by Edwyn Gray
‘Morgan! Cut the anchor cable! Jackson! Go for’ard and release the bow lines. Then all of you get below at the double!’ Hamilton cupped his hands as he shouted up to Mannon on the bridge. ‘Full ahead both engines, Number One! Steer towards the destroyer.’
Mannon’s acknowledgement was lost in the shriek of the wind, but Hamilton felt the deck plating vibrating under his feet as the diesels roared into life. Giving Ottershaw a helping hand to climb the rungs of the conning tower, he checked that Morgan and the deck party were safely below and then followed the lieutenant commander to the bridge.
‘There’s a small cove on the north-west side of the bay,’ he told him as he swung himself over the screen. ‘The wind has veered to the south-east and the promontory will act as a wind-shield. If Firefly can get to the cove and under the lee of the hills she should be able to ride out the storm fairly comfortably.’
‘Sounds OK to me, Nick. The old girl certainly hasn’t got enough power to head into the wind and reach open sea. Can you pass a signal to my Number One?’
Hamilton nodded and called the yeoman of signals over, dictated a brief message and, a few seconds later, the submarine’s Aldis lamp was flashing instructions to the gunboat.
As Rapier came out from under the lee of Firefly’s high superstructure the typhoon struck her with savage fury. The sea, lashed by the rising wind, had steepened into ugly, white-crested waves that rolled across the bay like serried ranks of soldier ants, destroying everything that lay in their path. A spume of spray hung like a mist over the angry waves and, peering ahead, Hamilton was relieved to find that Aritsu had switched on Suma’s riding lights.
A gigantic wave struck the submarine’s bows and burst with the roar of an exploding shell. Rapier’s stem lifted under the initial impact and then fell back with a sickening jolt. The following crest, meeting with no resistance, swept across the foredeck, crashed against the base of the conning tower and threw a solid wall of cold, black water over the men on the bridge.
Hamilton clung to the rails. The salt water stung his eyes and, half-blinded, he reached out his hands to make sure Ottershaw was still there. A third wave tossed the submarine to starboard with contemptuous ease and he suddenly found himself sliding helplessly across the flooded deck, until the steel bridge screen brought him to a bruising stop. Something cannoned against him with a force that knocked the breath from his body and, disentangling himself, he found Ottershaw sprawled like a drowned rat at his side. Hauling himself upwards, he leaned forward and helped the gunboat skipper to his feet.
Hamilton wiped the water from his eyes and searched into the darkness ahead for the destroyer. Rapier's bows lifted to meet another breaker and, as the deck tilted at a crazy angle, a large black object slid towards the rear of the bridge with the ungainly grace of an elephant seal slithering over the rocks towards the sea.
‘It’s the Yeoman, Harry!’ he shouted to Ottershaw. ‘Grab hold of him. I’ll give you a hand as soon as I can.’
Rapier executed a weird war dance, as the combined ferocity of the wind and waves hurled her from side to side like a pea in a rattle. Even the thrusting power of her Admiralty Standard Range diesel engines seemed pitifully inadequate when matched against the terrifying strength of the typhoon. She wallowed drunkenly, pushed her bows upwards with sluggish reluctance and then wearily buried her nose beneath the surface like an exhausted and drowning swimmer. Hamilton peered through the murk and managed to pick out the green navigation light from Suma's bridge. Grasping the rail with one hand, he flipped open the watertight cover of the control room voice pipe.
‘Steer one point to port!’
‘One point to port, sir,’ Mannon acknowledged. ‘How are we doing?’
‘Fine,’ Hamilton told him laconically, as another cascade of freezing water swept over the bridge. ‘How are things below?’
‘Mustn’t grumble, sir. At least we’re not getting wet.’
Hamilton knew that the first officer was lying. Submarines were not designed to ride on the surface in severe storms and he knew only too well what conditions would be like below deck. The interior of a submarine was no place for a queasy stomach, with the hatches secured and the cramped atmosphere reeking of diesel oil, human sweat and stale vegetables. And, in bad weather, the sour smell of vomit added a new dimension of horror to the already revolting stench.
Hamilton’s hands were bleeding, his face was raw from salt burns and he was drenched to the skin. But the hardships that he was enduring on the exposed bridge was nothing when compared to the misery of the men cooped up in the Rapier’s iron hull. They were the real heroes of the submarine service.
