‘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.