Yashimoto's Last Dive

Seven

Time passed but the inflatable did not return, nor could anything be seen of the land for clouds once again obscured the moon. Bearings of the Tambuzi light, and the depth of water by echo-sounder, confirmed that the current was still setting to the north; Yashimoto countered its effect with the helm and engine orders necessary to keep the submarine in position off the headland around which the inflatable had disappeared.

As the minutes ticked by without any sign of it he became increasingly concerned. Looking into the darkness he kept asking himself what could have gone wrong? The First Lieutenant knew that time was vital; yet more than thirty minutes had elapsed since he left I-357. What could he and his crew be doing?

Yashimoto was wondering what to do next when the sound of the outboard was heard on the bridge. Soon a blue light began to wink in the distance. The Yeoman acknowledged and the light flickered into action again. The signal was brief. ‘Message from Lieutenant Kagumi, sir,’ reported the Yeoman. ‘Reads, good news.’

‘Thank you, Yeoman.’ The relief in Yashimoto’s voice and his thank you were a measure of how concerned he’d been. ‘Thank you’ were words he seldom used.

Kagumi’s news was certainly good. ‘This island is ideal, sir,’ were his excited first words on reaching the bridge. ‘In the moonlight I was able to see a good deal. It is about a mile long and a bit less in width. Volcanic in origin I think. The dominant feature is a creek about half a mile long which almost bisects it. The land around the creek rises steeply.

There is deep water, ten to fifteen fathoms over most of its length. As much as five fathoms close inshore in some places. On the eastern side there’s a cluster of huts. Fishermen and their families live there. About forty Africans. Their catamarans are drawn up on the beach in front of the huts. They are…’

Yashimoto interrupted. ‘How d’you know all this?’

‘We landed by the huts, sir. The people came out. The noise of our engine woke them. I learnt what I’ve told you with sign language. It was not difficult.’

‘Trees, bushes?’ Yashimoto’s prompting was eager. ‘Anything like that?’

‘Yes, sir. It’s well wooded round the creek. Many trees. Thick undergrowth. Mangroves fringing the water’s edge.’ ‘Any other settlements on the island? Any catamarans apart from those you saw?’

‘No, sir. They say there are no people except those in the village.’

Yashimoto shot a questioning glance at the First Lieutenant. ‘More sign language?’

‘Yes, sir. But the responses were not difficult to interpret.’ The Captain grunted approval. ‘Tomorrow we will survey the island. In the meantime — did you see a suitable berth?’ ‘Two possible berths, sir. One on the east bank, another on the west bank. There’s deeper water on the western side.’

‘What’s the width of the creek?’

‘About two hundred and fifty yards at the mouth. Down to about a hundred in the narrows which lead into it. It widens out again after that. Into an oval basin. There’s just enough room for the boat to turn there.’

Looking into the night to where the islet lay, a black hump on a dark sea, Yashimoto said, ‘You have done well, Kagumi. I shall not forget this. But your work is not finished. You must pilot us in. Take station in the inflatable a ship’s length ahead. Use the signal torch as a stern light and I’ll follow. Keep to about two or three knots once we head into the creek.’

The First Lieutenant saluted in the darkness, turned on his heels and clattered down the ladder to the casing.

The inflatable’s outboard engine spluttered into life, its note rising as Kagumi steered the fast, bouncing, little craft into position ahead of the submarine.

To Yashimoto the task of taking I-357 into a narrow creek he had never seen, without a chart and in almost total darkness, was a nail-biting experience, though in fact he had little to do but ensure that the Coxswain followed the inflatable’s blue light. The Navigating Officer kept calling the depths recorded by echo-sounder, the Yeoman stood at the Captain’s shoulder reading Kagumi’s signals, and a signalman stood by with a searchlight to be used in case of emergency. The bridge lookouts were at their posts but there was little for them to do. The First Lieutenant was proving as efficient as always, warning well in advance of changes in course and speed.

Unable to see in the darkness Yashimoto tried to keep in his mind a picture of the creek as Kagumi had described it. Thus, when the blue light began to swing in a wide circle to starboard and the Coxswain turned the bridge wheel for I-357’s bows to follow round, Yashimoto realized that they were heading into the creek. The light ahead began to blink, the Yeoman acknowledged, read the signal aloud: Dead slow now. Narrows about five hundred yards ahead.

Yashimoto ordered revolutions for two knots and the note of the diesels dropped to a lower rhythm. With ballast tanks blown to reduce her draught, and engine revolutions sufficient only to maintain steerage way, the submarine moved slowly through the water, the Coxswain turning the wheel as necessary to keep the blue light ahead. On Yashi-moto’s orders the beam of the searchlight swept the sides of the creek, revealing rocky cliffs, above them wooded slopes which led up steeply from the mangroves fringing the water. The blue light ahead moved to starboard, then held steady on its course for some time before beginning a turn to port; I-357 followed round. Sato reported that the turn had been one of forty-five degrees. Kagumi had just finished the message, entering the narrows now when, by good fortune or, as Yashimoto preferred to believe, in response to divine intervention, the moon slipped out of the clouds in the western sky, bathing the scene in silver light, the rocky sides of the narrow channel looming above the submarine, the tangle of mangroves glistening wetly.