‘Can you lend a hand, Nick?’ Ottershaw yelled from the other end of the bridge.
Fighting against the motion of the boat, Hamilton half slid, half-stumbled, across the flooded deck and knelt down, beside the gunboat skipper. Jack Drury, Rapier’s signal’s yeoman, was barely conscious and blood was trickling from an ugly gash in his forehead, where he had struck the compass binnacle.
‘We’ll have to get him below,’ Ottershaw shouted above the shriek of the wind. ‘His leg’s broken.’
Hamilton felt Drury jerk with pain as he reached forward to confirm Ottershaw’s diagnosis. He glanced up and shook his head.
‘He’ll have to stay here, Harry,’ he said flatly. ‘I’m not opening the top hatch until I have to. An agile man could be through the hatchway in ten seconds and we could probably get it open and shut again before the next sea broke over the bridge. But Drury’s a dead weight. And he’s a big man into the bargain. It would take all of thirty seconds, perhaps even a minute, to get him inside. And I can’t afford to take the risk of flooding the Control Room. Try to make the poor sod comfortable and then lash him on to the periscope standard. We don’t want him washed overboard.’
Leaving Ottershaw to cope with the injured yeoman, Hamilton groped his way towards the for’ard section of the bridge to check the bearing of the destroyer. Suma was now barely two hundred yards away and he could see her anchor chains straining against the mounting pressures of the wind and sea. He moved to the voice pipe.
‘Number One - send Morgan up with a deck party. And tell them to rig life lines. It’s sheer bloody murder up here and I don’t want any more accidents.’ He paused as Rapier plunged into a trough and rose clear. ‘We’ll be passing inside the lee of the destroyer in exactly one minute. When I give the shout, I want Morgan’s party topside at the double. Then stand by to receive Drury - his leg’s busted and he’s unconscious.’
‘Understood, sir. Deck party closed up. Ready when you are.’
‘Stand by to shut down engines. Stand by motors.’
Hamilton had waited as long as he dared before making the critical transfer of power and he knew that the decision could not be deferred any longer. The primitive gear-box of a submarine did not permit it to go astern on its diesel engines and Rapier would have to rely on her electric motors for the delicate maneuvering that lay ahead. It meant a heavy drain on the batteries, but in the circumstances, there was no alternative. The submarine steadied suddenly as she came under Suma’s lee.
‘Now.’
Hamilton saw the upper hatch swing open and, a moment later, Morgan’s head thrust into view. Grasping the lipped rim of the hatchway, the gunner’s mate heaved himself upwards, swung his legs onto the deck, and immediately turned to help the next man through the narrow opening. Within thirty seconds, all four members of the deck party were on the bridge and two of them hurried aft to help Ottershaw lift the unconscious yeoman into the hatchway.
‘Stop engines! Clutches out - switches on! Half astern both motors. Stop! Slow ahead together... stop!’
Rapier hung inside the protective lee of Suma's starboard beam just long enough for Drury to be carried below.
‘Hatch shut, sir!’ Morgan shouted.
‘Full astern both motors... steady as she goes. Full starboard rudders.’ Hamilton reached for the loud hailer and watched the b
ows swing in a semi-circle to bring the submarine’s stern in line with Suma's bows. Ottershaw, now freed from the burden of looking after the signaler, came for’ard to join him.
‘I must be imagining things, Nick. But I’d swear the wind is moderating - and veering to the south.’
‘You’re quite right, Harry. That’s why I was in such a bloody hurry to get across the bay. Let’s hope Aritsu is too damned scared to notice.’ He put the microphone of the loud hailer to his mouth and pushed down the thumb switch, ‘Ahoy, Suma I Do you hear me! Can you get a line to my stern?’
A fo’c’sle party, wearing black oilskins that flopped like gigantic bats in the wind, appeared in the destroyer’s bows and Hamilton stared astern through the driving rain and flying spray as he passed steering instructions to the helmsman in the control room below. Aritsu was standing on the starboard wing of the destroyer’s bridge with an old fashioned megaphone in his hand. He seemed too intent on the submarine’s careful approach to notice the almost imperceptible improvement in the weather conditions.
