Diving Stations

by Edwyn Gray

  ‘What the deuce are you doing here, Hamilton?’ Snark barked belligerently. ‘I thought you were ordered to Singapore a week ago.’ He glared at the lieutenant. ‘Lucky for you I recognized the boat. In another couple of minutes we’d have taken you for a Jap sub and opened fire.’

  Hamilton tried to repress a smile. The picket-boat’s antiquated pea-shooter would have been next to useless - any self-respecting Japanese submarine would have blown him out of the water inside thirty seconds. And Snark knew it. But it wouldn’t have stopped him from trying.

  Snark growled to himself in the darkness. He was glad to have Rapier back, although he had no intention of admitting it. ‘The situation is hopeless,’ he announced bluntly. ‘But the Navy will go down fighting.’ He nodded towards Rapier’s deck gun. ‘I reckon you could do some satisfying damage with that,’ he added wistfully.

  Despite his customary mistrust of authority, Hamilton recognized an unexpected determination in Snark’s attitude. The old boy was due for retirement in twelve months and, as an administrator, he couldn’t see further than the nose on his face. But he was a born fighter and a natural leader. And Hamilton had to admire his guts.

  ‘Please regard Rapier as coming under your orders, sir.’ He could not help feeling slightly amused at the formality of the phrase in the circumstances. With the enemy poised on the northern shore, the crash of exploding shells reverberating across the bay, and the night sky fit by fires still burning on both sides of the narrow straits, two naval officers were quietly deciding the appropriate lines of seniority and command in the approved regulation manner, with a total disregard for the chaos and confusion that surrounded them on all sides. To the impartial observer it was highly incongruous - but very British.

  ‘Thank you, Lieutenant. Your offer is appreciated.’

  Snark smiled thinly. ‘But I think you will probably do better if I give you a free hand.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Let me put you in the picture. I’ve organized a make-shift flotilla of small boats to cover the narrows opposite Kowloon. We can’t use our bigger ships at the western end of the Straits - the enemy has artillery batteries dug in every hundred yards along the Kowloon waterfront. Firefly is covering the eastern approaches down to Lye Mun Point and Gandy’s Second Flotilla is patrolling Junk Bay. My boats will be keeping an eye on the harbor area down as far as the Sulphur Channel and that leaves our most vulnerable point - Quarry Bay and the Taikoo shipyard - wide open. If you can maintain a standing patrol in that area during the night, we should have all sectors covered against a landing attempt.’

  Hamilton nodded. ‘You realize that I’ll have to dive at dawn, sir,’ he pointed out. ‘I daren’t risk remaining on the surface in daylight.’

  ‘Quite understood, Lieutenant. In any event, Rapier is far too valuable to lose. After submerging I suggest you withdraw eastwards and remain in the vicinity of Lam Tong Island. The Japs won’t try a daylight attack across the Straits, but they might launch a seaborne assault. If you’re lying off Lam Tong you’ll be protecting our eastern flank, while Circala and Tern are guarding our southern and western coasts.’ Snark drew himself up straight as he brought the discussion to an end. ‘Good luck, Lieutenant. You can rely on the rest of us coming to your support if you need it.’

  Hamilton saluted and escorted the captain to the port side, where the men waiting in the steam pinnace helped him safely down the slippery ballast tanks and onto the gunwale. Someone had painted HMS Dreadnought in large black letters on the side of the antediluvian tender and Hamilton could not resist a smile as he saw it. No doubt Snark disapproved of such levity, but he had the wisdom to ignore the wanton desecration of his beloved government property. And Hamilton concluded that the old post captain was probably secretly pleased by this unorthodox demonstration of his men’s high morale.

  Black coal smoke and a shower of dancing red sparks erupted from the tender’s spindly funnel as she went astern to clear the submarine and then, with her White Ensign snapping proudly in the breeze, she chugged away until her outline was swallowed up by the darkness.

  ‘Half-ahead together.’ As Rapier began moving forward Hamilton glanced at Mannon. ‘There’ll be no sleep for us tonight, Number One. And we’ll have to miss our grub.’ He stared out over the starboard side at the opaque blackness that cloaked the mainland. The fires had mostly died away and the darkness added a furtive secrecy to the enemy’s preparations. ‘I wonder what the bastards are up to?’

