Yashimoto's Last Dive

Eighteen

Clipboard under arm, the Chief Telegraphist went into I-357’s wardroom, acknowledged the presence of the First Lieutenant with a formal bow, and handed a signal to Lieutenant Matsuhito whose duties included those of cypher officer. The Lieutenant unlocked the safe under the settee and took from it the cypher machine. Watched by Keda he tapped away at the keys, stopping after each group to note with pencil and pad the words which came up on the display:

Gesturing towards the door of the Captain’s cabin, Matsuhito handed the message to Keda. The Chief Telegraphist went to the door, heard the Captain’s ‘Come’ and entered. Yashimoto, in a cotton singlet and shorts, was sitting at the small desk alongside the bunk examining his teeth in a hand mirror.

‘Signal for you, sir,’ said Keda.

Yashimoto put down the mirror, took the signal and read it, his eyebrows gathering in a frown as he did so. ‘Tell the First Lieutenant I want him,’ he said.

The First Lieutenant closed the book he was reading, rubbed his eyes and sighed before following the Chief Telegraphist back to the Captain’s cabin. There was scarcely room for three men in its limited space but with Keda standing, his back to the door, Kagumi was able to sit on the settee beside the Captain. With a peremptory, ‘Read this,’ Yashimoto thrust the signal at him. Watching the First Lieutenant closely he said, ‘We cannot break wireless silence.’ A smile displaced the frown. ‘But the news is good.

We have one more day in hand. We may need it.’ The sharp, clipped sentences were delivered in a tone which never varied. ‘The British carrier is now due at Mombasa on the 27/28th. We shall have to take up station outside the port by midnight on the 26th. In three days. So…’ he paused, pinching his nose as if taking snuff, ‘…we must have left here by midnight on the 24th. Repairs and tests must be completed within the next forty-eight hours.’ He looked again at the signal which lay on the desk, drummed on it with his fingers as if seeking inspiration. Evidently none came, for he waved a hand in a gesture of rejection. ‘No. We cannot acknowledge the signals. We cannot break wireless silence until we are out at sea — and able to dive.’ He glanced at the Chief Telegraphist. ‘Right. You may carry on, Keda.’ To Kagumi he said, ‘Tell the Engineer Officer I wish to see him at once.’

Kagumi opened the door and the distant sound of drilling, hammering, scraping, and the clanging of metal, grew louder, the smell of diesel oil more pungent. Having told Satugawa to report to the Captain, he went ashore by way of the forehatch, walking awkwardly across the litter of branches and foliage which covered the casing and gangplank. Followed by two armed seamen he made his way in the darkness along the bank to where the catamarans lay astern of the submarine. They boarded the nearest catamaran, cast off, paddled it clear, and started up the outboard. With Kagumi at the tiller they set off on the inspection round. Until the Awa incident, Kagumi had performed this duty between one and two in the morning. On Yashimoto’s orders, issued soon after Awa’s execution, it was to be carried out twice during the hours of darkness; once before midnight and once again before sunrise, the times to be varied so that no pattern was established.

Near to midnight the Engineer Officer finished his discussions with the Captain. Yashimoto had opened the proceedings with the signal from Penang. Satugawa read it and passed it back. The Captain gave him a searching look. ‘Can you have us ready for sea by midnight on the 24th?’ Yashimoto’s lips tightened as he waited for the answer.

Satugawa avoided the Captain’s stare by focusing on the Shinto shrine set in the bulkhead above the desk. ‘We have completed repairs to the outer screen around the conning-tower,’ he said, evading the direct question. ‘That was not difficult. We are dealing with an almost flat surface in a free-flooding area. We are now making progress with repairs to the hull and to the conning-tower. They are critical because both form part of the pressure hull.’

‘I am aware of that, Chief. But you are not answering my question.’ Yashimoto tapped petulantly on the desk. ‘You have an extra day. Can you complete by midnight on the 24th?’

‘Captain, there are problems. We can, I believe, solve them. Within the time available, I hope. But this, the time factor, I cannot guarantee. If I could explain…’ Satugawa looked sideways at the Captain as if anxious to avoid direct confrontation.

‘Yes, yes. Do so.’ Yashimoto’s impatience was, it happened, due to the Penang signal rather than to any shortcomings on the part of the Engineer Officer for whom he had the highest regard.

