully across the black water with a crisp wave curling from its sharp stem.

‘Searchlight!’

The duty signalman swung Rapier’s reflector towards the picket-boat and switched on the power. The silvered beam danced quickly across the water and then trapped the mysterious patrol craft in its stark glare like a moth caught in the light of an electric torch. Hamilton focused his glasses and Mannon heard him suddenly laugh.

‘Okay, Jenkinson, you can switch off. Stop engines. Bring me alongside, Cox’n.’

So the prophetic joke had come true. Admittedly Snark wasn’t sitting in a rowing boat with a service rifle across his knees and snarling in defiance at the invaders. But Hamilton’s fight hearted appraisal of the post-captain’s character hadn’t been that far from the mark. With most of the Navy’s remaining surface ships cruising to the south of the island in anticipation of a seaborne attack, Snark had rapidly improvised an inshore defense force to cover the Straits. The tender, an old steam-driven pinnace dating back to the Victorian era, had been hastily daubed with grey paint and fitted with an equally ancient gun. And, with a scratch crew of Royal Naval personnel drawn from shore-duty ratings working in the dockyard offices and administration officers, Snark was imposing his own private blockade in defiance of the overwhelming odds facing him from across the mainland side of the narrow moat.

Hamilton climbed down the iron rungs on the outside of the conning tower and made his way onto the fore-deck casing as the wooden picket-boat bumped against Rapier’s exposed ballast tanks. Snark was standing on the gunwale and, as the two vessels came together, one of the submariners reached across the help him over the slippery plating to the deck.

‘What the deuce are you doing here, Hamilton?’ Snark barked belligerently. ‘I thought you were ordered to Singapore a week ago.’ He glared at the lieutenant. ‘Lucky for you I recognized the boat. In another couple of minutes we’d have taken you for a Jap sub and opened fire.’

Hamilton tried to repress a smile. The picket-boat’s antiquated pea-shooter would have been next to useless◦– any self-respecting Japanese submarine would have blown him out of the water inside thirty seconds. And Snark knew it. But it wouldn’t have stopped him from trying.

Snark growled to himself in the darkness. He was glad to have Rapier back, although he had no intention of admitting it. ‘The situation is hopeless,’ he announced bluntly. ‘But the Navy will go down fighting.’ He nodded towards Rapier’s deck gun. ‘I reckon you could do some satisfying damage with that,’ he added wistfully.

Despite his customary mistrust of authority, Hamilton recognized an unexpected determination in Snark’s attitude. The old boy was due for retirement in twelve months and, as an administrator, he couldn’t see further than the nose on his face. But he was a born fighter and a natural leader. And Hamilton had to admire his guts.

‘Please regard Rapier as coming under your orders, sir.’ He could not help feeling slightly amused at the formality of the phrase in the circumstances. With the enemy poised on the northern shore, the crash of exploding shells reverberating across the bay, and the night sky fit by fires still burning on both sides of the narrow straits, two naval officers were quietly deciding the appropriate lines of seniority and command in the approved regulation manner, with a total disregard for the chaos and confusion that surrounded them on all sides. To the impartial observer it was highly incongruous◦– but very British.

‘Thank you, Lieutenant. Your offer is appreciated.’

Snark smiled thinly. ‘But I think you will probably do better if I give you a free hand.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Let me put you in the picture. I’ve organized a make-shift flotilla of small boats to cover the narrows opposite Kowloon. We can’t use our bigger ships at the western end of the Straits◦– the enemy has artillery batteries dug in every hundred yards along the Kowloon waterfront. Firefly is covering the eastern approaches down to Lye Mun Point and Gandy’s Second Flotilla is patrolling Junk Bay. My boats will be keeping an eye on the harbor area down as far as the Sulphur Channel and that leaves our most vulnerable point◦– Quarry Bay and the Taikoo shipyard◦– wide open. If you can maintain a standing patrol in that area during the night, we should have all sectors covered against a landing attempt.’

Hamilton nodded. ‘You realize that I’ll have to dive at dawn, sir,’ he pointed out. ‘I daren’t risk remaining on the surface in daylight.’

‘Quite understood, Lieutenant. In any event, Rapier is far too valuable to lose. After submerging I suggest you withdraw eastwards and remain in the vicinity of Lam Tong Island. The Japs won’t try a daylight attack across the Straits, but they might launch a seaborne assault. If you’re lying off Lam Tong you’ll be protecting our eastern flank, while Circala and Tern are guarding our southern and western coasts.’ Snark drew himself up straight as he brought the discussion to an end. ‘Good luck, Lieutenant. You can rely on the rest of us coming to your support if you need it.’

