by Ian Blake
The island loomed close by on their port side and Tiller thought how skilled the captain must be to bring his submerged submarine into such shallow waters. Second nature made him note the bearings of two prominent features – a conspicuous bald hill inland and a derelict beach house on the shore – so that he would know the exact position to return to for the rendezvous with the submarine.
The captain shook Tiller and Whitaker by the hand and wished them luck. The two SBS men then shook hands before moving off in opposite directions down the submarine’s casing. The two ratings had each brought up with them from below a short wooden ladder to enable the SBS men to clamber into their Welmans.
Once the SBS men were in the Welmans and had secured the hatches above them the ratings freed the miniature submarines from their cradles and returned to the interior of the mother submarine with their ladders.
The Welman seemed even more cramped than usual and Tiller could feel its steel sides touching his shoulders while the top of the hatch almost brushed the comforter he had on his head. It reminded him why the members of the SBS who had been trained with Welmans had been called Sardine Men. He strapped on his oxygen mask and while he waited for the submarine to go under he polished the oblong porthole in front of him and the two circular ones on either side.
Without warning, the Welman bumped against its cradle and then floated free. Though the submarine sank gradually, the suction it caused when submerging dragged the Welman down too. They had not been able to practise this part of the operation, so it came as something of a surprise to Tiller to find the Welman being sucked under the water. But the Welman had a strong positive buoyancy and it soon bobbed to the surface again.
Tiller started the electric motor and edged slowly along the line of the island. At the end was a long promontory. Once he reached the end of it Tiller turned on his luminous direction indicator and lined it up with the harbour entrance, which he knew was directly ahead of him some six miles from the island. Then he submerged to a depth of fifty feet.
They had practised covering long distances submerged and found that though the Welman went slowly – only two knots – it was quite steady. However, since it was vulnerable to tides and could easily be swept off course, the direction Tiller had set on his indicator allowed for some tide to take him to the east.
But the submarine captain had timed his arrival at the island with great accuracy so that the Welmans were able to cross to their destination when the tide was almost slack. The minutes turned into an hour, then two hours, and all Tiller saw through the portholes was swirling mud and the occasional fish. It was like swimming blind and if he had not practised it so often he would have had little confidence in arriving at the right place.
After two hours and forty minutes he eased the Welman towards the surface. It was now nearly midnight and he calculated he should have passed under the first anti-submarine net guarding one of the harbour’s main exits.
Very slowly, he managed to manoeuvre the Welman so that its conning tower just broke the surface. This was also a manoeuvre he had practised time and again, and in the smooth waters of the harbour he had little difficulty keeping the tiny vessel on an even keel so that the reinforced glass window in front of him was just above the surface.
The full moon had risen now. He had been warned that the harbour would be patrolled, but he could see nothing moving on it. He could not see the Hoko either, for although the lights of the city were ablaze the harbour itself was full of dark corners which even the moon could not penetrate.
Tiller checked his direction indicator and sent the Welman down to twenty feet. He ran it at one knot for twenty minutes and then rose slowly to the surface again. Now he was among anchored shipping and close to the docks.
He cursed the vessel’s restricted vision. Sweat poured from him. It was crazy bobbing up and down in a vulnerable little submarine in the middle of an enemy-occupied harbour. Yet he could see that the surrounding water, shimmering in the light of the moon, was as quiet and as flat and as deserted as it had been twenty minutes before.
He glanced at the gauge on the oxygen cylinder to see how many atmospheres there were left in it and was glad to see that he had used less than half the cylinder. He certainly did not want to launch his attack and then have to change the cylinder halfway through. He told himself he must remember to change to the spare cylinder before he started the long trip back to the island.
He kept the Welman stationary on the surface, the water just lapping below the front window of the conning tower, while he again scanned the shipping and the wharves that he could see ahead of him.
As his eyes became accustomed to the light and shadow of the moonlit harbour they began to distinguish the anchored ships from those moored alongside the wharves and could see, too, what were dock cranes and what were either masts or derricks aboard the larger ships.
But still he could not see the Hoko and he remembered Whitaker’s sober warning that she could have sailed or simply moved to another part of the vast harbour where it could take days to find her.
Tiller inched the Welman round to improve his restricted view of a particularly crowded part of the docks. As he did so his eyes, well attuned now to the scene around him, registered that the shape and continuity of what looked like a large quay with some structures on top of it, was not quite right. He began edging the submarine closer, never taking his eyes off the shape ahead of him. Slowly, he began to discern that the quay was not a quay at all but a large, continuous shape that, he became increasingly certain as he moved towards it, was his target.
He halted the Welman and for a moment closed his eyes to clear his vision. He recalled then a camouflage lecture he had attended at Hyatt’s Ferry. The lecturer, an American naval officer, gave an illustration of how clever the Japanese were at illusion by recounting how they had camouflaged one of their airfields on New Georgia. Instead of felling trees to clear the jungle for the airstrip, they had severed them but had kept the top half of the trees upright off the ground by a series of cables. They had then completed the strip under cover of the canopy of suspended trees. From the air the jungle had looked undisturbed. When the airstrip was finished the Japanese had simply removed the trees and flown in their aircraft, by which time it had been too late for the Americans to make it inoperable.
