‘They want to take on our heavy cruisers,’ Walt said, wishing he was there … or in command here.
‘And the best of luck to them. Wham, wham. Boy, there is some action taking place.’
‘Surely we should get over there, sir,’ Walt begged.
‘I’m not taking this ship through that strait, submerged. That would be hazarding my command.’
And that he would never do, Walt thought, sadly. ‘We can go round the north side of Savo Island, sir,’ he said. ‘We could even surface. There aren’t any enemy ships around now.’
Waite took another long, slow inspection of the immediate vicinity. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said at last. ‘There could be some stragglers round the other side. Take her up, Lieutenant.’
Walt gave the orders, could hardly wait to get up on the conning tower, while the submarine began to race through the sea to the east the moment she broke the surface.
Walt looked first of all to the south, where, as Waite had indicated, at least one ship was burning fiercely; there was all manner of din down there but he couldn’t make out any details before the bulk of Savo Island interposed.
To the east was the sound of heavy gunfire, and as they cleared the northern tip of Savo they witnessed an unusual sight in this war, a ship to ship gun duel being fought at relatively close range; the opposing fleets could not have been more than five miles apart. And one fleet was in trouble, with several ships on fire and flames shooting into the night sky.
‘You reckon those are the Japs?’ Prosper asked.
Walt felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach as he stared through his glasses. The burning ships were in the wrong place And there were three of them.
‘Say, those guys are coming at us,’ Jonssen was complaining again.
Waite stared at the dark shapes, who were still belching flame at the eastern squadron. ‘Christ!’ he said. ‘Dive, dive, dive.’ They tumbled down the ladder as the submarine went down. Just as if we were playing shitting tag, Walt thought.
‘Three cruisers blown apart,’ Waite said. ‘Just like that. What kind of a navy do we have?’
With people like you commanding ships, Walt thought, a damn poor one. ‘We can take one now, sir, surely.’
‘Take one? Mister, those fellows are running riot.’
‘Because we are letting them. For God’s sake, sir, we can’t just let them get away unscathed.’
Waite gazed at him, then at Prosper and Jonssen, who had not yet taken battle stations. ‘We’ll have a look,’ he decided.
Walt took Tecumsah up to periscope depths, and Waite inspected the situation. ‘Seven of the bastards,’ he said. ‘One’s got a fire problem. Not too big.’
‘And ours, sir?’
Waite twisted the pillar. ‘Don’t look too good.’
‘Can’t we attack, sir?’
Waite chewed his lip as he gazed through the eyepiece. ‘There’ll be destroyers.’
‘How many?’
‘Well, I can’t see any at the moment. But there have to be some. Holy Jesus!’
Even at thirty feet down and some distance away, the crew of Tecumsah could hear the bang.
‘One of them’s gone up,’ Waite said. ‘There must be another sub around.’
‘Well, if he’s got one, we can get one,’ Walt said, nearly shouting in his despair.
‘Yeah. That’s sure going to stir things up, though. Steer zero eight four.’
Which would at least take them closer, Walt thought. ‘Action stations.’
Prosper and Jonssen hurried off.
At last, Walt thought; they were actually going into action. ‘Course is zero nine two,’ Waite said.
Walt frowned; they were altering course more to the east, where the Japanese squadron would certainly be making its escape to the north — except perhaps for the cruiser which had been hit. He couldn’t believe that Waite was opting to attack the already sinking Japanese ship in preference to trying to get another one.
But he was. ‘Christ, what a sight,’ the captain commented. ‘She’s in dead trouble. That was a good shot. I wonder who it was. And where she is now, come to think of it. Now, if we let her have one too … shit, destroyers. Dive, dive, dive.’
Walt obeyed instinctively, while his heart sagged. There was no certainty the destroyers had seen them. But they were certainly overhead; he could hear them.
‘Stop engines, absolute quiet,’ Waite commanded.
The submarine hung once again, but this time the noise of the propellors above them did not fade. Instead they raced to and fro, and then there was suddenly a sequence of enormous explosions. The submarine quivered, and the lights went out. ‘Oh, shit,’ Waite said. ‘Oh, shit.’