Hamilton saluted and escorted the captain to the port side, where the men waiting in the steam pinnace helped him safely down the slippery ballast tanks and onto the gunwale. Someone had painted HMS Dreadnought in large black letters on the side of the antediluvian tender and Hamilton could not resist a smile as he saw it. No doubt Snark disapproved of such levity, but he had the wisdom to ignore the wanton desecration of his beloved government property. And Hamilton concluded that the old post captain was probably secretly pleased by this unorthodox demonstration of his men’s high morale.

Black coal smoke and a shower of dancing red sparks erupted from the tender’s spindly funnel as she went astern to clear the submarine and then, with her White Ensign snapping proudly in the breeze, she chugged away until her outline was swallowed up by the darkness.

‘Half-ahead together.’ As Rapier began moving forward Hamilton glanced at Mannon. ‘There’ll be no sleep for us tonight, Number One. And we’ll have to miss our grub.’ He stared out over the starboard side at the opaque blackness that cloaked the mainland. The fires had mostly died away and the darkness added a furtive secrecy to the enemy’s preparations. ‘I wonder what the bastards are up to?’

‘Could we risk going inshore for a quick look, sir?’

‘I suppose we might get away with it if we were to make a high speed run down the coast on the surface,’ Hamilton said thoughtfully. Like Mannon he found the challenge difficult to resist. And the depth of the water precluded a more cautious submerged approach. ‘To hell with it◦– let’s try it!’ He turned to Blood. ‘Cox’n steer towards those fires on the airfield. When we’re half a mile off-shore turn east and follow the coast.’

The fact that Hamilton’s impulsive decision would probably bring Rapier under fire did not seem to unduly worry the phlegmatic Ernie Blood. The old veterans had seen it all before◦– and survived. Having sailed through the Dardanelles with Martin Nasmith’s E.n in 1915 and escaped a steam submarine disaster in the twenties, the coxswain was a fatalist. If his number came up this time he’d had a good innings. And he did not believe in meeting trouble before it arrived.

‘Aye aye, sir.’

Rapier’s bows began to swing to starboard as Blood spun the helm and Hamilton searched the darkness ahead for enemy patrol ships.

‘Ring down for maximum speed, Number One.’ He moved to the front of the bridge and leaned over the screen. ‘We’re going to take a run down the coast, Morgan,’ he shouted to the gunner’s mate. ‘Keep trained to port and load up with HE. If we see anything worth shooting at I’ll give you the word.’

‘Deck gun, aye aye, sir.’

‘Keep your eyes peeled, look-outs! And sing out if you spot anything. But concentrate on the water◦– I’ll watch out for shore targets.’

‘I thought this was a recce run, sir,’ Mannon reminded him quietly. Hamilton’s preparations suggested a rather more active role.

‘Well, I’ve changed my mind, Number One. No point in half measures. If we spot any landing craft I intend to blow ’em out of the water. It’s about time someone remembered that attack is the best means of defense.’

‘Turning to starboard, sir,’ Blood reported.

The barrel on Rapier’s deck gun swung to the left as the coxswain brought the submarine parallel to the northern shore and Hamilton began surveying the mainland through his binoculars as he searched for signs of enemy activity. He knew he was taking a gamble, but the element of risk involved would be reduced to the minimum by the priceless advantage of surprise.

There was certainly plenty going on. Army trucks were creeping along the roads in long straggling convoys and, at odd intervals, Hamilton could see small groups of tents where Japanese soldiers were setting up camp. Other troops were busy clearing the debris of burnt-out aircraft at Kai Tak, so that the landing ground would be ready to receive their own planes at dawn. An engineer unit was hard at work repairing a small road bridge under the inadequate light of storm lanterns that flickered fitfully in the off-shore breeze.

‘Something’s going on over there, sir!’ Mannon reported suddenly. ‘Fine on the port bow◦– about a thousand yards.’ Hamilton lowered his glasses and found the deep shadows that had attracted Mannon’s attention. Raising the binoculars he focused on a group of seven or eight small pontoons lying in the water. Moving his search to the left, he could see a dozen open trucks unloading more of the flat bottomed craft and a number of Japanese soldiers working like beavers in the dim glow of carefully shaded lamps.

