Yashimoto's Last Dive

Ten

In the operations room at Kilindini the third officer Wren on duty in the morning watch wrote on the signal pad with one hand while holding the phone in the other. When the voice at the far end announced, ‘Message ends’ she replied with, ‘I’ll read it back.’ She did so, got an ‘Okay love’ from the Petty Officer in the Fleet W/T Office, tore the sheet from the pad and took it through to Cookson, the RNVR Lieutenant in charge of the watch.

‘From Restless,’ she said. ‘They’ve picked up the Fort N survivor.’

He threw his head back, an eyebrow raised in mock alarm. ‘The survivor. Sounds odd.’ He took the signal, read it aloud, looked at the Wren in surprise. ‘So it wasn’t a German U-boat,’ he said. ‘Haven’t been any reports of Jap submarines in the Mozambique Channel for at least six months. That last attack — the southbound convoy — was attributed to Gruppe Eisbdr.’

She frowned, wrinkled her nose. ‘Aren’t the Japanese dreadful. Killing survivors like that. It’s unspeakably brutal.’

‘Yes, they’re a bloody lot,’ he agreed. ‘But marvellous that Fort N scored a direct hit. I expect that’s why the poor sods were massacred.’

‘You shouldn’t call them sods.’ Her tone was censorious. ‘They’re dead.’ Since her relationship with Donald Cookson was a good deal closer than their respective ranks she had few inhibitions about his seniority.

‘You know what I mean, Jane,’ he protested. ‘Where’s Hutch? He should see this.’

‘Gone to the loo. In the meantime Restless says she proposes to remain in the area. Requests orders. Shouldn’t you do something?’

Cookson patted the front of his mouth to hide a yawn. ‘Have a heart. I’ve only had the signal for about forty-five seconds.’ He reached for the phone. ‘SOO will have to deal with this. It’s addressed to Captain (D).’

He glanced at the clock over the wall-chart. It showed 0449.

The Staff Officer Operations lived with a number of other officers in the big white house down the path from Navy House. When Cookson read him the signal he said, ‘Acknowledge it, repeated Deputy C-in-C and RAFHQ. Instruct Restless to remain in the area until further orders. That’s all. I’ll inform Captain (D).’

Deep in thought, Commander Russel hung up the phone and sat on the edge of the bed, his back to the mosquito netting, contemplating his feet. ‘Strange that Barratt should be involved. The mills of God no doubt.’ He nodded agreement as if someone else had made the remark, before reaching for the silk dressing gown which hung on the back of the door.

With a uniform jacket over his pyjamas the SOO stood at the top end of the operations table, billiard cue in hand. Pointing with it to the miniature model of a merchant ship on the many times enlarged chart, he said, ‘That’s the position Fort N gave in her four S signal.’ The cue moved northwards to a tiny grey warship. ‘That was Restless's position at 0435. Where she found the wreckage, twenty-six miles east of Ponto Pangani, picked up the survivor and saw evidence of the machine-gunning.’ He moved the cue back in a southerly direction. ‘The survivor last saw the submarine here. Surfaced and heading down-moon at about 2130. At that time down-moon would indicate a westerly heading. In other words, in towards the coast.’

Captain George Reynolds, short title Captain (D), a large, rotund man with mischievous blue eyes and a bucolic face, was the administrative authority for the destroyers, frigates and corvettes of the Eastern Fleet’s escort forces based on Kilindini. He looked up from the chart. ‘This chap Corrigan. I wonder how reliable a witness he is? You can’t see much when you’re in the water at night. At least I couldn’t and I’m more buoyant than most.’ He chuckled fruitily. ‘Of course mine was nasty cold Atlantic — and rough. Corrigan, one of the Yank’s gun-crew, claims a direct hit on the conning-tower. I wonder? It was a night action. Wasn’t it perhaps the flash and report of the submarine’s gun immediately forward of the conning-tower?’

The SOO nodded. ‘Survivors’ reports can be dodgy. Rather like witnesses of a road accident. Depends a lot on what they think they saw.’

