Admiral Gresham rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he digested the civil servant’s words. Strong’s analysis of the situation was brutally practical. And it would certainly solve a number of problems at a stroke. He had nothing against Hamilton personally, in fact he’d never met the man, but when the safety of the nation and empire was at stake no cost could be too high. And having assuaged his conscience to his own satisfaction the Admiral smiled bleakly.
‘I’ll see the DNO straight away. As you say◦– it’s worth a try.’
HAMILTON’S initial reaction to the projected transfer was one of angry disbelief. Like many Englishmen, he enjoyed the excitement of war. The tensions and stresses of combat, the ever-present danger, and the necessity of unrelenting vigilance brought him the satisfaction of being stretched to the limit, both mentally and physically. And war gave a purpose to life◦– a life made all the more precious by the fact that it might only be short.
As far as Hamilton was concerned, Hong Kong was no more than a peacetime station, where spit-and-polish and the dreary round of cocktails and social small-talk were more important than combat efficiency and a determination to defeat the common enemy. The Colony was ten thousand miles away from the real war, and he scarcely rated the Japanese invasion of China as being in the same league as the European conflict with Nazi Germany. In any event, Britain was securely neutral in that particular Asiatic power-struggle, and Hong Kong was virtually unaffected by the fighting on the mainland.
The admiral’s day cabin was hot and stuffy and the task of persuading Hamilton to accept the transfer without complaint had tried the flag-officer’s patience to the limit. Rear Admiral Herbert could understand Hamilton’s dismay. He was feeling none too pleased himself. Experienced submarine commanders and trained crews were desperately needed in the Mediterranean, and he could not understand the reason for the Admiralty’s decision to reduce their already slender resources by sending a much needed submarine to the Far East. But, as one trained in the old school of docile obedience to orders, he had accepted the posting without argument.
He was, however, shrewd enough to discern the true reason behind Hamilton’s reluctance to go. Despite his spectacular successes, the young lieutenant was anxious to prove his ability on routine patrols. And that could only be achieved in the face of the enemy. It was not merely a matter of personal prestige or glory. The DSO which Rapier’s commanding officer had won when he rescued the prisoners from the Nordsee was adequate proof of his skill and courage.1 And his activities in the Kattegat and off the Belgian coast during the evacuation of the BEF had only served to add to his reputation. There were, the rear admiral realized, other equally important considerations.
Hamilton was a career officer and, with six years seniority as a lieutenant, he was keen to earn his half stripe. Most of his contemporaries had already been promoted over his head, and in recent months a growing number of RNVR officers had achieved the coveted third narrow ring on their sleeves. Herbert was no fool. He knew Hamilton’s background was against him and could not help but sympathize with his frustration. Promoted from the lower deck◦– an upper-yardman in Navy slang◦– he lacked the polish and social graces of his brother wardroom officers and, despite his proven abilities, the Admiralty seemed determined to keep him as a ‘two ringer’ until the seniority rules made his ultimate promotion unavoidable. And while the delay continued, Hamilton was losing valuable experiences and seniority in the next rank◦– which he badly needed if he was to climb the ladder of promotion in his chosen career.
‘I know how you feel, Lieutenant,’ the admiral admitted carefully. ‘And I have no wish to lose either you or Rapier from my command. But I have no doubt that the Admiralty in its wisdom knows what it is doing. And if trouble does break out in the Far East, you’ll get all the action you want◦– probably a damned sight more. After all, Rapier will be the only British submarine in the area and you’ll have the entire Japanese navy in your sights.’
‘It’s tempting, sir,’ Hamilton nodded. ‘But frankly I can’t see Japan taking the risk of involving either us or the Americans in a war. We’d wipe them off the face of the sea in a few weeks.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong, Hamilton,’ Herbert grunted. ‘We haven’t got enough ships out there to do anything but get ourselves sunk. If the Japs do come into the war on Hitler’s side, we’ll have to rely on the US Navy to do the fighting for us. And if the Tokyo High Command decide to play it safe and by-pass the Philippines, we’ll be on our own.’ The admiral paused thoughtfully at the prospect. The moment passed and he smiled. ‘But I don’t think it will ever come to that,’ he continued reassuringly. ‘And much as I hate to lose Rapier, you and your men are badly in need of a rest. And Hong Kong will be just the ticket.’
Hamilton knew Herbert was right. Reluctant as he was to admit the truth, he was physically and mentally exhausted from two years of unrelenting combat. His men, too, needed a break from the rigors of operational patrols and Rapier herself could do with a refit. A few months in the peaceful atmosphere of Hong Kong was what they needed. Bright lights, good food, and a respite from the ever-present threat of enemy air attack would do them all a power of good. And perhaps when they came back into the fray, the break would have added that extra spark of zest which would be rewarded by a successful patrol.
‘I suppose you’re right, sir,’ he admitted grudgingly. ‘Perhaps we do need a rest. But I’d like to request a posting back to the Med. after three months.’
The rear admiral stood up. ‘I’ll do what I can, Lieutenant. We’ve lost too many good skippers in the last few weeks◦– I’ll have you back just as soon as I can find the right strings to pull.’ He held out his hand. ‘Good luck, Hamilton. And remember◦– once you’re out in China, at least you won’t have to crash dive every time you see an aircraft.’
‘I’ll try sir,’ Hamilton grinned. ‘But old habits die hard.’
Hamilton leaned his elbows on the rim of the conning tower bridge and stared ahead over the bows, as Rapier cut through the smooth green waters of the South China Sea. The mist of spray spuming back across the foredeck helped cool the stifling heat of the midday sun, and the men sprawled on the hot steel plating, grinned contentedly as the cold droplets of water spattered their tanned bodies. After twenty-four months of air attacks, the voyage across the Indian Ocean and down through the Bay of Bengal had resembled a luxury pleasure cruise. And with typical good sense, the skipper had relaxed discipline as soon as Rapier cleared Steamer Point at Aden to give his men a much needed chance to rest and relax.
The submarine had only stopped at Columbo long enough to fill her bunkers, and their call at Singapore had been too brief to permit shore leaves. But Hong Kong now lay less than two hours away over the shimmering horizon, and every man aboard was already planning how to celebrate his arrival.
The weather was good and the blue arch of the sky was clear of cloud, except for a few white wisps of stratus to starboard. The vast estuary of the Pearl River lay on its port hand and, somewhere below the heat haze on the north-western horizon, the Portuguese colony of Macao slumbered fitfully◦– girding its loins and gathering its energy for another night of gambling, dancing, drinking, and whoring.