Yashimoto's Last Dive

Seventeen

Barratt lay on the bunk in his sea-cabin staring at the single red light in the deckhead. It was there because the human eye adjusted more quickly to darkness after red light than after white — and that was important to destroyer captains in wartime whose nights involved many sudden visits to the bridge. He had always found the cabin depressing — the dog-box he called it — but his mood this night was more one of frustration and anger than depression. It had been triggered by Captain (D)’s signal ordering Restless to return forthwith, and made worse by the peremptory acknowledge. He had no intention of returning to Kilindini forthwith, nor of acknowledging the signal. This, he knew, was insubordination but on receiving the signal his decision had been immediate and instinctive.

Handing it back to the CPO Telegraphist he had said, ‘Wireless silence is to be maintained, Duckworth.’

Duckworth’s expression was one of disbelief. ‘We are ordered to acknowledge, sir.’

‘I expressly forbid that, Duckworth. We will continue to observe W/T silence. The responsibility is mine, not yours.’ There was unusual severity in the Captain’s tone. He liked Duckworth, but having made his decision he was not going to have it challenged by the telegraphist, or anyone else for that matter.

Duckworth had looked at him in silence for a moment before shaking his head and leaving the sea-cabin.

Barratt was quite clear in his own mind as to what he was doing, the risks he was taking. His decision could involve him in a court-martial; dismissal from the Service perhaps, or at least dismissal from his ship. He was prepared to take those risks. After all he was a dug-out who’d go back to the family wine business when the War was over, not a career officer. The knowledge had, not unnaturally, influenced him. The more he thought about Katu and Mahmoud’s stories, the more he began to feel there was now a real chance of finding the submarine. He was in no mood to forego the opportunity to investigate the creek at Maji Island that night. To return forthwith would involve just that- to acknowledge could disclose Restless's position to the Japanese. A reply to Captain (D)’s signal would have to wait until daylight.

Having once again thought through the problem he looked at the luminous dial of the cabin clock. It showed 1927. Time to get on with plans for the night.

The Captain’s day-cabin, large, spacious and within easy reach of the bridge, was unusually crowded. Barratt had swung his desk chair round so that he could face the others; Charlie Dodds was at the dining-table with the chart, Peter Morrow and Katu sat together at his side, while the First Lieutenant was on the settee with Geoffrey Lawson.

This is the outline scenario for tonight,’ explained Barratt, a certain tenseness in his manner. ‘We’ll reach the coast ten miles south of Cape Ulu at 2300. That right, Pilot?’ He looked across to Dodds.

‘Yes, sir. I’ve plotted the position. Six miles WSW of a nameless speck on the chart which, from what Katu says, seems likely to be Maji Island. We’ll close the coast from the south, passing in north of the Vadiazi Shoal. There’s a channel there with sufficient water at low tide to get us within a mile of the coast.’

‘Thank you, Pilot. Next point. We’re experiencing typical Doldrums weather. Calm sea, mild breeze, barometer steady on FAIR. A threat of rain perhaps.’ Barratt looked at his notes. ‘Pilot tells me — and he’d better be right — ’ the Captain favoured Dodds with a theatrical glare ‘- that the moon rises at about eight tonight and sets shortly before seven in the morning. That can be helpful in some ways, but a bloody nuisance in others. Fortunately there’s a lot of cloud about so hopefully we’ll have some help from that. Without navigation lights, with the coastline as background, and radar and ping shut down, Restless shouldn’t be easy to spot. It’ll be a useful test of the camouflage Simonstown’s painted all over us. Never liked it myself. Bit too Picasso, I’d say.’ He stopped, took a silver cigarette case from his pocket, looked at it and put it away again. ‘Now I intend to take the ship no closer to the island than three miles but it’ll depend on the moon. At about that distance we’ll lower the motorboat and skimmer plus Katu’s catamaran.’ He glanced at Dodds. ‘Got his okay on that, Morrow?’

The Sub-Lieutenant said, ‘Yes, sir. After a bit of an argy bargy. Your promise fixed it. A new one if we lose his.’ ‘Quite a businessman your Katu, isn’t he?’ Barratt smiled at the African who smiled back though he couldn’t understand a word of the conversation.

‘Very reasonable chap really,’ defended Morrow.