‘Stand by for gun action! Target red-two-zero. Landing craft.’

‘I’ve got them, sir. Range eight-hundred.’

‘Confirmed. Ten rounds rapid, Mister Gunner!’

The first shell burst on the shingle and spat fragments of jagged stones in all directions like shrapnel. The second struck a pile of pontoons waiting to be lowered into the water and flames leapt skywards as the wooden hulls ignited. Hamilton could hear the confused orders and counter-orders as the officers tried to bring the panic-stricken troops under control and he saw a large truck spinning its rear wheels in the damp earth as its driver made a frantic bid to get clear.

Rapier’s third shell slammed into the cab of the lorry, where it exploded and sent up a sheet of vivid white flame that lit the entire area like a parachute flare. It revealed a scene of utter chaos – burning trucks, smashed and broken pontoons, and men running wildly in all directions to escape the murderous and unexpected attack from the peaceful darkness of the sea. Hamilton felt the adrenalin surge into his blood as the primitive excitement of battle gripped him.

‘Steer inshore, Cox’n. Let’s give the Lewis guns a chance. Is 500 yards enough, MacIntyre?’

The machine gunner grinned cheerfully and raised an upturned thumb. ‘Aye, that’ll be fine, sir,’ he confirmed in a thick Glaswegian accent.

‘Open fire when you’re ready ’

He heard the sharp click of the bolt as MacIntyre tucked the butt of the Lewis gun into his shoulder and sighted the shadowy figures scrambling for cover. Tak-tak-tak-tak-tak… tak-tak-tak-tak…. A line of tracer bullets ripped into the darkness and the screams of the soldiers carried back across the black water like the cadences of dying banshees. MacIntyre jerked the machine gun to the left and opened up on a group of Japanese struggling to climb aboard an escaping truck.

The devastating attack was all over in less than sixty seconds. Caught by surprise and with no weapons to hand, the enemy troops were unable to reply to the fusillade of high-explosive shells and machine gun bullets, and Rapier ran clear of the shingled beach without so much as a scratch. As the target area passed astern, Hamilton carried out a hurried post-mortem in the ruddy light of the burning lorries. At least two trucks had been hit and a dozen pontoons totally destroyed while, sprawled on the shingle, over twenty motionless bodies testified to the killing power of MacIntyre’s Lewis gun. It had been a highly successful hit-and-run raid even though it had not completely knocked out the enemy’s improvised embarkation point. A number of pontoons remained undamaged and, as he ordered Morgan to check fire, Hamilton could see the soldiers cautiously emerging from behind cover to assess the damage.

Rapier’s skipper now faced three choices: to circle around on the engines and return for a second strike, to switch over to the motors and go astern for a repetition of the bombardment, or to earn on eastwards in search of fresh targets. If he returned for a second attack, the enemy would be on the alert and he might not be so lucky. He made his decision without a moment’s hesitation.

‘Maintain course, Cox’n. But stay about a thousand yards offshore – I don’t want to run aground on the shoals.’ As Blood acknowledged the order, Hamilton leaned forward over the bridge screen. ‘Good shooting, lads. I’ll see if I can find you some more targets.’

‘Looks as though the Japs were planning a landing for tonight, sir,’ Mannon observed as the skipper rejoined him on the port-wing of the bridge.

Hamilton shrugged. ‘Possibly. More likely tomorrow◦– they’ve no artillery in position. And they’ll need gun support if they attempt a crossing.’

‘Landing craft ahead!’

Morgan’s warning shout put a stop to further speculation and both officers peered anxiously into the darkness. This time it was Mannon who found the target first. ‘Eleven o’clock off port bow, sir! Eight-hundred yards. Boats moored to a small landing stage.’ His glasses swung to the left. ‘And a number of trucks parked behind the trees.’ Guided by the first officer’s directions, Hamilton picked up the new target without difficulty. The enemy concentration was considerably larger than the previous one and most of the pontoons were already in the water loaded to the gunwales with fully equipped combat troops. Mannon was right. The Japs did intend to cross the Straits tonight!

‘Gun action! Target red-two-zero… range eight-hundred. Fire! Fire! Fire!’

It was impossible to miss, and every salvo found its mark as Rapier’s gunners poured shell after shell into the crowded target area. To an impartial observer it was little more than sheer bloody carnage. But to Hamilton and his men, already sickened by Japanese atrocities in China and Malaya, it was a just and rewarding vengeance on an enemy that asked, and gave, no quarter.