Ahead to port Yashimoto saw catamarans drawn up on a small beach, and on the higher ground, beneath clumps of coconut palms, a semi-circle of thatched huts. In front of them dark shapes were grouped about open fires. Some rose and gestured towards the submarine, others remained on their haunches. The musky odour of the little settlement came drifting across the water; the indefinable but unmistakable smell of an African village, a compound of woodsmoke, of long-cooked food, and the sour-sweet smell of human bodies. To Yashimoto these were the reassuring odours of a Buddha-sent haven.

The inflatable’s blue light blinked and the Yeoman read the signal aloud: Stop engines. We leave the narrows now to turn sharp to starboard around the bluff.

The diesels stopped and I-357 began to lose way. As they followed the blue light round to starboard Yashimoto saw that the creek had widened out into an oval basin. He was wondering where the berths were of which Kagumi had spoken, when the inflatable signalled: Suggest you turn bows to seaward. Good berth south of the bluff. We go there now. Will take mooring lines when you've turned.

Yashimoto decided there was sufficient room in which to turn the bows to seaward using one propeller to go ahead and the other astern: Standing turn as they called it at the submarine base at Yokasuko. It required the use of the electric motors as the diesels could not be put astern. Now clearly visible in the moonlight the inflatable had stopped close in on the western side, just south of the bluff; there the bank ran straight for several hundred feet before curving round the head of the creek.

This is the berth, winked the blue light. Depth of water ten metres. Shoals rapidly three to four metres from the bank.

The submarine finished its turn, bows to seaward, the inflatable came alongside, took the end of a mooring line which had been lowered into the water from the fore-casing and towed it inshore. Two seamen jumped on to the bank, hauled the line ashore and made it fast to the trunk of a tree.

At the submarine’s end the mooring line was taken to the capstan on the fore-casing, the offshore bow anchor was dropped and the capstan began to turn, warping the bows in towards the bank as the anchor cable was paid out.

The process was repeated with a stern line and stern anchor until the submarine was alongside, the port saddletanks close to the mangroves which lined the bank. The difficult, improvised manoeuvre had been completed within ten minutes of leaving the narrows. Soundings with hand leadlines gave the average depth of water in which I-357 had moored as eight metres. In the shallowest part, towards the bows, there was just under three metres beneath the keel. The Navigating Officer reported that the tide was rising. High water was, he said, still three hours away.

‘What’s the rise and fall?’ demanded Yashimoto.

‘About four metres, sir.’

Yashimoto said, ‘Good,’ and ordered partial flooding of ballast tanks in order to reduce the submarine’s above water profile.

The inflatable came alongside and the First Lieutenant reported to the bridge. Somewhat perfunctorily, for he had more important matters in mind, Yashimoto congratulated him on the night’s work. Having done that, he came to the point. ‘There will be no rest for the crew until well into daylight tomorrow. The inflatable is to proceed immediately to the mouth of the creek. Crew it with a petty officer and two ratings.’ The orders were delivered in Yashimoto’s customary staccato of clipped sentences, the voice high-pitched. ‘They will take with them a machine-gun, rifles and ammunition. They will ensure that no catamaran leaves the creek. Warning shots are to be fired across the bows if any attempt to do so. If these are disregarded the catamaran’s occupants are to be killed. Is that understood, Kagumi?’ ‘Yes, sir.’

‘The occupant of any catamaran or other small craft entering the creek from seaward,’ continued Yashimoto, ‘is not to be interfered with. But once in he will not be permitted to leave. Is that clear?’ Kagumi having said it was, the Captain went on. ‘Another inflatable is to be brought up from below and prepared for launching.’

Kagumi brushed a mosquito from his forehead and stifled a yawn. A tired man, he managed a dutiful, ‘Yes, sir.’

‘See to these matters at once. Then assemble the officers and petty officers in the control-room. I shall give them their orders.’ Yashimoto looked at his watch. ‘It is now 0135. We are an hour behind schedule.’

Mechanically, his mind busy with the problem of carrying out the Captain’s orders at the speed clearly expected of him, the First Lieutenant mumbled another ‘Yes, sir,’ and left the bridge.

The Captain stood at the base of the conning-tower ladder, one foot on its lower step. Tired though he was, and deeply worried, he managed to look relaxed and confident as he unfolded his plans for the night, occasionally consulting the single sheet of notes he held in one hand. ‘It is necessary’, he began, ‘to conceal I-357 from aerial observation while repairs are taking place. These may occupy four days.’ He paused, his dark eyes searching the faces in front of him. ‘The time is now close to two o’clock. The sun will rise at five-thirty. So we have less than four hours in which to complete the first stage of our task. It will require hard work, hard work without rest, for the next few hours.’ He paused again, this time the lower lip protruding and the eyes narrowed. ‘But let me assure you that it will be completed.’ He glanced at his notes before continuing: ‘The saws, axes, pangas and other tools for your task are being made ready for issue on the after-casing. Working parties are to draw their tools before proceeding ashore. I will now give details of those parties, their duties and the allocation of tools.’