He opened his eyes and looked again. Was he imagining it or was it really there? Was his brain playing tricks with his eyes, so that he was seeing the Hoko because he wanted so desperately for it to be there? Was it, as it were, ordinary trees he was looking at or were they cleverly suspended tops?
The more he looked the less he saw. He was concentrating so hard that it was just sheer luck that out of the corner of his eye he saw a movement in the starboard porthole. He turned and saw the outline of a launch heading in his direction, a small searchlight in its bows scanning the water around it. He felt the clamminess of his hands on the joystick. Any movement would be bound to catch the attention of those aboard the launch, yet part of him wanted to push the joystick forward to escape the probing light. But he knew from his canoe operations that lying still was the best chance he had of escaping the patrol’s notice. He kept the electric motor in neutral and waited.
The launch moved nearer, its searchlight stabbing the dark waters in an even sweep. The beam first played on the water beyond the Welman. Then the launch altered direction slightly away from the tiny submarine, with the result that the next sweep of light fell short of it.
The launch passed within fifty yards and Tiller could see the silhouette of the man operating the searchlight and of another two men in the boat’s cockpit. They were not even looking in the Welman’s direction. The launch’s engines throbbed briefly and then it was past. The Welman bobbled slightly in its wake, and when the beam of light next played on the water it was no more than a dim flicker in the port porthole.
Tiller wiped the palms of his hands on his jungle greens before engaging the electric motor and easing the Welman forw
ard. The fear of seeing the launch had galvanized him. His eyes were sharper now and as he approached the huge mass in front of him he discerned the flare of the aircraft carrier’s bow and the hawse-pipe underneath it and the anchor chain running almost vertically from it into the water. Further aft the carrier’s sides were shrouded in a patterned and shaped material that in the darkness made it difficult to distinguish anything. And the huge superstructure of the bridge and funnel, which reared up from the deck on the side nearest to him, was also covered by a material which was kept in place by two huge cranes.
Tiller again brought the Welman to a halt and scanned the immediate area. Beyond the bulk of the carrier was the dockside to which its stern was moored. There seemed to be some activity there, for he could see the lights of vehicles and one or two figures moving around. Probably just a routine motorized patrol, but it seemed to him no place to loiter. He worked the main vent lever to flood the ballast tanks and then eased forward the joystick. The water rose slowly up the front window and then covered it.
Tiller let the depth indicator tick round to fifty feet and then brought the submarine on to an even keel by turning the small wheel in front of the joystick that altered the position of the trim weight control. With any luck, he told himself, the torpedo nets might not extend downwards for much more than fifty feet. But he knew that was wishful thinking.
It seemed that the light of the moon could not penetrate so far down and the water in front of him was pitch-black. He was tempted to switch on the small searchlight the craft carried in a recess in front of the conning tower, but decided it was too risky. He would just have to probe his way through the murky water.
The Welman inched forward through the blackness. A large ray swam lazily towards the window before lifting itself with the flip of a long tail over the hull, the white underside of its wings and belly looming large in the front viewing glass before disappearing. Tiller felt sweat trickling down his face, but did not dare lift his hands from the joystick. If he hit the netting he was going to have to react very quickly to avoid becoming entangled in it. He kept his eyes strained into the murk.
The seconds ticked by. Bits of seaweed and a jellyfish drifted towards the Welman’s front window, before vanishing. Tiller’s eyes pricked with the effort of concentration.
Then suddenly it was there like a blanket towering over him, and he felt the familiar surge of adrenalin as he put the Welman into reverse.
The netting moved to and fro in the water like a huge, leisurely frond. Carried by its own momentum, the Welman bumped gently against it, but almost immediately the electric motor took effect and the craft backed off. The netting receded into the gloom.
Gradually, Tiller moved the Welman forward again and then manoeuvred it sideways until the side of the hull was scraping gently along the netting. It was the only way, in the pitch-blackness of the water, to keep contact with the netting without fouling it.
For the first time he registered that the depth indicator was at more than fifty feet and the nightmare of the fractured window and the spurt of water hitting him returned.
Saliva refused to come into his mouth and he quickly took a swig from his water bottle and dabbed at the sweat pouring off him. Then deliberately, slowly, he eased down the joystick, allowing the mesh to rub along the Welman’s side.
The needle of the depth gauge crept round to sixty feet, and still he could hear the net scraping the hull. He swore under his breath and then out loud. Anxiously, he watched the dimly lit dial as the needle flickered up to sixty-five and then crept round to seventy. The sweat was pouring off him now. Seventy-five.
He had to force himself by sheer will-power to keep the joystick forward so that the Welman continued to dive gently. Seventy-six, seventy-seven. Any moment now the front window must crack and the black water cascade in . . .
The scraping stopped.
Gingerly, Tiller levelled the Welman off with the trim weight control, turned under the net and drew the joystick gently towards him. The submarine started to rise.