A fully laden pontoon reared like a startled horse and threw its cargo of soldiers into the sea as a near miss exploded close under its stern. Another vanished in a sheet of blinding flame as Morgan’s men scored a direct hit on a box of ammunition. A third swung violently to starboard and collided with its companion. Within two minutes, the sea was strewn with wreckage, equipment, floating bodies, and struggling men. MacIntyre sighted his machine gun into the confusion and took deliberate aim at a group of soldiers staggering waist-deep towards the beach, bringing them down with a long sustained burst that ripped the night air with the sound of tearing calico. The water turned bright red as it lapped gently over the shingle and then fell back to leave the huddled remains of the dead soldiers on the wet stones; like grotesque black starfish thrown up and abandoned by the sea.

A concealed machine gun opened up from behind the trees and heavy caliber bullets thudded against the thin steel plating of the conning tower. MacIntyre swung his Lewis gun towards the source of the firing and answered with a quick burst that quickly silenced the opposition.

‘Hard a’starboard!’

Mannon had to grab for the bridge rail as Blood gave the submarine full right rudder. He looked towards the bows. Hamilton must have eyes in the back of his bloody head!

In a wild bid to escape the holocaust on the beach, three motorized pontoons had started their outboards and were heading away from the shore towards the center of the Strait, in the hope that sea-room would bring safety. A bubbling white wash curled from their square sterns as they increased speed. Mannon could see the soldiers hanging on for grim death as the flat-bottomed landing craft bounced and jolted across, the smooth water.

‘Steer at them, Cox’n!’ Hamilton shouted to Blood. ‘Ram the bastards!’

Rapier’s sharp steel bows cut the leading landing craft in half and it vanished beneath the black water within seconds. The broad sweep of the starboard ballast tank struck the second pontoon a glancing blow that splintered the frail wooden hull like matchwood. It tilted on to its beam-ends, hung precariously for a few moments, and then turned over. MacIntyre’s Lewis gun raked the sea as the survivors bobbed to the surface and his trigger finger did not relax its pressure until every man was dead.

The last pontoon in the line swerved sharply to starboard to avoid a similar fate and then swung purposefully towards the avenging submarine while the soldiers tried to bring their machine gun to bear. But with less than twenty yards to go, the clumsy flat-bottomed craft caught the full force of Rapier’s bow wave and it reared up as a wall of cresting water swept under its blunt snout. Lacking the stability of a properly designed boat, it capsized in an instant and flung its occupants into the sea.

Most of the soldiers were dragged under by their heavy combat equipment and drowned within seconds, but three threw themselves forward with fanatical determination and tried to gain a grip on Rapier’s slippery hull plating. The officer leading them was quickly swept away by the wash and his screams rent the night air as the propellers caught him.

‘No prisoners!’

The submariners reacted to Hamilton’s grim order without hesitation. Morgan grabbed an iron stanchion, ran along the fore-deck, and smashed it down on the hands of the first Japanese as he tried to haul himself to safety. Ryuji Kamisaka screamed but, ignoring the agony of his broken fingers, he continued to cling on with his left hand. Morgan struck again and the army corporal fell back into the sea with an anguished cry, drifted helplessly astern for a few brief moments, and then raised his arm and vanished beneath the surface.

The second soldier had already pulled himself up onto the fore-deck casing by the time Walker arrived in the bows and he received the seaman’s boot in his face for his efforts. Losing his grip, he fell backwards into the water with a loud splash and disappeared.

The excitement was over before Rapier’s men had had time to consider what they were doing. The skipper had given an order and responding to discipline they had carried it out. No one questioned whether it was lawful. And no one mentioned the Geneva Convention. It had been a matter of kill or be killed. In the heat of combat, personal survival could be the only consideration….

‘Destroyers to starboard!’

‘Check fire! New target three thousand yards on starboard bow◦– stand by!’

In the confusion of a night battle it is easy to make a mistake and Hamilton wanted positive identification before he ordered Rapier’s deck gun to open fire. The approaching ships were unlikely to be British◦– but, he readily admitted it was an outside chance, they could be American.

‘Three ships in line ahead◦– estimated speed twenty-five knots,’ Mannon reported as he watched the approaching destroyers through his glasses. ‘No lights.’

