Close to the Wind

by David B Hill

  Within a matter of minutes the narrow geography of the straits began to reveal itself in the haze. Everyone was silent, the air filled with the roar of the engines. Len and Jackie both searched for any signs of the enemy. While Len automatically began to train his gun slowly across the horizon, more things that spoke ominously of the fate of other boats began to capture their attention. First it was an oil slick, spread wide across their passage, then flotsam and other detritus.

  It was Malcolm Henderson who sighted the other vessels first.

  ‘Starboard thirty, sir. I can see another vessel. No, four ships! In line heading nor-nor-west. Straight towards us!’

  They all swung their attention onto Henderson’s discovery, easily 5000 yards ahead and a similar distance to the west.

  ‘Jesus,’ Len heard himself say.

  They could now easily see the masts and funnels of several large vessels. There appeared to be two light cruisers and destroyer escorts, none of which could immediately be identified. Johnny’s instinctive reaction was to avoid contact at all costs. He immediately gave the order to change course.

  ‘Port one-seventy, full ahead both,’ he ordered, and the helmsman spun the wheel hard to port, to bring the vessel around until it was heading back towards the Tuju Islands at speed.

  ‘Aren’t you being a bit premature?’ asked Pulford, perfunctorily. ‘They could be ours.’

  ‘I’m not willing to get that close,’ replied Johnny. ‘If I’m wrong we’re done for: they can easily out-gun us.’

  As he spoke, one of the destroyers detached from the group, turning to expose its profile to the Fairmile, and then began to close. Even from a distance the flag of the Rising Sun was unmistakable. The Admiral spoke. ‘So, what do you propose, Commander?’

  ‘I’m heading back to the islands, sir. If we make it, we may get away with it.’

  They raced onwards, closing rapidly on the islands and possible safety. But they had not counted on the seaplane.

  ‘Aircraft! Starboard ninety degrees.’

  The binoculars all swung to starboard, to where five enemy seaplanes could be seen heading in line towards the Sumatran coast. For a moment it seemed they would not be noticed, until one of the planes peeled off and headed straight for the Fairmile. They were still about four miles from the Islands. The approaching aircraft levelled off, in preparation for attack, flying low and straight towards them. Len reached for his cloth. Except for those confined in the engine room, all the men on the Fairmile turned their eyes to the plane. The soldiers braced for the unexpected. The sailors braced for the inevitable, when the helm would be flung over hard to avoid the bombs.

  Len and Jackie prepared to shoot, waiting patiently as the plane came straight towards them on its unwavering course. They held their fire until they saw the attacker’s wing armaments light up and bullets begin to stitch a course towards them, at which point they returned the favour in kind. The Bofors pumped several shells, and both men fired steadily at the fast-approaching aircraft until it had closed on the vessel and then suddenly gained height to release its bombs. As it passed overhead, it was the rear gunners’ turn to loose off full belts. Bits flew off the aircraft’s wing, but miraculously it flew on without faltering. The bombs fell wide by twenty yards: close enough to drench those on the aft deck. The soldiers cheered as the plane turned away. The Air Vice Marshall stood next to Len, gripping the rail with both hands, bristling, his eyes riveted on the departing aircraft.

  ‘Give me a shot at the bastards, will you?’

  He turned expectantly to Len, who looked back at Johnny, confused. Johnny nodded, so Len stood back and indicated to the Air Vice Marshall that the weapon was his. Pulford grabbed the gun with both hands, swung himself in behind it and made to take aim at the plane. Then he hesitated a moment, nonplussed, and squinted into the distance. ‘Where is it, damn it? Where is it?’

  Pulford’s vision was not the best; he had lost sight of the escaping plane as it hastened to catch up with its companions. Again five dots were diminishing in the haze.

  ‘Damn it,’ Pulford raged, surrendering the gun back to Len. ‘I’d love to have a decent shot at them. Just one shot!’

  ‘I know what you mean, sir,’ offered Len, generously. ‘Give them a dose of their own medicine.’

  ‘You do a better job of it than me, I’m afraid.’