‘Trouble is,’ said Captain (D), ‘non-submariners tend to regard the whole bridge structure as the conning-tower. They don’t realize that the tower inside all that free-flooding space is on about the same scale as one cigarette in a packet of twenty. If Fort N did secure a hit the odds are against it being on the conning-tower itself.’

‘On the other hand there was no point in massacring the survivors, unless…’ The gloomy aspect of the SOO’s face was heightened by shadows from the wall lighting.

‘Unless what, SOO?’

‘Unless the Japanese captain decided he must take steps to prevent it being known that the boat was damaged. But for Corrigan we wouldn’t have known, would we?’

‘Possibly. But I think it’s more likely that the Jap was simply working off his rage at being hit. It isn’t the first time their submarines have murdered survivors from merchant ships.’ Captain (D) sighed. ‘They tend towards the barbaric, you know.’

The SOO frowned at the little ships on the operations table as if they were somehow responsible. ‘However improbable, I do feel we shouldn’t dismiss the possibility that Corrigan may be right. As I see it we’re confronted with simple alternatives. One, that the submarine cannot dive — two, that it can. If the latter case I imagine it will remain on the surface until dawn, using darkness to move well away from the sinking. If it can’t dive it’s in trouble unless it can somehow evade air cover.’ He turned to the Flight Lieutenant who represented the RAF in the operations room. ‘What do you say, Hutchison?’

‘It certainly will be in trouble if it can’t dive, sir. The Catalinas take off shortly on routine dawn patrols.’ He looked at the wall clock. ‘In about fifteen minutes. One from here, the other from Pamanzi. We’ll concentrate them on the area to be searched — and put two more Cats in the air if necessary. Incidentally we’ve just heard that a Cat from Pamanzi was sent off shortly after the sinking to look for survivors in the position given in Fort TV’s signal. It got there a few hours later. Searched in heavy rain but found nothing.’

‘I see.’ The SOO looked doubtful. He pointed the billiard cue at the RNVR Lieutenant. ‘Plot the furthest-on right away, Cookson. One radius at twelve knots from 2130, the other at twenty knots. That’ll give us the Japs’ furthest-on at both economical and maximum speeds.’

‘More likely to be the former.’ Captain (D) mopped his forehead with a large handkerchief. ‘Our Nippon friend is a long way from base. Maximum speed burns up the fuel.’

Cookson measured off the radii from Fort Nebraska's position, plotted the furthest-on circles. The Flight Lieutenant jotted details on the notepad on which he’d already written the position co-ordinates. He looked at the SOO. ‘Will two Cats do?’

‘Yes, I think so. At least until we’ve briefed the Admiral. Important to cover the furthest-on areas first. Fortunately we have Restless down there.’

The Flight Lieutenant picked up the phone marked RAF. ‘Duty Officer, 290 Squadron,’ he said.

Captain (D) leant over the operations table. ‘If the submarine can’t dive it’ll opt for concealment during daylight. Not too difficult on this bit of coast.’ He pointed with a large finger. ‘We’ll put Restless on an inshore search right away. She can sniff round the coastline and islands. If the Admiral agrees we’ll ask 290 Squadron for a third Catalina to support her directly. Of course using the air means over-flying Portuguese territory.’

‘We’ve standing permission to overfly, sir, if we’re looking for survivors.’

‘Thank you, Hutchison,’ said Captain (D). ‘I’d forgotten that.’

The SOO snapped a finger at the RNVR Lieutenant. ‘Draft the signal to Restless, Cookson.’

While Cookson was busy with the signal Captain (D) and the SOO went out on to the verandah. Below them a thin curtain of mist rose from the water between Lukoni and Port Reitz, revealing as it lifted the hazy outline of warships at anchor.

Captain (D) looked at the dawn sky. ‘It’s going to be a hot day, Ian.’

The SOO nodded absent-mindedly. ‘I’m sorry in a way that Restless is down there. Not going to help Barratt.’

