‘Up periscope!’
The column glided upwards and he stopped its ascent as soon as the tip broke surface. He had already brought the lens onto an estimated bearing to save time and it took him only a few seconds to fix the submarine’s position.
‘Down periscope. Steer one point to starboard. Stop motors. Stand by to surface.’
‘One point to starboard, sir.’
‘Switches off◦– motors stopped, sir.’
Hamilton concentrated on the stopwatch. ‘We’ll be going straight up, Number One,’ he warned Mannon. ‘Stand by to blow the tanks. I intend to rely on positive buoyancy so we won’t need to use the ’planes.’
Mannon wiped his hands down the sides of his trousers to get rid of the sweat and leaned forward over the venting panel, ready to give Venables his support when the order came.
‘Blow main ballast! Surface!’
‘Close main vents◦– blow all tanks.’
As Venables moved the hydraulic levers to close the vents, Mannon reached forward to turn the valve wheels of the compressed air reservoirs and a shrill scream of high pressure air echoed the length of the submarine.
‘Duty watch on deck!’
Hamilton pulled the clips of the lower hatch as the yeoman and look-outs lined up behind him at the bottom of the ladder.
‘Gun crew stand by! Morgan◦– bring your men topside at the double if I give the word.’
‘Aye aye, sir.’
‘Fifteen feet, sir.’
Hamilton reached up and pushed back the hatch cover. Swinging his body sideways with the agility of a monkey, he avoided the worst of the water streaming down into the control room from the conning tower compartment, and he heard the yeoman swear as he caught it full in the face. Then, hoisting himself up through the narrow opening, he started climbing the ladder leading to the upper hatch….
LIEUTENANT FORSYTH, Firefly’s executive officer, raised his binoculars with a weary sigh and trained them on the destroyer again. He wondered how much longer Ottershaw was going to be. The Japanese commander had been studiously polite, and the skipper had offered no objections when the destroyer’s motor boat had come alongside to take him across to the Suma. But that had been more than eight hours ago.
‘Have they replied to my last signal, Yeoman?’
‘No, sir. They acknowledged receipt◦– but nothing else.’
‘How many damned signals have we sent now?’
Bartlett consulted the signal log. ‘Seven, sir.’
‘And no replies to a single one of them?’
‘No, sir.’
Forsyth looked towards the narrow entrance to the bay. It was difficult to resist the temptation. His background and training, to say nothing of the age-old traditions of the Royal Navy, urged him to make a break for it and take Firefly through the boom and out into the open sea. And to hell with the Japs if they tried to stop him. But his loyalty to Ottershaw overcame his natural instincts. It wouldn’t be right to abandon the skipper to his fate, and he reluctantly decided to hang on a little longer.
‘They’d blow us out of the water before we were halfway across the bay, sir,’ Bartlett observed flatly, as if reading the officer’s thoughts. Forsyth nodded. The yeoman was right. But they couldn’t sit around waiting much longer. And why the hell didn’t Hong Kong send some assistance?
‘What d’you make of that, sir? Starboard side of the entrance.’
Forsyth welcomed the diversion. At least it took his mind off their present predicament. Putting his binoculars to his eyes he stared seawards towards the entrance. The orange floats of the boom were still bobbing gently on the surface and he could see nothing untoward.
‘Looks normal to me, Jones. What was it?’
‘Couldn’t say for sure, sir. It happened too quickly. There was some sort of disturbance just below the surface. Those bloody floats were bobbing up and down like a Maltese whore on piece-work.’
Forsyth lowered his glasses and shrugged. ‘Probably the tide on the turn◦– it’s just about due, or perhaps a large fish swimming into the bay looking for food. It all seems quiet enough to me.’ He paused for a moment and then made his way across the voice pipe. ‘Send Sub-Lieutenant Peters to the bridge.’
Peters, an RNVR officer and a former Hong Kong shipping agent, bustled up the companionway to the bridge and saluted cheerfully. He’d been involved in similar incidents before as a civilian, and he did not seen unduly worried by the skipper’s enforced absence. While Japan and Britain remained at peace Ottershaw would be quite safe. The Japs might bluff and bluster, but they would take great care not to overstep the mark.
‘Any news, Number One?’
‘Not a damned thing, Sub. What the hell do you think they’re doing to him?’
‘Probably filling him full of booze and trying to make him so drunk he won’t know what’s going on. Then they’ll talk him into a signing a public apology for shadowing the convoy.’
Forsyth did not feel so optimistic. While Peters was probably correct in this particular instance, the gunboat’s executive officer had judged the Japanese character more accurately and he knew they were quite capable of torturing Ottershaw into signing a confession if it suited their purposes. If, and God forbid, war should break out, he hoped and prayed he would never fall into their hands as a prisoner.
‘The bottom’s dropping out of the glass,’ Peters added by way of conversation. ‘And I don’t like the way the clouds are building up to the south-west.’
Forsyth glanced towards the entrance of the bay. The breeze had died away and the air was unnaturally still. And, as Peters had remarked, the sullen coppery sheen of the sky looked distinctly unpromising. He shrugged. ‘Certainly seems like a storm brewing. Perhaps we’d better lay out an extra anchor. I don’t want to get caught on a lee shore.’
‘Looks more like a typhoon than a storm,’ Peters told him.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Sub. The typhoon season ended a couple of months ago. There’s no point in being alarmist.’
‘Suit yourself,’ the sub-lieutenant shrugged. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never been in England when it’s snowed on Midsummer’s Day. Seasons are all very well in their way◦– don’t rely on them. All the signs point to a typhoon and I ought to know. I’ve lived out here for fifteen years.’ Forsyth looked thoughtful and then, without saying a word, he went into the wheelhouse to check the barograph. The jagged purple trace left by the pen showed the isometric pressure falling rapidly◦– more rapidly than he had ever seen in the whole of his career. He moved across to the synoptic weather chart and studied it carefully. The center of the depression lay to seaward and was clearly approaching at unusual speed. Although he was no meteorological expert, Forsyth could see they were in for a hell of a storm within the next hour or so. He opened the door and went back to the bridge.
‘Weigh out a storm anchor, Chief, and pass the word below to secure all scuttles. Then bring up a deck party and lash down all loose equipment.’
‘Aye aye, sir.’ Johnson glanced up at the threatening sky. ‘Looks like we’re in for a packet.’ He seemed to derive a certain enjoyment from his pessimism.
‘The boilers are still on two hour’s notice, sir,’ Peters reminded the first officer. ‘We’ll need a good head of steam if we’re hit by a typhoon◦– the anchors won’t hold unless we can take the strain on the engines.’
‘I daren’t take the risk, Sub. If the Japs see us raising steam they’ll think we’re going to make a dash for it. Let’s hope we can work up enough pressure when the storm breaks.’
’Officer of the Watch to the starboard side!’