‘Right. Now let’s get back to Operation Map' Barratt looked once more at his notes. ‘The shore party will consist of Katu, Peter Morrow, Brad Corrigan and Angus McLean the signalman.’

‘Corrigan, sir?’ The First Lieutenant appeared to be mildly shocked. ‘The Fort N survivor?’

‘None other,’ said the Captain firmly. ‘He says he wants to be involved. So involved he’s going to be. Brought up on boats, useful man in the water, and he has an account to settle with the Japanese.’

‘But he’s not RN, sir. Isn’t that a problem?’

‘He’s US Navy, Number One. Seconded by me to the Royal Navy as from now. Any objections?’ Barratt’s brighteyed stare was accompanied by a three finger drumming on the wooden arms of the desk chair.

The First Lieutenant changed the subject. ‘So there’ll be four in the shore party?’

‘No. Five.’

‘Who’ll be the fifth member, sir?’

‘I will.’

The First Lieutenant started, jerked his head back. ‘The ship, sir. You don’t mean you’ll leave the ship?’ he looked at the Captain incredulously.

‘I do mean that, Number One. You will be in command in my absence. That should please you. Every Number One reckons he can do it better than his Captain. Now, where were we? Ah, yes — the motorboat. Leading Seaman Hind and two ratings will crew it. Having embarked the shore party — and with the catamaran and skimmer in tow — it will leave Restless at 0100 and head for Maji Island. The Pilot has drawn a rough plan of the island based on what Katu has told him. The important thing is the creek. It’s apparently a fairly long, narrow affair. Katu reports deep water but for shoals off the mouth on the northern side. The entrance faces north-west if his information is correct. On the assumption that it is, we’ll land on the southern side at about 0130. The shoreline there is screened from the creek by the hills which enclose it. Once ashore we’ll take it from there, depending on what we find. Have I reported Katu correctly on this, Morrow?’

‘Yes, sir. That’s about it. His description is based on catamaran experience of course. Destroyers and catamarans are not quite the same thing…’

‘Good point, Morrow,’ said Barratt drily.

The Sub-Lieutenant grinned. ‘So he’s a bit vague on whether Restless could get in and out.’

The Captain nodded. ‘The shore party will transfer to the catamaran when we’re within a mile of the island. But that will depend on the state of the moon at the time. If it’s behind cloud we’ll go in closer before making the transfer. If not, we’ll have to do it further out.’

The briefing went on for some time. It was followed by a general discussion and a question-and-answer session during which a number of modifications were made to Barratt’s operational plan. Closing the proceedings he said, ‘See to it that everything’s on the top line, Number One. Side-arms, fighting knives, signal torches, Very pistols, flares, first-aid kit, water bottles, the Pilot’s plan, extra paddles — the lot to be in the motorboat by midnight. Shore party and motorboat’s crew to muster port side in the waist at 0030 for final briefing. Dark clothing, faces and other exposed flesh blackened — remember your jungle warfare drill. To repeat. We’ll be off Cape Ulu at 2330. In position three miles off Maji Island at 0100. That’s when the party begins in earnest.’

At sea Restless's wardroom, usually empty by ten-thirty at night, was on this occasion anything but that. In groups of twos and threes its occupants were discussing Operation Maji with varying degrees of interest, enthusiasm and disapproval. A fairly general complaint was put by Sean O’Brien. ‘Why is a recently joined, wet-behind-the-ears, adolescent RNVR like Morrow the only officer the Old Man’s chosen for his shore party? Bloody unfair I reckon.’

‘Not much mystery about the why of it, is there?’ said Jeremy Tripp. ‘Morrow speaks Kiswahili.’

‘Why Angus McLean?’ chipped in Midshipman Galpin. ‘What can he do that I can’t?’

‘Make and read signals for starters,’ suggested the Gunnery Officer.

‘You know a good deal about deer stalking do you, Galpin?’ The Torpedo Officer’s twisted smile concealed a verbal trip-wire.

‘I don’t follow, sir?’

‘Angus McLean was a top poacher in the Highlands before Hitler became a bloody nuisance.’

Galpin blinked. ‘I don’t see the point?’

‘I dare say that’s why the Old Man didn’t choose you. Galpin’s not too bright, I can hear him saying.’ The Torpedo Officer drew on his cigarette, smiled again. ‘But let me explain, dear boy. Any man who can repeatedly get close enough to stags at night to kill them, is a man who can see and move like a cat in the dark. Got it?’