‘What are you driving at?’

‘You know — his wife’s death in Changi.’ The SOO’s expression of gloom deepened. ‘He’s just seen the remnants of a massacre. A Japanese one. That on top of the other business.’ He shrugged. ‘Could be too much.’

Captain (D)’s head moved up and down in slow affirmation. ‘I see what you mean. On the other hand it may help him work off steam. The possibility of coming to grips with the little yellow men. I’d hate to be one of them if he does.’ He looked at his watch, yawned noisily. ‘Another two hours to breakfast. Dear me. Don’t think I can hold out that long. You coming, Ian?’

‘I’ll come down later, George.’ The SOO looked puzzled. ‘Thought you were on a diet. Getting rid of some of that blubber?’

Captain (D)’s rubbery face arranged itself in a cheerful smile. ‘Came off it yesterday. But I don’t intend to overdo things. Couple of eggs, sausages and bacon, toast and marmalade, coffee, a little fruit perhaps — nothing excessive.’

The SOO shook his head. ‘You’re incorrigible.’

George Reynolds and Ian Russel had been term-mates at Dartmouth.

For Barratt the twenty minute interval between the despatch of his signal to Kilindini and the receipt of Captain (D)’s reply was a busy one. His first action was to put Restless on a north-westerly course and increase speed to twenty knots. ‘We’ll close the land,’ he explained to Charlie Dodds. ‘And make northerly progress. Let me have ETAs at Cape Delgado for the submarine. One at twelve knots the other at sixteen. And an ETA for Restless at twenty knots.’

The Navigating Officer made for the chartroom.

Barratt had an open mind about the extent to which the submarine might have been damaged. While he had reservations about survivors’ reports, particularly where night action was concerned, he was influenced by Corrigan’s evidence that it had last been seen heading down-moon. That meant towards the coast, and that was why Barratt was taking Restless in that direction.

Other considerations influenced him: if the submarine could still dive, as he thought likely, it would get away from the scene of the sinking with its evidence of a massacre, and hunt for its next target. Unescorted ships kept close to the coast; Cape Delgado was a focal point for shipping; once off it a change of course was necessary; what better place for targets than its approaches?

Looking at the chart to decide on his course of action he had noted that the boundary between Tanganyika and Mozambique was the Rovuma River, its mouth some twenty miles north of Cape Delgado. If the submarine could not dive, the coast south of the Rovuma River was not only neutral territory but so studded with small islands, bays and inlets as to be an almost ideal hiding place.

That thought triggered another: the German cruiser Konigsberg, when evading pursuit by British cruisers in the 1914-18 War, had holed up in the Rufigi River south of Dar-es-Salaam, only to be found and destroyed there later by HMS Hampshire. Perhaps, thought Barratt, the Rovuma

River could be to the Japanese submarine what the Rufigi had been to the German cruiser.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival in the chart-room of the Coxswain. Behind him at the door stood a young man with tousled hair, bloodshot eyes and scratches on his face and arms. The deeply tanned, muscular body seemed too large for the white shorts and vest he wore. ‘Leading Seaman Corrigan, USNR, sir,’ announced the Coxswain. ‘The doctor says he’s in pretty good shape but needs a rest.’

Barratt said, ‘Come in, Corrigan. Glad to hear you’re all right. I won’t keep you long, but your answers to one or two questions may be very important.’ The Captain nodded towards the Chief Petty Officer. ‘You may carry on, Coxswain.’

The ten minute chat with Corrigan put a question mark over Barratt’s belief that the submarine could still dive. When he explained to the American why it was unlikely that the conning-tower itself had been damaged, Corrigan disagreed with a good deal more vigour than was customary between officers and ratings in the Royal Navy.

‘Got a picture of a submarine here?’ he challenged. ‘I’ll show you right where that shell went in.’ As an afterthought he added, ‘sir.’