‘Take her down!’ Walt snapped.
‘I can’t see,’ Waite moaned. ‘Christ, what’s that smell?’
‘Battery acid,’ Walt told him.
‘We’re gonna drown. Take her up, mister. Take her up.’
‘Down,’ Walt repeated. ‘Up is to surrender.’
The lights returned, and the two men stared at each other. The depth gauge was moving steadily downwards as the ratings ignored their superiors and got on with the job. Walt picked up the intercom. ‘Damage report,’ he said. ‘Forward?’
‘A lot of water, sir,’ Prosper said. ‘And some oil. Something’s sprung.’
‘Repair crew forward,’ Walt snapped.
‘Oil,’ Waite muttered. ‘Jesus, when that gets to the surface they’ll know we’re down here.’
Walt ignored him. ‘Aft?’ he inquired.
‘Just a trickle, sir,’ Jonssen said.
‘Two hundred feet,’ said the yeoman on the depths gauge. ‘We’re sinking,’ Waite said, arms wrapped round the telescope pole.
‘Deliberately,’ Walt reminded him. ‘Even her out,’ he told the man on the hydroplanes.
Tecumsah straightened. From forward there came a clang. ‘Oh, Jesus!’ Waite moaned.
‘Just a hammer.’
‘But the noise!’
‘Can’t be helped, if it’s a bad break.’
‘Propellers, sir,’ said Chief Petty Officer Malone, face turning upwards.
Even at this depth they could hear the enemy craft.
‘They know we’re here,’ Waite said. ‘They know it.’
Walt gazed at his face, rigid with fright, then at the tension in the faces of the other men. No doubt he looked the same, he supposed. But there was nothing they could do, save wait. ‘They don’t know we’re here,’ he said. ‘They’re just hoping.’ They heard a scraping sound. Walt was the only one who knew what it was, because he was the only one who had heard it before. He thought, of all the fucking bad luck. But so much of what happened in a war was bad luck. The entire Japanese fleet had had bad luck at Midway, but so had Yorktown. He didn’t know if the Allied squadron tonight had had bad luck or been caught with its pants down, but it sure was a bit of bad luck coming their way now.
Waite’s mouth opened. ‘That’s a … ‘
He never finished the sentence. The explosion threw Walt across the control room and into the rating on the depths gauge. They fell together, in a shower of exploding glass. The lights went off again and the hull of the submarine groaned and twisted. Men shouted and there was a rasp of tortured machinery. ‘Take her up,’ Waite was screaming. ‘Take her up.’
Walt scrambled to his feet. Was she lifting? Yes. He could feel the upwards movements, hear the hiss of the water being expelled from the ballast tanks. She was badly hurt, but not mortally injured. ‘Lights,’ he snapped. ‘Emergency lights.’ They gave a ghostly green glow. ‘Doctor,’ Walt said into the intercom. ‘There are injured men here.’ He knelt beside the yeoman in charge of the depths gauge, who lay on the deck, blood streaming from his head.
There was no reply for a moment, then Surgeon Lieutenant Kidder replied, ‘There are injured men up here too, Walt. I’ll get to you as soon as I can.’
‘Fifty feet, sir,’ said Chief Malone.
‘Action stations,’ Walt said into the intercom. ‘Would you like to test the periscope, sir?’
‘We’re going up,’ Waite said. ‘We’re going to surface. We’re hit, Mr McGann. We’re hit.’
‘We can still fight,’ Walt snapped.
‘Thirty feet,’ Malone intoned.
Waite ignored the periscope, went to the foot of the conning tower ladder.
‘Level off,’ Walt said.
‘Take her up,’ Waite counter ordered.
The noise of propellers was very close; the destroyers would be able to see the disturbed water.
‘Gun crew stand by,’ Walt snapped into the intercom, and the ratings ran into the control room.
‘Gun crew?’ Waite shouted. ‘We have to surrender, mister. Or go down.’
‘Surrender?’ Walt shouted. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Surface,’ Malone said.
Waite ran for the ladder, carrying a signalling torch. Walt elbowed him out of the way and he collapsed on the deck, gasping. ‘Mutiny,’ he bawled. ‘You’re under arrest, mister.’