At forty feet the water became lighter and the change in the texture of the murk ahead warned Tiller he was approaching the aircraft carrier’s bottom. Using the trim weight control, he brought the Welman on to an even keel and suddenly the vast acreage of steel was above his head. Much of it was covered in weed and some other kind of growth which blotched the hull. It looked to him, as he craned his eyes upwards, rather like some huge inverted soccer field.
For the first time since he had left the island Tiller wondered if Whitaker had found his way successfully. He might have been and gone. Or, for all Tiller knew, he could be right next to him at that very moment without knowing it.
Tiller glanced at the depth gauge. It was at forty feet exactly. He eased the Welman down slightly more before adjusting the trim weight control again. Then he turned the midget craft carefully so that he could begin moving along the length of the carrier’s hull towards its stern.
The visibility was better now. The water seemed clearer than it had been and the steel bottom of the carrier appeared to reflect and magnify what light there was.
After a minute or so the configuration of the carrier’s bottom changed. First it became flatter and then the four propeller shafts that protruded from its hull gave it an irregular shape. He followed the port centre shaft aft towards its propeller, passing the massive rudder on the way, and then stopped the Welman and peered upwards, trying to find a patch of hull that was clear of any obstructions on to which he could attach the charge. He reversed the Welman gently and then decided on the gap between the rudder and the inner two shafts.
Judging the distance so that he did not make contact too hard with the carrier’s hull was going to be difficult, and he decided he would have to risk turning on the Welman’s searchlight. With infinite care he brought the craft round and pointed its bows at the spot just aft of the rudder. To make contact he decided he would have to blow some water from the ballast tanks. He hoped that any bubbles which rose to the surface would either not be seen or would be thought to come from the carrier.
He turned the valve screw of the compressed-air cylinder and heard the hiss as the air expelled some of the water from the ballast tanks. The Welman drifted upwards towards the hull. Quickly Tiller turned down the valve screw and then spun the wheel of the trim weight control to allow the Welman’s bow to rise and bring the bulbous charge right up to the carrier’s hull.
The contact made the Welman rock and shudder, but in the glare of the small searchlight Tiller could see it was now held fast by the two magnets on the charge.
Tiller switched off the searchlight and wiped the sweat from his eyes. So far as he was concerned, the trickiest part of the operation had now been accomplished. Provided the Welman’s mechanism for releasing the craft from the charge worked, he had only the return journey and the rendezvous with the submarine to worry about.
He began turning the wheel that released the Welman from the 560lb charge and automatically started the five-hour time-delay fuse. The wheel seemed very reluctant to turn but after Tiller had wrenched it hard it spun easily enough and eventually he felt the Welman float free.
Hastily, he turned his attention to the trim weight control wheel to ensure that the trim weight compensated for the loss of the weight of the explosive charge. At first the Welman continued to hang bows up. But then slowly, gradually, as he wound the weight towards the bow it came on to an even keel, and Tiller turned it and headed for the carrier’s bows.
Away from the carrier’s bottom the water became black and impenetrable again. The needle of the depth gauge quivered at forty-five feet but it began to swing erratically and he knew there must be something wrong with it. To his relief there was no netting around the carrier’s bows. Either that or he was deeper than he thought. With the depth gauge playing up, there was no way of telling.
He calculated when he was well clear of the ship, and turned the Welman hard to starboard, knowing he needed to gain open
water as quickly as possible in order to surface and get his bearings for the return trip.
But as the Welman tilted and turned it struck something, surged forward, was thrown back, and came to a halt, its electric motor whirring. Cursing, Tiller put the motor full ahead and tried to correct the Welman’s tilt. But the submarine refused to budge.
He knew immediately what had happened: he had forgotten the carrier’s anchor chain and had run into it. He remembered his instructor’s advice: if you get into trouble take your hands and feet off the controls and think the problem through. There’s always an answer.
He removed his feet from the rudder bars and took his hands off the joystick, and turned off the electric motor. Then he sat on his hands and forced himself to think calmly. He had plenty of oxygen and now was the time to change the cylinder before he started the long trip back.
He found the routine movements of changing the cylinders soothing. They came automatically to him. When he had finished he tucked his hands underneath him again and tried to reason out what was the best way of escaping. He could look back through the rear porthole but he could not see how the Welman was snagged.
He started the motor and worked the Welman backwards and then forwards, but it would not move. He tried diving and then surfacing, but still it would not budge.
Think it through, he reminded himself.
If he jettisoned the keel the upward force of the Welman being relieved of so much weight might break it free from the anchor chain. But he would then give away the whole operation and, almost as bad, would be a prisoner in Japanese hands. No, he wasn’t going to jettison the keel.
Think it through.
He tried to visualize exactly how the huge metal links of the anchor chain could have snared the Welman. The hydroplane, rudder and propeller were protected by an iron bar. This ran in a curve from the Welman’s stern to the aft end of the drop keel. It was designed, as were the two wires that ran forward and aft from the conning tower on to the deck, to divert anything that might snare the craft. No, it couldn’t be the bar or the parts of the Welman it was designed to protect.