Barratt took from the shelf a copy oi Jane’s Fighting Ships, found the section dealing with the Imperial Japanese Navy, turned the pages until he came to those dealing with submarines. ‘Here’s an “I” class built just before the War.’ He pointed to it.

Corrigan looked at the photograph closely, took a pencil from the chart-table. ‘The shell went in right here.’ He indicated the point of entry with the pencil. ‘Dead in line with the space between the two periscopes. And that’s where the conning-tower is.’

Barratt was taken aback. ‘You’ve served in submarines, then?’

‘No, sir. But we were shown over a couple when we did our gunnery course. And we had blown-up diagrams of enemy submarines. For points of aim, you know.’

Barratt frowned. ‘You’re not telling me you aimed to hit the conning-tower?’

Corrigan’s scratched face broke into a grin. ‘No, sir. It was a dark night with flashes of lightning and there was just the two of us. Me and Smitty Fredericks and he was wounded. I just aimed in the general direction of the midships superstructure. I guess it was a dead lucky hit.’ He shook his head in disbelief of what had happened. ‘But later, when I was about thirty feet from the submarine, in bright moonlight, I saw right good where that shell went in. Take it from me, Captain, that Jap can’t dive.’

Barratt was thoughtful, looking at the photograph in Jane’s and then at the chart. At last he said, ‘If you’re right, Corrigan, we have a sporting chance of finding him.’

‘I’d like to be around when you do, sir.’

The Captain nodded sympathetically. ‘I can understand that.’

He went on to question the American about the machinegunning, and the direction in which the submarine had headed as it left the scene.

Having confirmed what he’d told the First Lieutenant, Corrigan added, ‘You know why those…’ He hesitated on the edge of obscenity. ‘Why they killed my buddies, sir — I’ll tell you. It was because they knew they’d been hit real bad. That submarine couldn’t dive. If that news got out their number was up. That’s why they killed like they were goddam butchers.’

‘Thank you, Corrigan. What you’ve told me is most helpful.’ He looked at the young man with quizzical eyes. ‘What was your job before the war?’

‘Lifeguard, sir. On the beach at Sandport, Massachusetts.’ The Captain smiled. ‘That explains a lot.’ When the American had gone, Barratt put Jane's Fighting Ships back in the rack. ‘Did you hear that, Pilot?’ he asked Dodds who was working at the chart-table.

‘I heard most of it, sir.’

‘He seems pretty sure the Jap can’t dive.’

Dodds looked up from the pad on which he’d been making notes. ‘Yes, he does,’ he said in an offhand way, adding, ‘I’ve got those ETAs ready, sir.’

Soon after Corrigan left the chartroom Barratt sent for the First Lieutenant. ‘I need you for a council of war,’ he said when Sandy Hamilton arrived. ‘Captain (D)’s signal orders us to remain in the area and search the immediate coastline.’ Barratt straightened up from the chart-table and stretched his arms. ‘I intend to interpret that fairly liberally. Two Catalinas on routine AM patrol are taking off about now. They’ll be showing up in a few hours’ time. The Pamanzi chap first because he hasn’t got so far to come. Right. Now for the ETAs, Pilot.’

The Navigating Officer checked his notes. ‘For the submarine, ETA Cape Delgado at twelve knots will be 0630, at sixteen knots 0330. No allowance for current, and…’he tapped nervously on the chart-table with the fingers of one hand, ‘… I’ve assumed that he left the sinking position at 2130, and that at twelve knots he’ll have had to dive at dawn…’

‘Which is now,’ put in the First Lieutenant. ‘The sun was beginning to poke its rim above the horizon when I left the bridge a few minutes ago.’

‘He’s likely to have dived,’ said the Captain. ‘Unless he can’t — in which case he won’t be there. He’ll have gone inshore to hole up. What’s our ETA Cape Delgado?’

‘0835 at twenty knots, sir.’