The crashing roar of an exploding shell astern rocked the submarine violently and Hamilton glanced back quickly at the shore. In the flickering glow of the burning trucks he could see a Japanese field gun on the shingle beach with another being manhandled alongside it. The heady self-confidence created by their two easy successes quickly disappeared in the face of this new danger. Suddenly everything had gone sour. And, if the approaching warships proved to be Japanese, the enemy had the submarine trapped between two fires!

‘Reverse course, Cox’n. Steer west and make for mid-channel. I’m going to need diving room.’ Hamilton leaned over the engine room voice pipe. ‘Maximum revs, O’Brien! Pull out all the bloody stops!’

‘Engine room, aye aye, sir.’

Having replaced the plug of the speaking-tube, Hamilton joined Mannon as Rapier heeled over sharply and swung onto her new course.

The leading warship had closed to 2,500 yards and not even the darkness could disguise the knuckled bow and cranked funnels of a typical Japanese destroyer. Yellow flame stabbed from her for’ard gun turret and, as the fierce crack of cordite echoed across the sea, two uncomfortably well-placed shells exploded close under the stern, throwing up towering geysers of dirty brown water.

Hamilton seemed unconcerned by the unexpected accuracy of the enemy fire. With calm professional detachment, he noted the color of the water thrown up by the bursting shells and turned to Mannon. ‘They’ve stirred up the mud, Number One,’ he observed casually. ‘And that means we haven’t enough depth of water for diving.’

The next salvo brought four shells whining down on the fleeing submarine, but Blood’s expert handling of the helm kept Rapier out of immediate danger and Hamilton could feel the vessel jinking and twisting as the coxwain tried to throw off the enemy’s aim. He leaned over the for’ard bridge screen. ‘Secure from Action Stations, Mister Gunner. Get below!’ Two more explosions rocked Rapier to starboard arid the crumbling fountain of water thrown up by the bursting shells fell on the exposed bridge like a shower of heavy summer rain. ’Stand by Diving Stations! First Officer and Coxwain to remain on the bridge. All hands below!’ Hamilton moved to the voice pipe. ‘Stand by to take over lower steering. What’s the depth of water, Pilot?’

Scott checked the echo sounder on the starboard bulkhead. ‘Thirty-five feet, sir.’

‘Thank you, Pilot,’ Hamilton turned to Mannon. ‘No chance of diving yet, Number One. I’m not going to risk sticking the old girl’s nose in the mud.’ Crouching down on his knees, he opened the signal locker and fumbled inside. ‘Are they gaining on us?

‘Yes, sir◦– range down to two thousand.’ Mannon sounded a little puzzled. ‘The rear ship seems to be firing at something to the south.’

‘Perhaps it’s bombarding Taikoo,’ Hamilton suggested as he continued his search of the locker.

‘I don’t think so◦– the shells are falling too short. Hang on… I can see another ship. Looks like a gunboat.’ Hamilton found what he wanted and straightened up holding a couple of large cylindrical canisters. Tucking them under his arm, he raised his binoculars to find out the cause of Mannon’s excitement.

The jaunty outline of a China gunboat, its light grey paintwork merging into the misty background of Victoria Island, was barely distinguishable in the bad light. But the large battle flag fluttering from the pole mast and the black smoke belching from her tandem funnels abaft the wheel-house made it impossible to mistake her purpose. Flame flashed from the muzzle of the for’ard gun as she challenged the destroyers.

‘It looks like Firefly, sir!’

‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised, Number One,’ Hamilton agreed calmly. ‘Only an idiot like Harry Ottershaw would take on three destroyers. They’ll blow him out of the water with a couple of salvos.’

‘Do we go about and give him support, sir?’ Mannon asked.

Hamilton shook his head. ‘No◦– and Ottershaw wouldn’t thank us for it if we did. He’s only shown himself in order to draw the Japs away and give us time to find deep water. If Rapier turns back, we’ll both be done for.’ He flipped open the cover of the voice pipe. ‘Control Room-take over lower steering. Stand by to dive.’ He snapped the lid shut and turned to Blood. ‘Diving stations, Cox’n. Get below.’ Ernie Blood moved to the upper hatch. He was sorry to miss the fun. But on the other hand, he preferred to be a live hero rather than a dead one and he wholeheartedly endorsed the skipper’s unpalatable decision.

‘One of the destroyers is resuming chase, sir.’ Mannon warned from his vantage point at the rear of the conning tower. ‘The other two are closing on Firefly.’