  ‘Could we risk going inshore for a quick look, sir?’

  ‘I suppose we might get away with it if we were to make a high speed run down the coast on the surface,’ Hamilton said thoughtfully. Like Mannon he found the challenge difficult to resist. And the depth of the water precluded a more cautious submerged approach. ‘To hell with it - let’s try it!’ He turned to Blood. ‘Cox’n steer towards those fires on the airfield. When we’re half a mile off-shore turn east and follow the coast.’

  The fact that Hamilton’s impulsive decision would probably bring Rapier under fire did not seem to unduly worry the phlegmatic Ernie Blood. The old veterans had seen it all before - and survived. Having sailed through the Dardanelles with Martin Nasmith’s E.n in 1915 and escaped a steam submarine disaster in the twenties, the coxswain was a fatalist. If his number came up this time he’d had a good innings. And he did not believe in meeting trouble before it arrived.

  ‘Aye aye, sir.’

  Rapier’s bows began to swing to starboard as Blood spun the helm and Hamilton searched the darkness ahead for enemy patrol ships.

  ‘Ring down for maximum speed, Number One.’ He moved to the front of the bridge and leaned over the screen. ‘We’re going to take a run down the coast, Morgan,’ he shouted to the gunner’s mate. ‘Keep trained to port and load up with HE. If we see anything worth shooting at I’ll give you the word.’

  ‘Deck gun, aye aye, sir.’

  ‘Keep your eyes peeled, look-outs! And sing out if you spot anything. But concentrate on the water - I’ll watch out for shore targets.’

  ‘I thought this was a recce run, sir,’ Mannon reminded him quietly. Hamilton’s preparations suggested a rather more active role.

  ‘Well, I’ve changed my mind, Number One. No point in half measures. If we spot any landing craft I intend to blow ’em out of the water. It’s about time someone remembered that attack is the best means of defense.’

  ‘Turning to starboard, sir,’ Blood reported.

  The barrel on Rapier’s deck gun swung to the left as the coxswain brought the submarine parallel to the northern shore and Hamilton began surveying the mainland through his binoculars as he searched for signs of enemy activity. He knew he was taking a gamble, but the element of risk involved would be reduced to the minimum by the priceless advantage of surprise.

  There was certainly plenty going on. Army trucks were creeping along the roads in long straggling convoys and, at odd intervals, Hamilton could see small groups of tents where Japanese soldiers were setting up camp. Other troops were busy clearing the debris of burnt-out aircraft at Kai Tak, so that the landing ground would be ready to receive their own planes at dawn. An engineer unit was hard at work repairing a small road bridge under the inadequate light of storm lanterns that flickered fitfully in the off-shore breeze.

  ‘Something’s going on over there, sir!’ Mannon reported suddenly. ‘Fine on the port bow - about a thousand yards.’ Hamilton lowered his glasses and found the deep shadows that had attracted Mannon’s attention. Raising the binoculars he focused on a group of seven or eight small pontoons lying in the water. Moving his search to the left, he could see a dozen open trucks unloading more of the flat bottomed craft and a number of Japanese soldiers working like beavers in the dim glow of carefully shaded lamps.

  ‘Stand by for gun action! Target red-two-zero. Landing craft.’

  ‘I’ve got them, sir. Range eight-hundred.’

  ‘Confirmed. Ten rounds rapid, Mister Gunner!’

  The first shell burst on
the shingle and spat fragments of jagged stones in all directions like shrapnel. The second struck a pile of pontoons waiting to be lowered into the water and flames leapt skywards as the wooden hulls ignited. Hamilton could hear the confused orders and counter-orders as the officers tried to bring the panic- stricken troops under control and he saw a large truck spinning its rear wheels in the damp earth as its driver made a frantic bid to get clear.

  Rapier's third shell slammed into the cab of the lorry, where it exploded and sent up a sheet of vivid white flame that lit the entire area like a parachute flare. It revealed a scene of utter chaos- burning trucks, smashed and broken pontoons, and men running wildly in all directions to escape the murderous and unexpected attack from the peaceful darkness of the sea. Hamilton felt the adrenalin surge into his blood as the primitive excitement of battle gripped him.

