Despite the cooling draught from the deck head fans the cabin was oppressively hot, and Hamilton could feel the sweat trickling down his face as he stood stiffly to attention in front of the Deputy Chief of Staff. Not even the row of opened scuttles in the bulkhead behind the deck brought any relief to the airless atmosphere, and Rapier’s commander looked hopefully at the enticing line of bottles on the captain’s sideboard. He ruefully reflected that his flamboyant attempt to impress the Hong Kong garrison had been a dismal failure.
Rapier had attracted the usual crowd of onlookers as she entered Victoria Harbor from the direction of Stonecutters Island. But apparently blind to the battle-torn ensign and bullet-scarred paintwork, the citizens of the Colony had quickly lost interest in the new arrival, and the piers fronting Connaught Road were deserted by the time the submarine nosed its bows towards the dockyard. Even a narrowly averted collision with a passing cargo junk had failed to bring forth the anticipated rebuke from the harbormaster. If was as if Rapier was an unwelcome visitor◦– a harbinger of bad tidings or a carrier of plague◦– and Hamilton’s justifiable pride in his ship and his men was ruffled by the chill of their reception.
Only the Port War Signal Station showed any interest in the submarine’s arrival. A searchlight flashed berthing instructions which, as soon as acknowledged, were followed by a curt Imperative and Personal for the Captain to report to HMS Tamar once his boat had been brought safely to her moorings between the destroyers Thracian and Thanet.
Tamar, as Hamilton soon discovered, was no more than an engineless hulk, fitted with additional deckhouses to serve as HQ and receiving ship for the Hong Kong Station. In 1882 she had taken part in the bombardment of Alexandria, but now she was a mere shadow of her former glory◦– a relic of a bygone age when Britannia had truly ruled the waves. Arriving at the gangway, he presented his papers to the marine secretary on duty and was then escorted to a small cabin near the stern, which served as the office of the Deputy Chief of Staff.
Captain Reginald Snark, another relic of the past who had served as a junior gunnery officer on the battle cruiser Lion at Jutland, looked up as Hamilton entered. He then promptly lost interest in his visitor and busied himself with a store’s list which he carefully marked off item by item. Rapier’s commander knew it was all part of the treatment◦– a device to cut him down to size by demonstrating his insignificance in the august presence of a post-captain. He had suffered similar indignities before and he waited patiently. Snark ticked the last entry on the list, scrawled his initials dutifully in the left-hand margin and blotted the ink pedantically, before putting the document into his out tray. Then leaning back in his chair and placing his fingers together under his chin in the best judicial manner, he surveyed the young submariner with cold blue eyes.
‘You’ve got off to a bad start, Lieutenant Hamilton,’ he said curtly and without the usual polite preliminaries.
Hamilton said nothing. It seemed ridiculous to make so much fuss about Rapier’s near-miss with the junk on entering the harbor. But it was the sort of triviality in which senior officers delighted during peacetime, when they had nothing more important to think about. It was a pity, he decided, that Snark couldn’t be posted back to Europe to discover the grim realities of a shooting war.
‘You will, of course, have to apologize,’ the captain continued. ‘Providing, that is, the Governor is able to avoid more serious repercussions.’
Hamilton wondered what he was babbling about. Why the hell should the governor give a damn about a minor collision between one of His Majesty’s ships and an old trading junk that had seen better days. And ‘more serious repercussions’? No doubt some wily Chinese merchant was making an exorbitant claim for damages◦– putting on the squeeze as they called it in the Orient.
‘I don’t think you need worry too much, sir,’ he said easily. ‘I remember running down a Grimsby trawler just before the war. We invited the skipper to the wardroom for a drink, gave him a carton of best Scotch, and he went away as happy as a sandboy.’ Hamilton smiled at the memory.
‘Are you completely out of your mind, Lieutenant?’ Snark snapped. ‘This is a serious matter◦– an international incident of the first magnitude.’
Oh for God’s sake, Hamilton groaned, inwardly. If this was the attitude of the Colonial authorities, no wonder the Empire was going down the drain. The owner of the offending junk needed a good boot up the backside for sailing too close to the naval anchorage in any case.
‘Naturally, I will apologize if the Governor wishes me to,’ he agreed diplomatically. ‘But it seems an awful lot of fuss to make over one damned junk.’
Captain Snark frowned. ‘Junk? I do not understand, Lieutenant. I am referring to your ship shooting down a Japanese aircraft.’
‘Well I certainly don’t intend to apologize for that,’ Hamilton snapped back.
Snark stood up suddenly, his face white with anger. ‘You forget where you are, Lieutenant,’ he said coldly. ‘I do not tolerate insolence. You can make your excuses to the C-in-C in due course but, firstly, on the express orders of the Governor you will apologize to Commander Aritsu.’
‘For defending my ship from hostile attack?’ Hamilton found it difficult to believe his ears. What the hell was the Royal Navy coming to? ‘With your permission sir, I would like to see the C-in-C immediately. I have no intention of apologizing to those murdering bastards. And,’ he added tartly, ‘I take my orders from the C-in-C not a civilian official.’
Snark chose to ignore the defiant challenge in Hamilton’s final statement. ‘Commander Aritsu does not see your action in that light. His complaint to the Governor indicates that your submarine deliberately opened fire on three Japanese aircraft without provocation.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I might add, for your information, Lieutenant, that the authorities here had been expecting some hotheaded young incompetent to do something stupid like this. And the Japanese have been waiting for such an excuse to give them the pretext for marching in and occupying the entire Colony.’
‘Well, Commander Aritsu has got it all wrong,’ Hamilton retorted curtly. ‘Rapier did not open fire until the aircraft had actually dropped their bombs◦– and we made every effort to establish our identity and avoid an incident.’ He swallowed his anger with difficulty. ‘Am I to understand, sir, that it is now an offence for a British officer to defend his ship in the face of an enemy attack?’
‘In certain circumstances that could well be the case, Lieutenant,’ Snark told him firmly. ‘You must remember that Britain is not at war with Japan, and it is the government’s earnest desire to avoid a confrontation in the Far East when our resources at home are stretched to the limit. The situation in China requires great tact and diplomacy◦– it is a tinder-box that requires only one small match to send the whole of South-East Asia up in flames. The C-in-C will acquaint you with the position when you see him.’
Despite outward appearances, Snark had also been a fighter in the past and he had a certain amount of sympathy for Hamilton. But, no matter how unpalatable they might be, orders were orders. He allowed himself a frosty smile, ‘I can understand your bewilderment, Lieutenant. Coming from the war zone, this sort of thing must seem very strange. And, believe me, I don’t like it any more than you do. But we are in the hands of the diplomats. We have our specific instructions and they must be carried out. The Governor has arranged for you to see Commander Aritsu tomorrow morning. Take my advice. Go across to the club, have a few drinks, and cool off. Your new colleagues will be happy to fill you in on the peculiarities of service on the China Station. And I have no doubt that you are more likely to listen to them than you are to me.’