As Hamilton glanced astern to check the situation, he saw flame suddenly leap mast-high from the gunboat’s superstructure as a salvo of enemy shells crashed down and exploded behind the wheelhouse. The little ship shuddered under the impact of two more direct hits but, seemingly undeterred by the punishment she was taking, Firefly defiantly maintained course towards her two powerful antagonists and a well-aimed shell from the for’ard gun forced one of the destroyers to turn away.

Hamilton moved to the engaged side of the bridge, jerked the fuse of the smoke candle, and threw the spluttering canister into the water. It was a device issued to submarines for service as a distress signal◦– the smoke from the canister floating on the surface indicated the location of the sunken vessel to rescue craft hurrying to its assistance. At that precise moment Rapier was certainly in distress and, in the circumstances, Hamilton felt justified in putting the emergency canisters to a more immediate and practical use. Ripping the paper from the second cylinder he tossed it into the water to join its companion.

‘Depth of water, Mister Mannon?’

The first officer moved to the voice pipe to transmit the question to the control room below and waited while Scott checked the echo sounder.

‘Forty feet and shelving, sir.’

‘Very good, Number One. Get below. Diving in one minute.’

Baffled by the improvised smoke screen, the pursuing destroyer reduced speed and stopped firing.

There was a brief respite and then an unlucky gust of wind suddenly cleared a gap through the smoke to reveal the fleeing Rapier barely a mile away. Hamilton heard a salvo of shells screaming towards the defenseless submarine. A near miss kicked Rapier to port and, before the submarine had fully recovered, Hamilton was hurled across the bridge by the blast of a second shell bursting close under the starboard ballast tank. The brilliant white flash of the explosion dazzled his eyes and he fumbled blindly for a handhold.

Then, just as suddenly, the unpredictable breeze changed direction again and closed the gap in the smoke screen, bringing another short but vital reprieve from the enemy guns. Seizing his opportunity, Hamilton clambered down into the upper hatch and pressed the diving klaxon.

AHOOA…AHOOA…AHOOA.

Rapier was already sliding beneath the surface by the time he reached the control room and a quick glance at the dials showed that Mannon had used his intelligence and put the submarine into a shallow dive so that if, by ill-luck, they struck the muddy bottom of the Straits, it would only a glancing blow.

‘Propeller noises approaching, sir,’ Murray reported from the hydro-phones.

‘Slow ahead both motors◦– level at forty feet.’

Hamilton made no attempt to stop engines and shut down for depth charges◦– the water was probably too shallow for the destroyer to use underwater weapons without placing herself in equal danger. It was a gamble worth taking. Every single minute counted and, once Rapier could reach the area covered by the shore batteries, she would be safe from further attack. Not even the most foolhardy enemy captain would put his ship at risk against shore guns….

The submarine suddenly jolted sideways as if struck by a giant hammer, light bulbs shattered, gauge glasses cracked, and cork insulation wafted down from the deck head seams like fine brown snow. Ten seconds later, as the men were picking themselves up off the deck, the angry rumble of a violent explosion echoed like distant thunder against the hull plates.

‘Either that was bloody close,’ someone murmured ‘or the Japs are using fucking big depth charges!’

The force of the concussion had blown the main fuses and there was a general sigh of relief as the emergency lamps glowed to life. Hamilton cast an anxious eye at the dials and felt reassured by what he saw. He rubbed a large bruise on his left buttock, where he had been thrown against a valve wheel.

‘I don’t think it was a depth charge,’ he said quietly. ‘It sounded more like a ship blowing up.’ He turned to Murray crouched over his hydro-phone equipment. ‘Where’s the destroyer now?’

‘Passed directly overhead just before the explosion, sir. HE suggests she’s turned south towards Victoria….’ Murray paused, listened intently and carefully moved the knurled knob of his apparatus. ‘Still turning, sir. Now headed east towards Junk Bay.’

‘Periscope depth!’

‘Up-helm ’planes◦– level at thirty.’

The two coxswains eased the big diving wheels to the left and watched the red needles of the depth gauges swing upwards.

‘Thirty feet, sir!’

‘Reverse ’planes… keep her level, Cox’n.’

‘Up periscope!’