Walt ignored him, reached the top of the ladder, threw open the hatch. ‘Gun crew,’ he snapped.
They were immediately behind him, scrambling across the conning tower and down the outer ladder while the deck was still awash. He stared right and left. It was four o’clock in the morning, and the night was very dark. But criss-crossed with searchlights as the destroyers searched for their prey. Tecumsah had been lucky in that she had surfaced inside the various beams, but her respite was a matter of seconds.
‘Open fire,’ Walt shouted. ‘Knock out those lights. Chief,’ he snapped into the intercom, ‘how soon can we go down again?’
Waite scrambled up the ladder beside him. ‘You’re crazy, mister,’ he bellowed. ‘You’re cashiered. You’re under arrest. You’re … ’
The explosion of the gun drowned his voice. Tecumsah rolled, and came upright again.
‘We can go down now, sir,’ Malone said.
‘Then dive, dive, dive,’ Walt said.
‘You are under arrest!’ Waite shouted again.
Walt hit him, a short right arm jolt to the jaw. The commander’s head jerked, he struck the rail of the conning tower, and subsided.
The gun crew, swarming back up the ladder, looked at their captain in consternation as the conning tower was bathed in light.
‘Get below,’ Walt snapped. ‘Get … ’
His voice was drowned in another mammoth explosion. A pillar of steel and water rose from forward, where the shell had burst, and Tecumsah trembled from stem to stern. Walt turned round, and another shell struck the sea only a few feet to port, showering him with water.
He picked up the intercom, his stomach filling with lead; however much he wanted to fight until the last breath in his body, he had to understand when he was licked. Tecumsah was sinking. ‘Abandon ship,’ he said. ‘All hands on deck. Inflate lifejackets.’
Waite was on his knees, holding his jaw. ‘Surrender,’ he moaned. ‘Surrender.’
‘No, sir,’ Walt said. ‘Our personnel have a chance of escaping in the darkness. The islands are close enough.’
Men were clambering past him to release the rubber dinghies, but the searchlights were back, and now the shells began smashing over them regularly. Another struck forward, and men screamed as they were hit by shrapnel and flung over the side. While the submarine herself was now low in the water. ‘Come on, come on,’ Walt shouted down the hatch. ‘Everybody over the side. Lifejackets. Inflate your lifejackets.’
Not all the men had them, but one fool had inflated before gaining the open air, and was stuck in the lower hatchway like a gigantic comic figure. Chief Malone slashed the orange material with his knife, and it deflated with a huge woosh!
One of the dinghies was in the water, and drifting away into the darkness. ‘Make that boat, sir,’ Walt told Waite, and when the captain hesitated, he picked him up and threw him over the side. Waite flew through the air with a wail, struck the water with a splash.
‘Holy Hell,’ Prosper commented, gaining the conning tower. ‘Isn’t he supposed to stay with the ship?’
‘Not much point,’ Walt said. ‘Over you go. Where’s Jonssen?’
‘Here, sir,’ the ensign panted up the ladder.
‘You too. Where’s Doc Kidder?’
‘Haven’t seen him, sir.’
The destroyer was very close now, her searchlight holding them in a vice, while men shouted at them through megaphones, mostly in Japanese in their excitement, but one was bawling, ‘You surrender, eh? You surrender.’
Walt slid down the ladder into the control room. Water was seeping across the deck and he knew that Tecumsah had only minutes left. He ran forward, looked in the wardroom; it was utterly dark and he stumbled into silent bodies. There was no means of knowing if one was the doctor. ‘Kidder,’ he snapped. ‘Kidder! Anyone!’ There was no reply, and he had to assume they were all dead; water was swirling about his ankles. He stumbled into the captain’s cabin, found the bookshelf and seized the codebooks, then ran aft again. As he regained the control room the submarine lurched to starboard, and he lost his footing, sliding across the deck to come to rest beside the unconscious sailor who had been on the depths gauge, and who had been forgotten in the rush for the deck, ‘Oh, hell,’ he said, stuffed the books inside his tunic and grasped the man under the armpits, dragged him to the ladder. There he threw him over his shoulder, aware of water now lapping above his knees and of the brilliant light which spelled death above him as the darkness spelled death below. He clambered up the ladder, and Tecumsah lurched again. Walt swung against the hull but refused to lose his grip on the iron rungs. This time Tecumsah kept on going, rolling right over on her side. Water rushed in the conning tower hatchway, and Walt fought his way out, hampered by the seaman he was carrying.