  ‘Steer inshore, Cox’n. Let’s give the Lewis guns a chance. Is 500 yards enough, MacIntyre?’

  The machine gunner grinned cheerfully and raised an upturned thumb. ‘Aye, that’ll be fine, sir,’ he confirmed in a thick Glaswegian accent.

  ‘Open fire when you’re ready ’

  He heard the sharp click of the bolt as MacIntyre tucked the butt of the Lewis gun into his shoulder and sighted the shadowy figures scrambling for cover. Tak-tak-tak-tak- tak... tak-tak-tak-tak.... A line of tracer bullets ripped into the darkness and the screams of the soldiers carried back across the black water like the cadences of dying banshees. MacIntyre jerked the machine gun to the left and opened up on a group of Japanese struggling to climb aboard an escaping truck.

  The devastating attack was all over in less than sixty seconds. Caught by surprise and with no weapons to hand, the enemy troops were unable to reply to the fusillade of high-explosive shells and machine gun bullets, and Rapier ran clear of the shingled beach without so much as a scratch. As the target area passed astern, Hamilton carried out a hurried post-mortem in the ruddy light of the burning lorries. At least two trucks had been hit and a dozen pontoons totally destroyed while, sprawled on the shingle, over twenty motionless bodies testified to the killing power of MacIntyre’s Lewis gun. It had been a highly successful hit-and-run raid even though it had not completely knocked out the enemy’s improvised embarkation point. A number of pontoons remained undamaged and, as he ordered Morgan to check fire, Hamilton could see the soldiers cautiously emerging from behind cover to assess the damage.

  Rapier’s skipper now faced three choices: to circle around on the engines and return for a second strike, to switch over to the motors and go astern for a repetition of the bombardment, or to earn on eastwards in search of fresh targets. If he returned for a second attack, the enemy would be on the alert and he might not be so lucky. He made his decision without a moment’s hesitation.

  ‘Maintain course, Cox’n. But stay about a thousand yards offshore- I don’t want to run aground on the shoals.’ As Blood acknowledged the order, Hamilton leaned forward over the bridge screen. ‘Good shooting, lads. I’ll see if I can find you some more targets.’

  ‘Looks as though the Japs were planning a landing for tonight, sir,’ Mannon observed as the skipper rejoined him on the port-wing of the bridge.

  Hamilton shrugged. ‘Possibly. More likely tomorrow - they’ve no artillery in position. And they’ll need gun support if they attempt a crossing.’

  ‘Landing craft ahead!’

  Morgan’s warning shout put a stop to further speculation and both officers peered anxiously into the darkness. This time it was Mannon who found the target first. ‘Eleven o’clock off port bow, sir! Eight-hundred yards. Boats moored to a small landing stage.’ His glasses swung to the left. ‘And a number of trucks parked behind the trees.’ Guided by the first officer’s directions, Hamilton picked up the new target without difficulty. The enemy concentration was considerably larger than the previous one and most of the pontoons were already in the water loaded to the gunwales with fully equipped combat troops. Mannon was right. The Japs did intend to cross the Straits tonight!

  ‘Gun action! Target red-two-zero... range eight- hundred. Fire! Fire! Fire!’

  It was impossible to miss, and every salvo found its mark as Rapier’s gunners poured shell after shell into the crowded target area. To an impartial observer it was little more than sheer bloody carnage. But to Hamilton and his men, already sickened by Japanese atrocities in China and Malaya, it was a just and rewarding vengeance on an enemy that asked, and gave, no quarter.

  A fully laden pontoon reared like a startled horse and threw its cargo of soldiers into the sea as a near miss exploded close under its stern. Another vanished in a sheet of blinding flame as Morgan’s men scored a direct hit on a box of ammunition. A third swung violently to starboard and collided with its companion. Within two minutes, the sea was strewn with wreckage, equipment, floating bodies, and struggling men. MacIntyre sighted his machine gun into the confusion and took deliberate aim at a group of soldiers staggering waist-deep towards the beach, bringing them down with a long sustained burst that ripped the night air with the sound of tearing calico. The water turned bright red as it lapped gently over the shingle and then fell back to leave the huddled remains of the dead soldiers on the wet stones; like grotesque black starfish thrown up and abandoned by the sea.