Hamilton grabbed the handles and pulled them down as the thin stalk of the ’scope poked above the waves. He circled quickly until the upper lens was bearing towards the stern. The water suddenly drained from the angled glass and he found himself staring into the soft darkness of the tropical night, with a canopy of stars twinkling against the black velvet vault of the sky above the horizon. He picked out the stern of the destroyer disappearing in the general direction of Lye Mum Point and then carried out a swift 360 degree search of the surface to make sure there were no other enemy warships in the vicinity.

He could just make out the shapes of the other two destroyers circling off the coast to the east◦– their searchlights sweeping the surface as if looking for something. He switched to the high magnification lens for a closer inspection of the scene and watched the third destroyer join its companions. Working in formation, the three warships quartered the area off Taikoo like restless hounds prowling outside the lair of a runaway fox. Then, as a signal lamp flashed from one of the destroyers, they formed up in line ahead. Gathering speed, they steered eastwards towards the open sea. Hamilton watched them vanish and then surveyed the empty waters of Quarry Bay once again.

‘Down periscope.’ He turned away as the column sank back into its womb under the deck. ‘Firefly’s gone,’ he announced unemotionally. ‘The Japs were searching for survivors but I doubt if they found any. Must have been a direct hit on the magazine. That would account for the explosion we heard.’

No one spoke for a few moments, but they all knew Firefly had deliberately sacrificed herself to ensure their escape. It was Mannon who finally broke the brooding silence with an epitaph that voiced the thoughts of every man in the submarine’s control room.

‘I reckon Harry Ottershaw deserves a bloody Victoria Cross.’

Hamilton leaned his elbows on the table while he studied the chart. Snark wanted him to patrol off Lam Tong Island during the hours of daylight and that meant a long sweep past Larama Island and then a run to the east keeping south of Victoria Island itself. It was tempting to cut through the channel via Deep Water, Repulse, and South Bays. But once the sun had risen, he had little doubt that Japanese air patrols would be scouring the inshore areas in search of any remaining British warships still afloat and he wanted to proceed on the surface to save Rapier’s batteries.

‘Urgent damage report, sir.’

Hamilton straightened up as O’Brien came through the bulkhead hatch into the control room.

‘What’s the trouble, Chief?’

‘Starboard bunker leaking, sir. Clayton’s been checking the oil level and it’s dropping steadily even though the engines aren’t running.’

Hamilton felt a cold finger trace slowly down his spine. O’Brien was worried about the loss of fuel and the consequent reduction in Rapier’s effective range. Hamilton’s fear was more immediate. With oil leaking from the damaged bunker, the submarine was leaving a trail on the surface which, once spotted, would bring every available enemy ship and aircraft zeroing in for the kill. If he came to the surface and radioed Rapier’s exact position to the Japanese flagship they’d be in no greater danger!

‘How much fuel in the other bunkers, Chief?’

‘About forty tons, sir.’

‘Well that’s sufficient for the moment. Pump all the remaining fuel in the damaged tank overboard immediately.’

O’Brien hesitated. It was not in his nature to question orders, but he wondered whether the skipper realized the consequences of what he had just said. ‘But if we do that, sir,’ he pointed out, ‘we won’t have enough fuel left to go anywhere. I can plug the leak inside an hour or so. It’s better than losing ten tons by opening the taps.’

‘And until you do, Chief,’ Hamilton said coldly, ‘Rapier is leaving a trail of oil on the surface that’ll bring the entire Japanese Navy upon us in about the same time! It’s sunrise in thirty minutes. If we’re not at least five miles clear of that slick by dawn we won’t live long enough to see another. Pump the bunker clear as ordered, Mister O’Brien.’

‘Aye aye, sir.’

Hamilton returned to the chart table, pulled open a small drawer, and took out a slip of paper on which was written the latitude and longitude of a rendezvous point. He passed it to Scott.

‘I want to be at that position by noon, pilot. You’ll have to deduct an hour while we heave-to so that O’Brien can plug the leak. Can you do it?’

Scott glanced at the position shown on the slip of paper, gauged the distance on the chart, and nodded.

‘I think so, sir. Although it will mean running at least half the distance on the surface at maximum speed.’ The navigator frowned down at the chart. ‘There’s only one thing, sir. That fix you gave me is in the middle of the China Sea◦– there’s no land within two hundred miles. What the hell are we going to find when we get there?’ Hamilton smiled enigmatically. ‘Wait and see, Pilot. Wait and see. Just lay on a course◦– I’ll produce the rabbit out of the hat.’