  A bleary-eyed Richard Pool now appeared on the bridge, holding his bruised and broken hand, having been roused by the sudden noise and change of direction.

  ‘Put your helmet on, Lieutenant,’ Pulford told him. ‘We are under attack.’

  Pool was about to say something to him, but was cut short by a cry from Henderson, who had seen a puff of smoke emanating from the pursuing destroyer.

  ‘They’re firing at us, sir!’

  He had no sooner said so than the shell whistled over their heads and created a massive explosion of water in front of them. Pool put his helmet on.

  It occurred to Len that this was the first time he was facing his enemy on level terms. He had never met the enemy on the water. In the North Sea and off Malaya, the enemy had been almost invisible. He felt least vulnerable to attack from the air; he exercised an inalienable belief in his own skill as a gunner. Now he felt truly exposed, facing enemy gunners who had trained as he had trained, and in ships that were more powerful than his own. He felt the wehi once more though now he had control, so, while his stomach drained, his heart began to beat with renewed vitality; with wana. He remembered his conversations with Haami Parata, and called on his uncles to fill the empty space inside him.

  The only option any small ship had in these circumstances was evasion, its size and speed affording that advantage in certain conditions. This was exactly what they had trained for, and exactly what Johnny Bull was counting on as he headed for the scattering of islands with the Fairmile’s twenty-four cylinders hammering away at top revs. Along both sides of the launch, sailors and soldiers alike crouched down involuntarily, as if to reduce the wind resistance and increase their speed.

  There was a pall of fresh black smoke rising from the water behind them.

  ‘I wonder where 311 is?’

  The Admiral’s question was rhetorical. They were all heading in the same direction and all facing the same odds.

  The word spread among the crew. Where was 311? Where were their comrades?

  ‘311 must have copped it.’

  ‘Poor bastards.’

  Silence. Len was absorbed entirely in the thought of what the destruction of 311 meant for Tim and Jack.

  ‘I hope some of them got away.’

  ‘Got away? Where?’

  ‘Fuck me. Here they come.’

  ‘Watch out, they’re firing at us!’

  The destroyer, now behind the Fairmile and closing, fired three times at the little boat. The first shot was in line with its target but overshot, the second fell off the starboard bow and the third fell off the port quarter. The Japanese gunners were good, and they were getting their range easily given the distance. At this moment their quarry reached the Seven Islands, and Johnny hurled the boat among landforms in an effort to put one between themselves and the enemy.

  ‘Malcolm, get rid of the code books,’ he shouted.

  The First Officer gathered the sensitive material – signal and code books. Len grabbed a steel ammunition box along with a clip of live shells from the three-pounder. Out of sight of the enemy, he and Malcolm Henderson placed the sensitive material in the box, which was tossed over the side, and sank.

  ‘There appears to be depth enough for us,’ Johnny said. ‘If we can manoeuvre behind the islands they may not be so keen to follow. I think we’ll make it.’

  ‘You’d better be right,’ muttered Richard Pool hopefully, gripping the bridge handrail with both hands, his crushed fingers suddenly of no concern.

  As the vessel entered the narrow channel between Talang and Tjibia, Johnny called for half speed and then slow ahead, and the Fairmile nosed its
way carefully behind the shelter of Tjibia. There seemed little likelihood of the destroyer being able to follow, so they turned into the tide and stopped engines, watching apprehensively for any sign of the enemy.

  Ian Stonor spoke. ‘Can we get the men off the boat, Commander? We don’t want to be shot at like sitting ducks.’

  ‘They will have to swim for it,’ Johnny replied. ‘We haven’t time to ferry them to shore. With any luck the jungle will hide you, while my men and I hold off the Japanese.’

  ‘How are you going to hold off a destroyer?’ Pool’s voice was tinged with incredulity. Johnny ignored him, gesturing to the group of senior staff.

  ‘You should go ashore with Ian, sir. It’s your only chance.’

  The Admiral turned to Ian Stonor.

  ‘What do you think, Ian?’

  The Lieutenant answered without hesitation. ‘We have to give it a go, sir.’

