‘Stop engines,’ Hamilton ordered calmly. ‘Steer to windward, Cox’n. Stand by fo’c’sle hands to pick up survivors.’
Rapier’s deck guns stopped firing and, as the rumble of the diesels faded away, Blood moved the wheel to starboard. The two bombers had quickly left the scene and vanished into the blue void of the sky. The eerie almost unnatural silence was only broken by the soft slap of the sea against the hull plating, and the angry crackle of the fire as the submarine drifted downwind towards the burning launch.
‘Half-astern both!’
The reversed thrust of the propellers brought the submarine to a standstill. Hamilton peered into the pall of black fumes obscuring the remains of the motor cruiser. The smoke and flames made it impossible to see clearly, but he could just make out a group of people huddled against the side of the wheelhouse. Why the hell didn’t they jump? Snatching up the microphone of Rapier’s loudhailer, he pushed the button and held the grille close to his mouth.
‘Abandon ship… we’ll pick you up.’
The metallic tones of the disembodied voice had no effect. Protecting their faces from the flames the survivors cowered in terror, as if they were more frightened of the submarine than they were of the fiery furnace on which they were marooned.
‘Show ’em the Union Jack, Yeoman,’ Hamilton told Drury. ‘They think we’re bloody Japs.’ He moved to the front of the bridge. ‘Throw out some lines, Morgan.’
‘Won’t do no good, sir,’ the gunner shouted back. ‘If they’re Chinese they probably can’t swim. We’ll have to go in after them!’ Morgan had served on the China Station in the early thirties and knew what he was talking about.
Hamilton dragged off his shoes, unbuttoned his shirt, and climbed up on to the narrow lip of the conning tower bridge screen.
‘Take over, Number One. The gunner is going to need a hand getting those poor devils off.’
Mannon was given no time to protest. Hamilton balanced precariously on the lip of the coaming for a moment, and then plunged into the warm sluggish waters of the China Sea. Further forward on the foredeck plating, Morgan and two members of the gun crew followed the skipper’s example and joined him in the water. Less than twenty yards separated the two vessels and it only took a few strong strokes to bring them up alongside the burning launch.
Hamilton felt the heat of the fire sear his face as he looked up and, treading water, he spat the sea from his mouth.
‘Jump!’ he yelled. ‘Jump◦– we’ll look after you.’
The bewildered survivors on the launch hesitated. Then, as if the sea threatened a worse fate than the fire, one of them held his nose and plummeted down into the water with a mighty splash. Rapier’s gunner was alongside him almost immediately. A brawny arm encircled the man’s neck, dragging his face clear of the water so that he could breathe. Then, rolling over on his back, Morgan began towing the spluttering Chinaman towards the submarine.
‘Okay, sir, I’ve got him.’
Encouraged by the speedy rescue of his companion the second man jumped, disappeared beneath the surface like a stone, and was quickly grabbed by Davidson as his head bobbed up again. Hamilton trod water and waited. The third and last figure, smaller and lighter than the others, stepped towards the rail, paused for a moment to look at the flames, and then dropped with thistle-down grace into the sea. Hamilton swam towards the floundering survivor and grabbed for a handhold. To his surprise his hands encountered the unexpected softness of a woman’s breasts and, without pausing to think what he was doing, his fingers instinctively closed over the twin mounds. The girl twisted away as she felt his hands on her body and, ignoring the dangers of drowning, she struggled to escape his grasp.
Hamilton grabbed her shoulders, ducked her down violently under the water to discourage further resistance, and started to haul her back towards the waiting submarine. He wondered how he was going to explain this unfortunate reflex action when he got her aboard but decided, on balance, to ignore the incident. Perhaps she would believe it was an accident if he said nothing….
A life line snaked down from the Rapier’s bows and he grabbed it thankfully. Looping the rope under the girl’s arms, he fastened it into a noose and told the foredeck party to haul her in. He followed behind in an easy crawl and trod water while the seamen lifted her gently aboard the submarine. Then, grasping Mannon’s hand, he clambered up the slippery slope of the ballast tank and grabbed the clean towel Wilkinson was holding ready for him.
The gunner’s mate reached the side of the submarine a moment later, with Davidson following not more than a stroke behind. Since both men were dragging a survivor, they were carefully lifted up to the foredeck casing. Hamilton felt slightly relieved to see that the other two members of the motor cruiser’s crew were not women.
‘Get them below, Number One. And tell the Doc to check them over.’ He rubbed the towel rigorously over his head. ‘Better put the girl in the wardroom◦– no point in giving the men any unnecessary temptations.’ Glancing towards the bows, he saw that the girl had lost most of her clothing in the water. ‘And find something for her to wear or I might get tempted too!’
Throwing the wet towel back to Wilkinson, Hamilton hauled himself up the bulkhead rings of the conning tower as the crew lowered the survivors down through the gun hatch. Swinging his leg over the coaming, he vaulted down and resumed his place on the narrow bridge. He looked around. The blue void of the sky was now empty of aircraft, and the smoldering remains of the motor cruiser rolled gently in the swell.
His hands still tingled where they had touched the girl, and he stared down at the foredeck casing in silence, as he recalled the brief glimpse of her slim body sprawled nakedly on the steel deck plating. He was anxious to meet her again, but knew his eagerness must wait. There would be plenty of time to make her acquaintance when they reached Hong Kong. But, all the same, he could not help wondering what she had being doing aboard the launch.
Dismissing the thoughts from his mind he walked to the binnacle to check the compass. The purple haze of Macao was faintly visible on the port horizon and the yawning mouth of the Pearl River lay ahead over the bows. It was sufficient to give him a rough and ready bearing.
‘Half-ahead, both, Chief. Steer zero-one-zero.’
‘Half-ahead both, sir. Course now zero-one-zero.’
‘Number One!’
‘Sir?’
‘You look a bloody awful mess,’ Hamilton informed him dispassionately.
Mannon did not dispute the observation. His once white shorts were streaked with green slime from the weed-encrusted ballast tank, and his face was grimed with cordite smoke. The skipper, he decided, looked even more of a scarecrow◦– although he had the tact to keep his opinion to himself.
‘Do you want me to change, sir?’
Hamilton grinned. He was shirtless and shoeless and his shorts were tom and sodden with sea water. His arms were covered with superficial cuts where the razor-edged barnacles adhering to Rapier’s ballast tanks had ripped his flesh. And blood still trickled from his nose where the girl had butted him in the face during the brief struggle in the water.
‘To hell with being tiddley, Number One. Let’s show Hong Kong what a real fighting ship looks like. Damn the paintwork and the polished brass. It’ll give the buggers something to talk about while they’re putting on their starched shirts and getting ready for dinner tonight. And I hope it gives ’em indigestion.’
TWO