Yashimoto's Last Dive

Sixteen

The more he thought about it the more Barratt realized that Katu’s story presented him with a difficult decision, particularly against the background of Captain (D)’s recall signal. Much though he wanted to believe that Moroka’s ‘huge fish’ and Mahmoud’s ‘big boat like a whale’ were the Japanese submarine, he felt the stories, second and third hand as they were, smacked too much of fishermen’s tales. The Catalinas had been searching the islands and coastline morning and afternoon during the last two days. Surely they’d have seen the submarine if it had been in the creek at Maji Island?

If, however, the fishermen’s reports were correct, if they had seen the submarine — and with every fibre of his being he hoped they had — then a number of possibilities had to be weighed. The reports concerned something seen on or about midnight on November 20, the night of Fort Nebraska's sinking. It was now afternoon of the 22nd. If the submarine’s crew had repaired the shell damage it would already have left Maji Island. But if they had not, and it was still there, what were Restless's possible courses of action? That was Barratt’s problem. He dismissed the notion of closing the island in daylight to investigate. The submarine Captain would have placed lookouts to warn of ships approaching. According to Katu the island had a deep water creek. To steam into it without knowing its configuration and the depths of water would be to risk stranding Restless. To go in without knowing exactly where the submarine lay meant running the risk of a close range torpedo attack. Should he take Restless to a position off the entrance to the creek, clear of a possible line of torpedo fire, while he asked Kilindini for aircraft to check if the submarine was in the creek? That course of action he dismissed for two reasons: if in their searches so far the Catalinas hadn’t sighted it, it was either because it was not there or wasn’t visible from the air. But the more compelling reason was a psychological one: at the back of his mind he feared that the Catalinas might find and destroy the submarine. That was not what he wanted. His emotions had become too involved; it had become a matter of honour, a moral obligation, that he personally should exact retribution from the Japanese.

Though he would probably have been evasive on the point, he was not yet prepared to inform Kilindini of what he had learnt from Katu; to hand to others the opportunity which might shortly be his of finding and attacking the submarine. Influenced more by emotion than reason he decided to take Restless out to sea for the remainder of daylight, keeping clear of the area where Katu said the island lay. When darkness fell he would bring the destroyer close inshore and set about investigating Maji. He’d plan the detail during what was left of the day.

Restless had steamed some distance out to sea when a Catalina was sighted coming up the coast from the south, well to seaward of the islands. Much to Barratt’s relief it made no attempt to close the destroyer or exchange signals. It had no sooner gone than Peter Morrow arrived on the bridge with a new problem. ‘It’s about Katu, sir,’ he explained. ‘I told him of the change of plans. That we wouldn’t be asking him to take us to Maji Island until some time tonight. He wasn’t pleased. Said we’d promised to put him and his catamaran back on the fishing grounds this evening. If he’s away tonight his wife may think he’s drowned or, worse still, that he’s spending the night with a girl friend on another island.’

T see. Same all over the world, aren’t they? Did you give him those clothes and the other stuff?’

‘Yes. He’s very happy about that.’

‘I thought he might be. Look, Morrow. Tell him we’ll double the quantity of everything, if he stays with us tonight.

In the morning we’ll return him to where you found him. See him right away.’

The Sub-Lieutenant disappeared. Back on the bridge a few minutes later he reported that Katu had accepted the arrangement. ‘He says his wife won’t think bad things once she’s seen the loot.’

‘That RAF Pamanzi signal, Hutchison. In what position did their Catalina sight Restless at 1720 today?’ Captain (D)’s well-fleshed face glowed with perspiration as he dabbed at his forehead with a large handkerchief.

Hutchison pointed with a cue to the position on the plotting table. ‘Here, sir. Ten miles east of Medjumbi Island.’

Captain (D) got up from his chair, leant over the table. ‘I don’t understand what Barratt is up to. Yesterday morning he made his “getting warmer” signal to the Catalina. Stressed the importance of W/T silence. That sounded as if he was really on to something. Restless was then between Cape Delgado and Rovuma Bay, heading north. Late that evening a Catalina sighted her about forty miles south of Cape Delgado. So what takes Barratt down there? Yesterday evening we instructed him to return if he’d not made contact by sunset. He didn’t acknowledge our signal. We’ve no idea where he was or what he was doing during the night. But we do know he was off Cape Ulu this morning.’ Captain (D) shook his head, pointed with a podgy finger at Restless's 1720 position. ‘And here he is late this afternoon ten miles out to sea and thirty miles from Cape Ulu.’ He grunted disapproval. ‘Doesn’t make sense. He’s chasing round like a madman. What’s your view, SOO?’