  ‘Then do it.’ The Admiral looked at Johnny. ‘If we put the boat in closer we may have a chance of making the safety of the jungle. Quickly, now. If we get away with this, we can regroup later.’

  Johnny gave the order, and the Fairmile crept slowly into the shallows, which appeared to stretch about a hundred yards from shore, until suddenly there was an excruciating sound, all too familiar. The boat rose a little, then sank again with a grinding crunch. They had grounded!

  Another modest swell moved the boat, again with a gentle grinding noise, but did not lift it. In an ebbing tide and in the shallow waters, with each gentle movement of the waves the heavy Fairmile settled ever more permanently on the reef.

  Johnny gave immediate instructions. ‘Drop the pick, now,’ he shouted, and the two for’ard ratings rushed to comply. ‘Ian, start getting your men ashore. Coxswain, lighten the boat! Jettison anything heavy. We might be able to float her off.’

  ‘We’re done for now,’ said Pool.

  At Ian Stonor’s command, his men now began lowering themselves over the side into water that reached up to their armpits. Some of the smaller men needed assistance before their feet touched the bottom, but one by one they all began wading towards the shore. Johnny addressed the Admiral.

  ‘What about you, sir? We can’t allow them to capture you or the Air Vice Marshal. If you can make it into the jungle we might hide the fact of your existence from the enemy too. It’s your only chance.’

  His crew stood motionless on the deck, listening to the interaction. Len kept scanning the skyline behind them, for any sign of the Japanese closing on them.

  ‘If they find you it will be the end for all of us,’ Johnny added.

  ‘But Commander,’ retorted the Admiral, ‘they will search the island anyway.’

  ‘Not if we stay on board, sir. They needn’t know you or any of the others were ever here.’

  Spooner dropped his head briefly and sighed. Then he looked up at his fellow officers.

  ‘Commander Bull is right. Pen, you and George better come with the Air Vice-Marshal and me. We’ll just have to take our chances. Don’t leave anything behind that might give away our presence.’

  Len felt a pang of sympathy for Admiral Spooner, and he thought he saw this on Johnny’s face too. Spooner seemed to have reached the end of his resources, but Len didn’t think Johnny had. Johnny was looking down at his crew, who looked back at him expectantly, and he gave short sharp instructions. Ian Stonor took command of the soldiers, who grabbed their weapons and began lowering themselves into the water.

  George Atkins hesitated. ‘I’ll stay,’ he said. ‘Together we’ll be a bit of a bag.’

  ‘I’m staying too.’ It was Richard Pool.

  The Admiral and the Air Vice Marshall bustled below, collected their things, and took to the water, helped over the side and into the small dinghy. The sailors watched while they made their way to shore with the help of Ian Stonor and a couple of the Marines, dragged the dinghy into the trees and swept the sand with palm fronds to conceal their tracks.

  Charlie emerged from the galley carrying some mugs and a steaming pot of tea. Len had always thought it amusing that whenever the going got tough Charlie would show up with tea. So there they were, waiting, all drinking tea, when there was a shout. ‘Look out! There they are!’

  All four Japanese vessels came into view, steaming east, away from the islands. For a brief moment, the men on board the Fairmile thought they might be reprieved, until there was another cry, and another destroyer was sighted steaming directly towards them. It hove to only about a mile distant, not daring to venture into the channel that had saved then trapped the Fairmile. Then they saw the forward turret of the destroyer train on the little boat.

  ‘Hurry up and get yourselves ashore. All of you. Now!’

  Johnny’s command was punctuated by the sound of firing. A shell whistled over the top of them and landed on the reef in front. Johnny looked towards the shore. Len followed his gaze. There was no sign of the Admiral or Ian Stonor’s group. The destroyer fired again, and a second shell landed nearby.

  ‘But sir,’ Jock remonstrated, ‘surely we’re going to stay on board too?’

  ‘No,’ said Bull. ‘You will be safer onshore. Mr Henderson and I will stay and face the music.’

  Unlike the soldiers, the sailors gave every appearance of reluctance to abandon their boat and their Commander. Johnny gave them confidence, and in no time at all they were overboard and heading for the beach.