A line snaked down from Suma’s bows, struck the fantail of the submarine with a loud clatter, and slid back into the sea before Morgan’s men could grab it and haul it aboard.
‘Try again, Suma.'
This time, the line landed close to the deck party huddled in the stern of the submarine and two of the men seized it and began dragging it back towards the conning tower. Miller and Davidson came to their assistance, while Morgan encouraged them to haul away like a regatta tug- of-war team. The after deck was almost continuously under water as the sea pounded against the ballast tanks and threw white swirling foam over the hull. A heavy six-inch twin towing wire was attached to the line and Morgan’s men heaved and swore as they drew it around the front of the conning tower and then began dragging it back towards the small auxiliary capstan above the engine room hatch.
A large wave smashed against the windward beam of the submarine and Rapier rolled to starboard. Luckily, the deck party managed to hang on to their life lines as they vanished beneath a roaring wall of ice-cold water. And, as Rapier swung back again, they emerged from behind the conning tower and quickly shackled the hawser in position.
‘All secure, sir!’
Hamilton pushed the microphone to his mouth. ‘Ahoy, Sumal Stand by to take the strain. Make five knots when I tell you - and let go your anchors!’
‘Aritsu won’t be very popular if he loses his anchors,’ Ottershaw grinned at Hamilton.
‘Probably not- but I daresay he’d rather lose his anchors than his ship.’
Holding the microphone against his chest to shield it from the rain, Hamilton moved to the voice pipe. ‘Slow ahead together, Number One.’
‘Slow ahead aye aye, sir.’
He watched the towing wire lift slowly out of the water as Rapier began to creep forward.
‘Suma.’
‘Standing by, Rapier.'
‘Make five knots. Let go anchors. Port your helm!’ Hamilton waited for the acknowledgements from the destroyer’s bridge and then bent over the voice pipe. ‘Steer six degrees to port, Number One. Increase to half-speed.’
Ottershaw’s mouth went dry as he watched the hawser strain taut. This was the critical moment of the entire exercise. Either the towline would part under the terrible stress to which it was being subjected - or Hamilton’s delicate equalization of speed would ease the strain sufficiently to balance the two opposing forces. Once the line was taut and both ships were moving at identical speeds the worst of the danger would have passed.
‘I think we’re going to make it, Nick.’
Hamilton said nothing. Leaning his arms on the after bridge screen he watched the towing hawser tighten with the concentration of a gambler playing his last chip.
‘Well done, Rapier.’
Aritsu’s voice sounded strangely hollow through the megaphone and it was only just audible above the shriek of the winds. But Hamilton heard it all right and he waved his arm in acknowledgement. The darkness and the driving rain hid the grin on his face.
The violent rolling action of the submarine suddenly eased, as Rapier’s bows came into wind. He bent over the voice pipe again. ‘Midship’s helm, Number One.’ He pressed the switch of the loudhailer. ‘Ahoy, Sumal Helm amidships!’
A faint glimmer of light on the south-eastern horizon drew Ottershaw’s attention and he pointed it out to Rapier’s skipper. Hamilton glanced at it and nodded disinterestedly.
‘We only just had time for the big rescue act,’ he commented enigmatically.
‘Odd sort of typhoon,’ Ottershaw said doubtfully. ‘If anyone asked me, I’d say the epicenter passed over a good ten minutes ago.’
‘What typhoon?’ Hamilton enquired innocently.
‘The one you warned Aritsu about.’
Hamilton turned away from the bridge screen, stared towards the growing patch of blue sky over the bows, and smiled.
‘I must have made a mistake, Harry,’ he admitted cheerfully. ‘Just a rather nasty tropical squall I’d reckon.’
‘But you told Aritsu there’d been a weather warning of a typhoon,’ Ottershaw persisted. ‘He would never have agreed to a tow if he’d known it was only a squall.’
‘Don’t blame me,’ Hamilton said with a shrug. ‘It was your damned sub, Peters, who told me it was a typhoon.’ He contrived to look innocent. ‘I’ve only just arrived in Hong Kong - how on earth was I supposed to know?’
Ottershaw was not so easily fooled. Although the sea was subsiding, the waves were still breaking angrily, and he could feel Suma pitching unpleasantly astern of the submarine.