Satugawa paused, seemed to be choosing his words. ‘Well — as to the damage to the pressure hull and conning-tower. We have to bend sections of three-eighth high tensile steel plates to the exact angle of the surface to which they will be bolted. This work is being done in the foundry ashore. We have templates, but the problem is to bend the steel, while white hot, to the shape of the templates. We do not have the proper equipment, the presses and so forth. The work has to be done manually, with hammers and an improvised anvil. Blacksmith’ work, which involves much trial and error. But I hope to have the plates ready for fitting some time tomorrow night.’

Yashimoto’s face puckered, contracted, the fleshy folds beneath his eyes bulging. ‘And the hatch coaming and the lid? You haven’t mentioned them?’

Satugawa looked unhappy. ‘They are my major worry.’ His eyes once more sought the Shinto shrine. ‘We have serious problems there. In the case of the coaming, building it up for fitting is proving difficult. A lot of adjustment is necessary. In the case of the lid we have problems. There is distortion and the flange is buckled. The thick steel is proving difficult to straighten. Then, unfortunately, the fractured hinge broke off at its base while it was being treated…’ ‘How treated?’ interrupted Yashimoto, his lower lip protruding beneath the threatening eyes.

‘The hinge had been brought to white heat in the furnace. A mechanician was trying to hammer it straight on its seat when it broke off. We had not realized how deep into the metal the hairline fracture had gone.’

Yashimoto glared at the Engineer Officer. ‘Surely that should have been realized,’ he snapped.

‘Without X-ray equipment it is not possible to determine the depth of a hairline fracture.’ Satugawa was standing his ground. He had come up the hard way, started life in the Navy as a stoker and by dint of sheer drive and a good brain had climbed the difficult ladder of the engineering branch. A Chief ERA at the beginning of the War, the highest non-commissioned rank, he had been promoted to Warrant Engineer Officer and later to Engineer Lieutenant. At thirty-nine — six years older than the Captain — he was the oldest member of I-357’s crew.

While he respected the Captain’s ability, his skill in matters concerning seamanship, submarine handling and naval warfare, he had long been critical of his bland refusal to acknowledge, or perhaps understand, the problems of the engineroom.

Detecting the change in Satugawa’s attitude, Yashimoto adopted a more conciliatory tone. ‘So — about the hatch, Chief? You said the flange on the lid was buckled and there was distortion. Tell me about this?’

‘It is the problem of restoring the lid to its designed shape. At least sufficiently to get it shut with a reasonably effective seal. The pumps can deal with normal leaks, but not with bad ones at depth. I don’t think it will be too difficult to get a passable seal. We have already made some progress with trueing up the lid. The real problem is the hinge. We have to build up a new one by cannibalizing certain engine parts, then fix it to the lid. With the restricted equipment we have, that is going to take time.’

‘How much time?’

Satugawa looked the Captain squarely in the face. ‘I don’t know. All I can guarantee is that we will do everything possible to finish on time. All being well we should be able to carry out flooding tests by sunset on the 24th.’

Yashimoto smiled, his eyes softened, and he leant forward to give the Engineer Officer’s shoulder a playful slap. ‘That’s what I wanted to hear from you, Chief. You keep the best news for last, you old rascal.’

Satugawa relaxed, realized that the confrontation was at an end. He leant back against the bulkhead. ‘I did say, all being well, Captain.’

Yashimoto got up, took a bunch of keys from his pocket and opened a cupboard under the bunk. From it he took a bottle of saki and two small cups, handpainted with flowers. ‘You know I never drink at sea, Chief. But we are in harbour now and we have something to celebrate.’ He put the cups on the desk top and filled them. Passing one to the Engineer Officer, he raised his own. ‘To I-357 and all who sail in her,’ he said, bowing gravely.

Satugawa returned the bow before putting the cup to his lips. Having drunk from it, he held it away to examine the pattern. ‘These are beautifully decorated, Captain,’ he said. ‘Where did you get them?’

‘My wife’s work. She is a talented woman. Not only at painting. Her flower arrangements have won many prizes, and her garden is much admired. When I am worried, when the harsh realities of war trouble me, I like to think of her arranging flowers and working in her garden.’ He looked away, sighed. ‘It is the gentle, beautiful things of life which bring peace to a man’s soul.’

‘Quite so.’ The Engineer Officer sipped the saki, in his mind a picture of Able Seaman Awa’s severed head bouncing away from the stump of a neck which squirted blood — little jets of it, silvered by moonlight.