  All except Len.

  Len quickly went below, thinking he would grab some of his personal belongings, but when he opened his locker he didn’t have a clue what to grab. His pillowslip, full of the banknotes they had fished out of Singapore’s harbour, hung in front of him. Without thinking, he grabbed it, then raced back up onto the deck. Jackie Hayward was already halfway to shore, along with the remaining ratings, including Johnno, holding his small cardboard case overhead. Len looked up at the bridge, where the four remaining officers stood stoically, waiting. Johnny looked at him, and for a brief moment Len thought he would ask to stay. For his own sake. The thought that Tim and Jack might be dead compelled him to raise his game. In light of their probable sacrifice, he didn’t wish to be found wanting.

  ‘Get cracking. We’ll catch up on shore,’ Johnny said, offering Len a grim smile. ‘Here, take this for me.’ He handed Len a canvas bag.

  Len took the bag and climbed over the ship’s rail. He lowered himself into the water and began wading towards the shore. Two more salvoes arrived, but landed short. In front of him the rest of the crew had already reached the beach.

  8

  Marooned

  On shore, Len and the other sailors stood along the beach while the others stayed concealed in the trees. Ian Stonor gave instructions for the protection of the senior officers, then left, with a couple of men, to look for a view over the sea and reef from where he might watch events on the Fairmile.

  Len watched discreetly from the shore, using binoculars he found along with a compass and some local charts in Johnny’s bag. He could see the men on board, Richard Pool, George Atkins, Malcolm Henderson and Johnny Bull – two Britons, an Australian and a New Zealander – watching and waiting while the Japanese destroyer hove to and lowered a boat filled with armed men, which made straight for the stricken launch. All the while the destroyer’s guns remained trained on the Fairmile. Len’s apprehension rose when he saw the sailors leap on board and force the officers up against the superstructure with their weapons. He could hear the shouting. One man raised his rifle and menaced the captives, until one of two officers appeared to intervene. Immediately, the sailors ceased their yelling and took a pace back, still holding their rifles at the ready. The aggressor among them continued to intimidate the prisoners with his bayonet. Len watched as the enemy officer stopped in front of Johnny and some sort of conversation ensued. He wished he could hear what was going on.

  The Japanese officer looked to the shore. On the edge of the beach, he could see the forlorn group of seamen standing motionless, staring back t
owards the boat. The officer appeared to give another brief command because several more sailors then clambered aboard the Fairmile and disappeared below. The enemy officer strolled to the bow, and Len’s spirits sagged further as the noise of the Japanese ransacking the boat carried across the water. He continued to watch for several minutes, not daring to blink. The Japanese officer spoke to Johnny again then stood back, whereupon one of his sailors handed his rifle to another and quickly conducted a body search of each of the prisoners in turn. While Len watched, the sailor with the bayonet continued to weave his weapon threateningly back and forth at the group. Two Japanese entered the wheelhouse, while others inspected the ship’s armaments. Len took some satisfaction from having personally thrown the breechblock of the gun overboard, on instructions from Johnny.

  Jock squatted down beside Len, so he handed over the binoculars.

  The Coxswain muttered insults under his breath, while Len squinted in the bright light to see what was happening. None of the sailors on the beach said a word as they watched the event unfold.

  The Japanese in charge gazed out to sea, taking no notice of the activity of his subordinates while his captives stood by helplessly. Len and the others watched and listened for several minutes to the noises of destruction, before the sailors began to come back on deck again. The Lieutenant appeared to give an instruction, and immediately those sailors standing over the captives sprang into action, poking and prodding their prisoners towards the stern.

  ‘Oh fuck. I don’t like the look of this,’ said Jock, looking away from the scene.

  Len took the binoculars back. He saw George Atkins, conspicuously grey-haired and a little slow in responding to the sailors’ prods, receive a blow to the kidneys from a rifle butt and sink to his knees. Len wanted to respond himself; to do something other than watch helplessly. The fear that he had first felt now turned to a furious anger; his grip on the glasses intensified.