Yashimoto went across to the chart-table, placed one sheet of notes on it and picked up another. For some moments he regarded the officers and petty officers in the control-room in silence, his expression inscrutable. Some were standing, others sitting, a few crouching on their heels; all looked tired and anxious, their eyes submissive, their clothing scanty because of the heat.

Time is short,’ the Captain said. ‘I will be brief and you will act swiftly. When a party has been detailed the officers and petty officers concerned will at once leave the control-room, select and muster their men, draw their implements and proceed ashore. The First Lieutenant will be in general charge. Any difficulties or disputes in selecting personnel and equipment, or in regard to other matters, must be referred to him.’

Yashimoto proceeded to detail the various parties, their duties, the names of the officers and petty officers responsible for each, and the implements to be drawn.

The cutting party of twenty men was the largest, and the first to go ashore by way of the gangway planks brought up from the torpedo compartment to bridge the gap between the submarine and the bank. Their first task, Yashimoto had stressed, was to cut leafy branches and brushwood. The felling of trees would come later. Lieutenant Toshida was in charge, with the Coxswain as his deputy. The appointment of these two men, both regarded by the Captain as outstanding, indicated the importance he attached to the work of the cutting party.

Before they left the control-room he emphasized that nothing was to be cut within several hundred yards of the submarine; where cutting did take place it was to be spread over a wide area. The slopes of the creek are thick with trees and bushes, and the shoreline with mangroves,’ he told Toshida. ‘For our needs less than one per cent of what is available will be sufficient. See to it that what we take leaves no scars to be seen from the air.’

Next to go were the sentries: a party of seven men under the senior watchkeeper, Lieutenant Matsuhito. His responsibility, explained the Captain, would include the men on duty in the inflatable at the entrance to the creek. The sentries were to take up positions on shore to prevent any approach to the submarine. They would, in addition, man the second inflatable for mobile duty as required.

He then named the eight men who were to carry the branches and brushwood from the cutting sites to the submarine: ‘They’re strong men,’ he said, his dark eyes on Lieutenant Sato who was to take charge of the group.

A camouflage party of ten men under the Engineer Officer was to see to the placing of the foliage once the carriers had delivered it on board.

Various other duties were allocated: an officer, a petty officer and a dozen men were to rest until dawn when they would be required for reconnaissance and relief sentry duties. They were, he said, to form a spare crew pool. Three mechanicians under the Chief Engineroom Artificer were to remain on board for maintenance duties; three seamen under the Torpedo Gunner’s Mate would stay on board for general duties. The Chief Telegraphist, the search receiver and hydrophone operators, were to maintain listening watches, wireless silence being observed.

Finally Yashimoto stressed the dangers of malaria and the importance of taking the quinine tablets which had been issued to the crew on a weekly basis throughout the patrol.

In a perverse way he had enjoyed the briefing, notwithstanding the serious situation, for it was one which fully engaged his passion for detail and his considerable energy and determination.

In spite of Sato’s reservations about the Captain and the enterprise in which they were now involved, he had to concede that Yashimoto was handling the matter in masterly fashion. Every contingency appeared to have been taken care of, every man in the crew given a task. The Captain was indeed a formidable man, decided the Navigating Officer: as capable as he was ruthless.

The last of the shore parties having left, Yashimoto gave his attention to the casualties. The first problem to be dealt with was the disposal of the body of the dead torpedoman. For this purpose he sent for Petty Officer Hosokawa, the Boatswain’s Mate. T want you to see to the burial of Leading Torpedoman Takiko. This must be done before daylight. Take two seamen with you in the inflatable. See that the body is securely weighted before you put it over the side. He is to be buried between the headlands. Be sure this is done with proper ceremony.’

Without any clear idea of what ‘proper ceremony’ might be under such unusual circumstances, PO Hosokawa bowed himself out of the Captain’s cabin.

Yashimoto’s next move was to visit the wounded in their bunks in the fore-ends. One man was critically injured, a fragment of steel having penetrated his chest and apparently lodged in a lung. He had been in great pain until the Coxswain administered a morphine injection. Now deeply sedated, he breathed noisily through the rime of blood about his lips and nostrils. Of the remaining casualties one had a head wound, the other a shattered forearm. The wounds had been treated by the Coxswain. Yashimoto spoke to the men, expressed sympathy, and in a show of encouragement told them he hoped to have them back in Penang before too long. Presumably wondering what period of time that might be, they muttered their thanks and Yashimoto returned to the wardroom to attend to more pressing matters.