Commander Russel took off his spectacles, massaged his eyelids, put the spectacles on again. ‘Quite extraordinary really. The “getting warmer” suggested he was on to something. Presumably he knew where the Jap was. A clue of some sort. But what sort, if it has him charging up and down the coast for thirty-six hours, and now takes him well out to sea? Where, incidentally, I should have thought he could safely have broken W/T silence.’

Captain (D)’s blue eyes, set deep in the bucolic face, reflected perplexity. ‘I don’t think we can let him go on with this Nelson act. Ignoring signals, etcetera. The Admiral’s becoming restive. So am I.’

Russel nodded gloomily. ‘Yes. I think we’ve got to rein him in. Restless's fuel must be running low, and she’s still a day and a half’s steaming from here. Apart from anything else, we must have her back by the 25th to augment the escort force for the carrier. That’s absolutely essential now that we know Japanese submarines are busy at this end.’

Captain (D) lifted himself out of the chair. Head up, hands clasped behind his back, he walked to the french windows. ‘Well, that decides it. We’ll pull him in.’ He looked over his shoulder to the signal desk. ‘Pam, take a signal.’ The Wren said, ‘Aye, aye, sir,’ arranged a signal pad in front of her, picked up a pencil, patted her hair, smiled expectantly.

Unclasping his hands Captain (D) scratched the back of his neck, looked thoughtful and began. ‘To Restless repeat Deputy C-in-C and RAFHQ, from Captain (D). Message begins — Return to base forthwith. Acknowledge — message ends.’

‘That should see him here by daylight on the 24th.’ The SOO looked at the wall-clock. It showed 1853. ‘I expect he’ll have some sort of story to tell.’

‘It’d better be a good one.’ Captain (D)’s eyebrows bunched in a threatening manner, one quite out of keeping with his genial nature. ‘Well, I must organize my sundowner,’ he said. On his way to the door he glared disapproval at the ancient punkah which squeaked intermittently as it flapped. ‘Sounds like a gull trying to take off after it’s eaten too much,’ he said. ‘Do get somebody to oil the ruddy thing.’

At the far end of the room Second Officer Camilla Lacey WRNS raised limpid blue eyes from the operations log she’d been entering. ‘We’ve reported it to the Fleet Engineer’s office, sir,’ she said.

‘Good heavens! Can’t somebody get up there with a can of Three-in-One? I wouldn’t have thought it was an engineering job.’

Hutchison looked up at the punkah, waved a dismissive hand. ‘I’ll see to it, sir,’ he said airily.

When Captain (D) had gone he went across to Camilla’s desk. ‘I’m no good at heights.’ He spoke in an undertone. ‘But I’ll be happy to hold the ladder if you’ll go up.’

‘I’m sure you will, Flight Lieutenant Hutchison RAF — but I won’t.’

‘Oh, well. Can’t win ’em all.’ He managed an exaggerated sigh before going back to the operations table.

By evening forbidding clouds had massed above the creek, shutting out the sun and hastening the coming of night. On Yashimoto’s orders repair work had ceased at sunset, to be resumed only when he gave the word. In the absence of the now familiar banging and clattering the only sounds were those of the submarine’s auxiliary machinery, for there was an otherwise strange silence in I-357 where men sat about in twos and threes, waiting in sombre mood for what was to come.

Before the time of sunset Lieutenant Sato had gone to the search receiver cabinet where the prisoner had been placed after sentence was passed. The Lieutenant waved aside the armed sentry at its entrance and entered the cabinet. Able Seaman Awa was sitting on the operator’s stool, head in hands, his back to the entrance, his elbows on the wooden ledge beneath the instruments.

‘Able Seaman Awa,’ Sato called. The young man turned, his eyes red, the flesh round them swollen. In spite of the heat he was shivering. Sato put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Have courage. You go to a far better place.’ He spoke softly. ‘Your ancestors will be there waiting for you. With them you will find eternal peace.’

There was scarcely room for one person in the cabinet, and with the Lieutenant standing in its entrance, any view those in the control-room might otherwise have had of Awa was blocked.

‘I have come’, continued Sato, ‘to ask if you have any messages for your family. I shall be writing to them.’ He lowered his voice to almost a whisper. ‘You may be sure I will speak well of you, Awa. You have been a good man.’

In a broken voice Awa said, ‘Please tell my mother and father and my sisters that I love them — I think of them always — ’ His voice petered out and he began to sob.

‘I will do that.’ The Lieutenant reached out, took Awa’s right hand in a firm grasp. It seemed to Sato moist, limp and lifeless as he pressed the sedative tablets into it. Continuing to whisper, he said, ‘I see you have water here, Awa. Swallow these now. They will help you.’

Awa withdrew his hand, turned once more to the instrument panel. He took the mug of water from the ledge with one hand while the other went to his mouth.

