‘Hands are at Harbor Stations, sir,’ Mannon reported as Hamilton joined him on the bridge. ‘Motors ready and grouped down.’
The first lights were already beginning to twinkle from the windows of the hotels nestling under the shadow of Victoria Peak and Hamilton could see the sailors on board the other warships anchored in the harbor assembling on deck for the time-honored ceremony of hauling down the colors at sunset. On the opposite side of the Straits, the reflections from the lights of Kowloon shimmered on the water like glittering diamonds scattered on a black velvet cloak. He paused to watch a train steaming slowly northwards towards Shatin and the mainland border. He glanced at his watch. It was exactly 7 p.m. He leaned over the voice pipe.
‘Obey telegraphs.’ He waited for the acknowledgement and then nodded his head to Mannon. ‘Let go the springs, Number One.’
‘Let go for’ard! Let go after spring!’
Hamilton heard the wires being hauled inboard by the sea duty men. ‘Let go after-breast◦– let go for’ard!’
Mannon peered over the side of the conning tower. ‘All gone aft, sir. All gone for’ard.’
‘Half astern port. Helm starboard thirty.’ The telegraph repeater bell tinkled in the motor room and Hamilton waited as Rapier backed cautiously away from the weed-encrusted stonework of the dockyard jetty. ‘Stop port! Half ahead starboard. Port thirty, Cox’n. Half astern port.’
A yellow froth boiled from under the submarine’s stern, as the propellers disturbed the mud on the harbor bottom and Rapier swung in a tight half-circle. Hamilton kept his eyes firmly fixed on the two beacons marking the dockyard’s narrow exit.
‘Stop port◦– stop starboard! Half ahead both. Midships helm. Steady as she goes, Mister Blood.’
The darkened submarine glided past Scout and Thanet at their mooring buoys, but the men on board the destroyers were too busy preparing for their own departure to take notice of Rapier. Leaning his elbows on the coaming, Hamilton carefully noted every detail of the familiar Hong Kong scene as the submarine swept out to sea: Circala tied up against the north wall of the dockyard, the diminutive Robin guarding the boom across the Tathong Channel at the eastern end of the harbor and, in the distance, silhouetted against the looming shadow of Victoria Island, the gunboat Moth marooned high and dry on blocks in the graving dock. He remained where he was, staring at the assembled warships, until they were safely in mid-channel and then moved back to the voice pipe.
‘Stop both motors. Stand by to start engines.’
‘Switches off! Engaged port and starboard clutches!’ Black oil smoke blasted from the exhaust trunks abaft the conning tower, as the diesel engines rumbled to life.
‘Both clutches engaged, sir. Engines ready and standing by.’
‘Half-ahead together. Course two-six-zero, Cox’n.’ Hamilton stepped back from the voice pipe and glanced quickly around the horizon to check for other shipping. He turned to Mannon. ‘You can fall the men out from Harbor Stations, Number One.’
‘Fall out Harbor Stations! Control Room◦– stand by to take over lower steering. Duty Watch to passage routine.’ Hamilton leaned against the periscope standard and lit a cigarette as he watched the fo’c’sle party make their way below through the gun hatch. ‘I’ll finish the first Dog Watch, Number One,’ he told Mannon. ‘You take the second and I’ll give Alistair the middle. I’ll work out a proper routine in the meantime.’ He threw the cigarette over the side. ‘Once we’re clear of Lantau Island I intend to hold south on the surface at ten knots. That should bring us about halfway to Helen Shoals by dawn.’
‘Are we making for Charlotte Island, sir?’
Hamilton shook his head. ‘I wish we were, Number One. But it’s beginning to look as if we’ve been wasting our time. We’ve been recalled to Singapore.’
‘What the hell for?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. But I know one thing,’ Hamilton added bitterly. ‘This was the first time I’ve ever tried my hand at forward planning◦– and it’ll be the last. Next time I play it by ear.’
Mannon nodded sympathetically. They had all, from the skipper down to the most junior rating, worked like galley slaves to set up the secret base on the island and now, on the whim of an admiral thousands of miles away, all their efforts had been reduced to nothing. Not that Mannon had ever been completely happy about the scheme. The lack of oil storage facilities on the island had worried him. But whenever he queried the matter of fuel reserves with Hamilton his questions were never answered, although the skipper’s smile suggested he had something up his sleeve. That was at least one problem they would not have to face if they were operating out of Singapore. But, even so, he could understand Hamilton’s disappointment.
‘I suppose I ought to be getting below, sir. I’ll see if I can get Monty to rustle up some food before I start my watch.’
‘Good idea, Number One. Ask him to have something ready for me when I come down. And tell Alistair I want to see him in the wardroom at four bells.’
He looked up at the sky. Night descended quickly in the tropics and the stars were already twinkling brightly in the black vaults of the heavens. A single searchlight, probably from the Tern patrolling off Castle Peak Bay, swept the northern horizon with monotonous regularity and, to the north-east, the gaudy lights of Hong Kong glowed red against the dark backcloth of the New Territories.
He could not help wondering how much longer the Colony had to enjoy its peaceful tranquility.
Hamilton stirred restlessly on the narrow bunk. After the cool chill of the air on deck, the interior of the submarine was unpleasantly stuffy and he was finding it difficult to sleep. The deck head fan made little impression on the turgid atmosphere and the wardroom reeked with the smell of stale human sweat.
Mannon was sitting on the settee looking at an old magazine and the dim glow of the reading-lamp was an irritating distraction which Hamilton could have well done without.
Damn the bloody C-in-C! Why the hell did he have to recall Rapier just when things were beginning to look interesting? And, he reminded himself, it wasn’t just pique at being deprived of his private hideaway and the cache of stores he had so carefully laid up in readiness for just such an emergency. He was quite prepared to admit that the secret base had been a crazy idea from the start◦– the sort of thing the hero did in a kid’s story book.
He rolled over and tried to sleep, but his brain refused to switch off and, to add to the agonies of insomnia, tiny drops of condensation from the deck head over the bunk dripped on his face with the relentless regularity of a primitive Chinese torture….
‘Sir! Wake up, sir!’
Hamilton couldn’t believe that he’d really been asleep, but apparently he had. His eyes opened and he was fully awake in an instant.
‘Murray’s picked up a broadcast from Singapore radio, sir,’ Mannon said excitedly. ‘The Japs are landing at Kota Bharu.’
Hamilton swung his legs out of the bunk and pushed his feet into the pair of plimsolls Monty had left in readiness. ‘Where the hell’s Kota Bharu, Number One!’ he grumbled irritably.
‘East coast of Malaya, sir◦– up near the Siam border.’
‘Is it, by God! It looks as though my hunch was right after all. Perhaps Layton knew what he was doing when he recalled us.’
He made his way through the bulkhead hatch into the control room. He had no doubts that the entire ship’s company had heard the news by now, but the men on duty gave no hint of excitement or curiosity when he appeared. They knew the skipper would tell them what he intended to do in his own good time. And, in the meantime, discipline demanded that they carried out their duties without question.