‘I see.’ Barratt pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, cleared his throat and bent over the chart-table. ‘So the Jap is well ahead of us at either speed, and we…’ He nodded at some indivulged thought. After a brief silence he said, ‘If this submarine can dive I think we can more or less forget him until his next sinking. I’m going to assume that he can’t, that Corrigan’s right. As far as I’m concerned it’s more a gut feeling than anything else. Probably because I want to believe that he can’t dive. If he’s stuck on the surface he’ll try to hide. That’ll give us a sporting chance. Where he can go, we can. Our draughts are much the same.’ He coughed, took out a handkerchief, wiped his mouth. ‘We’ll start at the Rovuma River mouth. It’s about twenty miles north of Cape Delgado. When we’ve checked it thoroughly we’ll work south. He won’t be north of the river. Too risky. Tanganyika is British territory. If he has to hide he’ll stick to the Mozambique coast. Somewhere between where Fort N sank and the Rovuma River. Perhaps in the Rovuma.’ Barratt turned from the chart-table. ‘What d’you chaps think?’

‘Portuguese neutrality, sir? If we operate close inshore?’ The First Lieutenant sounded doubtful.

‘They are very much our friends, Number One. And it’s a pretty deserted coastline. Not much more than a thin sprinkling of African fishing villages along the bit we’re interested in. We’re looking for survivors from the Fort N if we’re asked. You, Pilot. What’s your view?’

‘If Corrigan’s story is correct…’He sounded doubtful, shrugged. ‘I suppose it gives something to go on. But the hide-out, if there is one, won’t be in the Rovuma River, sir. I’d thought of that too. So I read it up in the Sailing Directions. There’s a sand-bar across the mouth. Even at high tide there isn’t enough water for anything but a ship’s boat to cross it.’

There was a sudden silence. The Captain sighed, his face reflecting disappointment. ‘So that rules out the Rovuma.’ He looked down at the chart. ‘Well, there’s a lot of other places south of it that are promising. And there’s a couple of things in our favour.’ He turned to face them. The grey of his eyes was accentuated by the shadows beneath them. A very tired man, thought the First Lieutenant. Doesn’t get enough sleep.

‘Yes, two things,’ went on Barratt. ‘If the sky remains reasonably clear we’ll have moonlight tonight. Secondly, there’ll be catamarans on the move in and around the islands. Some of the Africans in them may have seen the submarine.’ The expressions of doubt exchanged between Hamilton and

Dodds irritated him. ‘Or have you forgotten how we found the CoimbraV

The Coimbra, a Portuguese coaster, had run aground on a coral reef south of Dar-es-Salaam some months earlier and given a position which was badly in error. Restless had found the little ship by questioning African fishermen. Barratt had mentioned moonlight and the Coimbra because he sensed that Hamilton and Dodds were lukewarm about an inshore search and sceptical of Corrigan’s report that the submarine could not dive. At another time, in other circumstances, he might have shared their reservations, but the massacre of Fort Nebraska's crew and his preoccupation with what had happened in Changi Gaol combined to influence his judgement; to fill him with a blind determination to find the submarine, a resolve more emotional than rational.

Something in the First Lieutenant’s voice, in his expression, a restrained cynicism, suggested that he was aware of this. ‘We’ll be using the motorboat will we, sir?’ he said.

‘To contact the catamaran people?’

‘We will indeed, Number One. I’ve told the PO Tel to ‘ observe wireless silence — listening watch only. Once we’ve reached the mouth of the Rovuma River and begun our search to the south we’ll shut down on radar as well. No point in advertising our presence for the benefit of the Japs’ search receiver.’

The Navigating Officer shuddered as if assailed by an icy wind. ‘Navigating at night, close inshore, sir — through those narrow passages between the islands — coral reefs and sandbanks?’ He hesitated, the frown lifting his eyebrows.

Barratt stared at him. ‘Well,’ he said bluntly. ‘So what?’

‘Radar would be a big help, sir.’

‘We managed very well without it until quite recently.’

The Captain’s brusque manner made it clear that the matter was not arguable. ‘I’ve no doubt we’ll do so again.’