Once again the Lieutenant placed his hand on the prisoner’s shoulder. ‘I will be with you until the end, Awa. May Buddha bless you.’

It was not long before the shrill whistle of a boatswain’s call was followed by the Coxswain’s voice: ‘Men detailed for ceremonial and special duties muster on shore.’

Shafts of moonlight shone through shifting cloud patterns as the cortege led by the sturdy figure of Togo Yashimoto, followed by the First Lieutenant, the Engineer Officer and Gunnery Officer, made its way through the trees. In spite of the heat all wore their formal uniforms as they marched, the officers with sheathed swords at the carry.

They were followed in turn by a ceremonial party of twelve ratings drawn from different departments, their rifles at the slope. Ahead of them marched the Coxswain, Yoza Okudo, carrying an unsheathed naval cutlass over his shoulder.

Led by Lieutenant Sato, the prisoner and armed escort followed the ceremonial party. Behind them came four petty officers headed by the Chief Engine Room Artificer. The rear was brought up by four ratings carrying signal torches, and two men marching in tandem with a folded stretcher over their shoulders. Yashimoto’s attention to detail had been meticulous.

From the assembly point abreast the submarine, the Captain led his men through the trees bordering the creek to a small clearing opposite the bluff. Calling the procession to a halt, he ordered the torchbearers to stand at the four corners of a square which had been marked with stakes earlier in the afternoon. The ceremonial party then took station facing each other on two sides of the square. Yashimoto, his officers and the Coxswain marched between them to the far end to form the third side, while the petty officers under Hayeto Shimada completed the square, its corners now marked by the blue lights of the signal torches.

The prisoner and his escorts marched into the square and halted at its centre. Lieutenant Sato took up his position to the right of the condemned man.

At Yashimoto’s command, ‘The prisoner will kneel,’ Awa, wearing shorts and a vest, his hands handcuffed behind his back, was assisted into a kneeling position by the escorts who bent his shoulders forward until he faced the ground. As he knelt he had given a last despairing look towards Sato, but the Lieutenant had already closed his eyes.

Yashimoto nodded to Kagumi. ‘Carry on, First Lieutenant,’ he ordered.

The First Lieutenant spoke over his shoulder to the Coxswain who stood a few paces behind him. ‘Proceed with your duty, Coxswain,’ he said in a firm voice.

With the cutlass slanted over his shoulder the Coxswain marched to the centre of the square. There he stopped, facing the left hand side of the kneeling figure. With legs apart and both hands on its hilt he lifted the cutlass high above his head.

The moon rode clear of the clouds to reveal Yashimoto standing rigidly at attention, bearded chin out-thrust, dark eyes staring ahead. He raised his right arm with the stiff movement of an automaton, held it aloft, then dropped it sharply. Reflecting the light of the moon, the cutlass described a gleaming arc, the dull thud of cleavage scarcely audible as the prisoner’s head fell from his body and rolled to one side. The corpse collapsed in a twitching heap and the moon, as if satisfied that justice had been done, withdrew once more behind the clouds.

By eight o’clock that night those members of the crew who attended the execution had resumed their normal duties; for some it was with the foliage and camouflage parties; for others it was sentry duty; and for the rest, duties on board.

The prisoner’s corpse, its head beside it, had been carried down to the bluff on a stretcher, loaded into a motorized catamaran and taken out to sea where it was dumped beyond the headland east of the creek. No ceremony, no last rites, accompanied the disposal of Able Seaman Awa’s remains; there was, however, some concern that the head, not weighted with a large stone as was the body, had remained afloat until retrieved; to be weighted then with a shackle, whereafter it sank quietly into the sea.

Not that Awa had been forgotten, nor was likely to be; the affair was too dramatic, too recent for that. As it was, his execution was the subject of whispered discussion among the crew, ashore and afloat, for most of that night. Those who had not witnessed it, and they were in the majority, asked in awesome undertones for details: how had Awa behaved at the end? Had the Coxswain severed the head with a clean blow? Was there much blood? What was the Captain’s demeanour? These and many other questions were put and answered during a long night.

Togo Yashimoto, but for Saigo Awa the principal character in the drama, had in the solitude of his cabin spent some time kneeling before the Shinto shrine. Dressed in a ceremonial white kimono, he had addressed his prayers variously to the Emperor, the Gods of Nature, Buddha and Awa’s ancestors, consigning the young man’s soul to their safe keeping that he might find eternal peace. For himself he asked only for guidance in the difficult task of safeguarding I-357 and her crew so that they might continue to wage war on behalf of the Emperor, for the greater glory of the Imperial Japanese

Navy and the Empire it served. Of one thing he was certain — with or without divine assistance, there was no longer any danger of sentries sleeping at their posts.