For a moment he thought he would not make it, as the vacuum inside the submarine pulled on his legs, then the pressure was suddenly reversed, and he was shot forward, gasping for breath, breaking the surface, looking left and right, treading water, the seaman still draped across his shoulder. The sea was turbulent, but only because of what was taking place on the surface, there was no wind. Walt looked back, at the hull of the submarine, half submerged, looking like a whale rolling on its side. Above it rose the black bulk of the Japanese destroyer, still focussing its searchlight on the sinking vessel. The light had the effect of making the surrounding night darker than it really was, and Walt swam into the blackness, using his legs for propulsion. He had covered some distance when he discovered that he had forgotten to inflate his own lifejacket. He did so, and found existence much easier, just in time, for both his legs and the sailor he was burdened with were beginning to feel like lumps of lead.
‘You wouldn’t care to wake up,’ he gasped, but the man made no response.
Walt turned on his back to see if he could spot any of his men, gazed in horror at one of the inflatables, caught in the searchlight beam; the men on board were holding up their arms, but as he watched there came the chatter of a machine gun. The arms waved in desperation, the night became filled with screams, and the light mercifully went out.
Walt jettisoned the code books — they would sink — then swam on, looking up at the sky to get a rough bearing. He knew they had been north east of Savo Island when they had been attacked. How far north he couldn’t be sure, although from his memory of his last glance at the chart he reckoned it to be about four miles. Four miles, in the darkness and with an unconscious man in his arms. And in an ocean full of sharks. But maybe the sharks had enough to go on with.
He had no option but to go on swimming, if he was going to have any chance of survival.
Chapter 8
The Solomons, Australia and New Guinea — 1942
The sky began to lighten after Walt had been swimming about an hour. By then all the noise of battle and sudden death had ceased, and the only sound was the splashes of his own arms
and legs as he slowly forced himself onwards, trying to ignore the burning of his muscles, the crippling weight of the sailor on his shoulder. But it slowly dawned on him that the man was dead, and he let him slip away behind him.
That gave him a renewed surge of strength, and with the light he saw trees, only a short distance away.
He was very cold by now, although the sea was basically warm, and fortunately, very calm. But the sight of the trees spurred him on again. He swam with a last burst of vigour, and gasped in pain when his knee struck something hard with a force which knocked all the breath from his lungs. For a moment, indeed, even his heart stopped beating, as he supposed he had at last encountered a shark, but as he sank beneath the surface he touched other coral heads and hastily regained the surface again.
A few minutes later his feet found sand, and he was about to stagger up the beach when he remembered that Savo might very well still be held by a Japanese garrison, and hastily lowered himself into the water again, approaching the shore with only his head showing.
Sure enough, there was movement in the trees, and he sank lower yet, then rocked back on his heels as he saw two men in bedraggled white uniforms emerge from the shadows.
‘Lieutenant!’ they shouted, and ran down the sand.
Walt stood up, was embraced. ‘I told you I saw splashes out there,’ one said to the other.
Their names were O’Shaughnessy and Aitken. Walt shook their hands. ‘How the hell did you get here?’ he asked.
‘In a dinghy. They didn’t spot us.’
‘How many of you?’
‘Eight. Captain Waite is over there. And Ensign Jonssen. And Chief Malone, and three other guys. Boy, are we glad you’re here, Lieutenant.’ Aitken flushed, and Walt knew what he meant.
‘So let’s get over there,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have any grub?’
‘No, sir. But there’s water. We found a stream.’
Walt began to hurry. He came in sight of the other six survivors, but ignored them as he saw the tumbling water which flowed out of the forest to lose itself in the sand. He lay on his belly and drank and drank and drank.
The Passion and the Glory Page 20