  A concealed machine gun opened up from behind the trees and heavy caliber bullets thudded against the thin steel plating of the conning tower. MacIntyre swung his Lewis gun towards the source of the firing and answered with a quick burst that quickly silenced the opposition.

  ‘Hard a’starboard!’

  Mannon had to grab for the bridge rail as Blood gave the submarine full right rudder. He looked towards the bows. Hamilton must have eyes in the back of his bloody head!

  In a wild bid to escape the holocaust on the beach, three motorized pontoons had started their outboards and were heading away from the shore towards the center of the Strait, in the hope that sea-room would bring safety. A bubbling white wash curled from their square sterns as they increased speed. Mannon could see the soldiers hanging on for grim death as the flat-bottomed landing craft bounced and jolted across, the smooth water.

  ‘Steer at them, Cox’n!’ Hamilton shouted to Blood. ‘Ram the bastards!’

  Rapier's sharp steel bows cut the leading landing craft in half and it vanished beneath the black water within seconds. The broad sweep of the starboard ballast tank struck the second pontoon a glancing blow that splintered the frail wooden hull like matchwood. It tilted on to its beam-ends, hung precariously for a few moments, and then turned over. MacIntyre’s Lewis gun raked the sea as the survivors bobbed to the surface and his trigger finger did not relax its pressure until every man was dead.

  The last pontoon in the line swerved sharply to starboard to avoid a similar fate and then swung purposefully towards the avenging submarine while the soldiers tried to bring their machine gun to bear. But with less than twenty yards to go, the clumsy flat-bottomed craft caught the full force of Rapier's bow wave and it reared up as a wall of cresting water swept under its blunt snout. Lacking the stability of a properly designed boat, it capsized in an instant and flung its occupants into the sea.

  Most of the soldiers were dragged under by their heavy combat equipment and drowned within seconds, but three threw themselves forward with fanatical determination and tried to gain a grip on Rapier’s slippery hull plating. The officer leading them was quickly swept away by the wash and his screams rent the night air as the propellers caught him.

  ‘No prisoners!’

  The submariners reacted to Hamilton’s grim order without hesitation. Morgan grabbed an iron stanchion, ran along the fore-deck, and smashed it down on the hands of the first Japanese as he tried to haul himself to safety. Ryuji Kamisaka screamed but, ignoring the agony of his broken fingers, he continued to cling on with his left hand. Morgan struck again and the army corporal fell back into the sea with an anguished cry, drifted helplessly astern for a few brief moments, and then raised his arm a
nd vanished beneath the surface.

  The second soldier had already pulled himself up onto the fore-deck casing by the time Walker arrived in the bows and he received the seaman’s boot in his face for his efforts. Losing his grip, he fell backwards into the water with a loud splash and disappeared.

  The excitement was over before Rapier's men had had time to consider what they were doing. The skipper had given an order and responding to discipline they had carried it out. No one questioned whether it was lawful. And no one mentioned the Geneva Convention. It had been a matter of kill or be killed. In the heat of combat, personal survival could be the only consideration....

  ‘Destroyers to starboard!’

  ‘Check fire! New target three thousand yards on starboard bow - stand by!’

  In the confusion of a night battle it is easy to make a mistake and Hamilton wanted positive identification before he ordered Rapier’s deck gun to open fire. The approaching ships were unlikely to be British - but, he readily admitted it was an outside chance, they could be American.

  ‘Three ships in line ahead - estimated speed twenty-five knots,’ Mannon reported as he watched the approaching destroyers through his glasses. ‘No lights.’

  The crashing roar of an exploding shell astern rocked the submarine violently and Hamilton glanced back quickly at the shore. In the flickering glow of the burning trucks he could see a Japanese field gun on the shingle beach with another being manhandled alongside it. The heady self-confidence created by their two easy successes quickly disappeared in the face of this new danger. Suddenly everything had gone sour. And, if the approaching warships proved to be Japanese, the enemy had the submarine trapped between two fires!

  ‘Reverse course, Cox’n. Steer west and make for mid-channel. I’m going to need diving room.’ Hamilton leaned over the engine room voice pipe. ‘Maximum revs, O’Brien! Pull out all the bloody stops!’