‘You bloody well knew!’ he said accusingly.
‘I didn’t when young Peters first told me. But I was aware that the typhoon season was over. So when I went back to Rapier I put a radio call through to the FMO in Hong Kong to double check.’ Hamilton paused and smiled at the memory. ‘Hawkins confirmed the approach of a rather deep low, but he was a trifle sarcastic about typhoons in November. Nevertheless, it struck me as a good idea. All I had to do was to sell it to Aritsu. After that it was easy.’
‘So it was all a bloody great bluff,’ Ottershaw said bluntly.
‘I suppose you could say it was,’ Hamilton agreed equably. ‘But I had to persuade Aritsu to let me take Suma in tow. It was the only thing I could do to make him lose face - and the fact that he accepted the assistance of a British warship when his own vessel was in no real danger merely makes it all the worse. I don’t think Tokyo is going to be very pleased with him after this little affair.’ Ottershaw digested the explanation in silence for a few moments. Then he grinned.
‘Next time we meet in the club, Nick, just promise me one thing. Promise me you’ll never invite me to join you in a poker game.’
Six
The two capital ships swinging gently at their moorings in the center of the anchorage dominated the dockyard, and dwarfed the slim destroyers grouped astern. They were the largest warships Singapore had seen for more than a decade and their massive presence fulfilled the solemn promise of successive British Governments, that the Royal Navy would throw its protective shield around the Malayan Peninsula if war ever threatened to engulf the Far East.
When the news first reached the city on 2 December, excited crowds had thronged the shore to witness their arrival. Even now, five days later, these great grey symbols of Britain’s sea power continued to attract attention.
Captain Gerald Edwards, Deputy Assistant Chief of Staff to Vice Admiral Sir Geoffrey Layton, C-in-C China, stared down at the two ships from the window of his office overlooking the harbor and considered the future. The arrival of Admiral Phillip’s Force Z was going to put him out of a job. The admiral had already been appointed to succeed Layton as C-in-C Eastern Fleet and, naturally, he would put his own men into the key staff positions. And in a few day’s time Edwards would be returning home. He wondered whether he would have time to see his younger brother, who was serving as a junior gunnery lieutenant o
n Repulse, but decided it was an unlikely possibility. As soon as Phillips returned from his conference with the US Fleet commander in Manilla, it seemed probable that the battle cruiser and her consort, Prince of Wales, would sail immediately. Edwards had already seen a copy of Churchill’s telegram ordering Phillips to sea to ‘disconcert the Japanese and at the same time increase the security of the force’ and he knew that the new C-in-C would be anxious to carry out the Prime Minister’s command.
It was hardly surprising that Churchill was concerned for the security of Force Z. No doubt Admiral Phillips entertained similar fears. And if he did, who could blame him? Without an aircraft carrier, Force Z was as helpless as a rabbit in a tank of piranha fish - and the end was likely to be equally bloody. Only a politician could be guilty of such gross stupidity. Admittedly the armored carrier Indomitable had originally been assigned to Phillips’ command. But she had run aground in the West Indies and the admiral’s two capital ships had been told to sail east without her. If the politicians had not been running the show there was little doubt in Edwards’ mind that the task force would have been recalled until adequate air cover could be provided. But Churchill refused. Prince of Wales and Repulse were to be the great deterrent to Japan’s grandiose plan to seize Malaya and to conquer the whole of SouthEast Asia. There would be no need to fight - their mere presence in the Far East would be sufficient....
A sharp knock on the door broke the captain’s train of thought. Turning away from the window he walked to his desk as the flag lieutenant entered.
‘Message from the AOC, sir. Most immediate.’
Edwards took the slip, put on his horn-rimmed glasses and read the brief text of Pulford’s signal. He nodded. ‘This confirms the intelligence reports we received earlier,’ he told Jameson. ‘I’d been wondering why Palliser recalled Repulse from her Australian trip. Looks as though the balloon’s about to go up.’
The flag lieutenant glanced down at the signal to refresh his memory. ‘It doesn’t follow that the Japs are heading for Malaya, sir,’ he pointed out. ‘The air reconnaissance reports only confirm two convoys steaming west - they could be making for Siam.’