‘How did the Old Man know McLean was a poacher?’ There was a note of injured disbelief in Galpin’s voice.

‘The entire mess-deck knew it. Just like we know all about you, young Galpin. And that, I may say, isn’t too kosher.’

In a corner of the wardroom the First Lieutenant and the Doctor were talking in subdued tones.

‘It worries me, Docker.’ The First Lieutenant leant closer. ‘It’s the second signal from Captain (D) that the Old Man has ignored. You just can’t do that sort of thing, you know. He’s been ordered to return forthwith. Ordered to acknowledge. And he doesn’t do a damn thing. By now the Admiral is probably in the picture. There’ll be hell to pay.’

The Doctor drank the last of his beer. ‘He doesn’t appear to be worried. In fact I’ve seldom seen him in better form.’

‘It may seem to be better form, Docker, but to me it’s rather disturbing. He’s all worked up, excited, something I’ve never seen in him before. Quite honestly I think he’s halfway round the bend.’ Inadvertently, the First Lieutenant had raised his voice. He looked round the wardroom to see if anyone was listening. It seemed no one was. They were all too busy with their own conversations.

‘Sure you’re not just a little put out, Number One?’ A friendly smile accompanied the Doctor’s inquiry.

‘Put out. Good God, no. Why?’

‘Because you’re not in the shore party?’

Sandy Hamilton shook his head with unusual vigour. ‘On the contrary I’m very glad I’m not. Do you realize, Docker, that the Old Man is leaving the ship — abandoning his command — to land an armed party on a Portuguese island. All this on top of his refusal to answer signals. Maji Island may be remote but it happens to be neutral territory — inhabited territory according to this man Katu. As tactfully as I could, I warned the Old Man of the dangers of infringing Portuguese neutrality. He more or less told me to mind my own business. The whole thing is crazy. I honestly think he may be a bit — well, you know.’

The Doctor shrugged. ‘I don’t see any symptoms. His judgement may have become blunted. The Fort Nebraska corpses were a pretty horrifying sight. That on top of his wife’s death in Japanese hands. Could be enough to push him over the top, I suppose. One hopes not. But the human brain is a delicate mechanism.’ The Doctor paused, looked away, tapped the rim of the empty tankard with his fingernails. ‘What d’you think he’ll do if the submarine is in the creek?’

The First Lieutenant regarded his feet with a dismal stare as if they were somehow responsible for a situation which he found profoundly disturbing. ‘God alone knows,’ he said. Looking up he was suddenly more cheerful. ‘Fortunately, I don’t think the question will arise. I can’t believe it’s there. Difficult to imagine how a bloody great submarine — all three hundred plus feet of it — could be lying in a creek in one of those tiny islets without a Catalina spotting it. They’ve been doing a very thorough snoop during the last forty-eight hours. Low flying, circling, you know.’

‘They certainly have,’ agreed the Doctor. ‘But what about Katu and Mahmoud’s reports?’

‘I accept that they may have seen something. Possibly even the submarine. But that was two nights ago. We don’t know what the damage was. The repair of a shell-hole in the conning-tower casing should be within the capabilities of a submarine’s engineroom staff. They might have fixed it that night — they had about nine hours of darkness in which to do the job. That would explain why the Catalinas haven’t found it. It’s probably many hundreds of miles away by now.’

The Doctor leant back in the armchair lost in thought, his hands clasped behind his head. ‘What are we going to do — the ship, I mean — between now and midnight?’

‘What we’re doing now. Mess about at sixteen knots, five miles off the nearest land.’

The Doctor laughed wryly. ‘Too bad if the Jap’s doing the same thing. We might tangle.’

‘I shouldn’t worry about that, Docker. We’re pinging away. I think we’d spot him first.’

‘Haven’t we shut down our pingV

‘Not yet. We will when we close the land at midnight.’ The First Lieutenant looked at his watch. ‘Well, it’s getting on. I’d better go up on deck and see what progress the Coxswain’s making with gear for the assault boys. See you later.’

The Doctor nodded. ‘Don’t think I’ll turn in till they’ve gone. I’d rather like to see our desperadoes disappear into the night.’