The San, Etuna Kozonguizi, was an old man, so old even he had forgotten how many seasons he had suffered. The wiry bushman had seen all that Africa, and in particular, the ‘Land that God made in anger’[7] had to offer.
His dwelling was mainly made up of parts of the ill-fated ship, the Eduard Bohlen, plus pieces from numerous other vessels that had floundered on the unforgiving coastline.
It was covered with skins from the seals he had killed over the months, as much to retain the early morning dew as a source of water as to provide shelter from the interminable sun.
Kozonguizi lived a simple life…
…that was until 1306, when his normal daily routine was disturbed by the arrival of a man-made leviathan.
Armed with his spear, the old bushman sat on his receiving stool, awaiting the arrival of the ‘visitors’, who were now splashing in the surf as they struggled with their dinghies.
The metal whale had disappeared as soon as the four boats had taken to the water.
Instinctively, Kozonguizi’s eyes strayed to the rock promontory on the mouth of the river, where he had discovered many precious items, some of which he had taken for himself, and some he had bartered for some of the luxuries of life. Many other things still remained there.
He instinctively knew that these ‘visitors’ had returned for their treasures.
Gripping his spear more firmly, the old bushman straightened his spine and examined the leading man battling his way up the sand with studied disinterest… the clothing… the hat… the sword…
‘Strange man…’
The leader shouted in a strange tongue unknown to him… not Khoisin, the click language of the desert people… nor Afrikaans, with which he was reasonably familiar… nor English…
Waving his sword in the direction of the rocks, the nearest man encouraged the others with him to greater efforts, all the time keeping his eyes fixed upon the old native, assessing the threat and planning his approach.
It was something in the voice, the imperatives of the unknown language, which carried warning to Kozonguizi’s ears.
That and the body language of the approaching man, a body clearly preparing for action.
Despite his sixty-two years, the San was still fit, his roving days curtailed only by the foot injury he had suffered on sharp rocks, his reactions and strength still present in abundance.
The sword swept through the air, slicing only the space he had previously occupied, whilst the spear drove home into the man’s chest, stealing his life in an instant.
Drawing the shaft clear, Etuna Kozonguizi waited stoically for his death, his spear dripping with the blood of a Kaigun daii; a Lieutenant of the Imperial Japanese Navy.
The old man died well.
“It will be for the Commander to decide. Place our leader in the shade for now, and cover him well.”
The Sub-Lieutenant directed two of his men to tend to the remains of the landing party’s commander.
He spared a kick for the corpse at his feet, the dead African’s eyes still wide open, even in death.
“Now, we must complete our glorious task.”
He waved the German instructions to emphasise his point… and perhaps his own value to the mission… as he was now the only German reader left.
Even though there were instructions in Japanese, the original technical manual for the fuel pumps and hose systems were in German, and more thorough than the Japanese versions.
The plan of the site revealed the location of everything they needed, and the shore party from I-1 set to work with a will, determined to have everything ready for nightfall.
The distant throbbing of multiple propellers had first alerted the submarine to the presence of something large and powerful bearing down on them.
According to the chart, the surface contingent of the special force should be well out to sea, some hundreds of miles to the west, if they were sailing to plan.
The submarine commander discounted friendly ships as a possibility and came to periscope depth to see what was creating the immense noise band directly north of him.
It took a few incredulous sweeps of the periscope to confirm what the multiple sounds suggested.
“Down periscope. Take the ship to one hundred and thirty metres.”
“Hai!”
Commander Nanbu Nobukiyo, his promotion to Kaigun chūsa bestowed in Manchuria, moved to the chart table.
The Sen-Toku creaked as it dropped further into the waters of the Atlantic, still carried northwards on the Benguela Current, which had lowered fuel consumption for all the vessels in his tiny fleet.
His first officer waited on further commands.
“Starboard thirty. One-third speed. Silent operation.”
“Hai!”
The orders were repeated and I-401 swung towards the shore of Africa, and away from the armada of Allied boats.
“I didn’t see any aircraft, but we’ll take no chances whatsoever,” Nobukiyo announced to no-one in particular.
“There must be two hundred ships up there… at least… all kinds… warships… fat merchantmen… I even saw three aircraft carriers… at least three…”
Many eyes swung towards their captain, hoping for attack orders.
But none were forthcoming.
“Such a shame our mission is so secret. We must let them pass… but…”
Nobukiyo slipped into silence.
He examined the chart again, not for his own course and destination, but to gauge that of the immense convoy that had borne down upon the Japanese submarine force.
His first officer, Lieutenant Jinyo, waited quietly, knowing his commander would confide in him when ready.
“Jinyo, we must operate secretly… but I feel obliged to report this huge enemy movement… somehow…”
Dropping back onto his elbows, Nobukiyo drew his second in command closer.
“This convoy is heading round the Cape and into the Indian Ocean… I’m convinced of it.”
“To the home islands, Commander?”
He shook his head.
“No… I think not… no… I see three possibilities.”
He drew a fine line on the chart.
“To reinforce their Chinese lackeys in some way, either by invasion or reinforcement… not invasion though… no… that cannot be… the enemy has enough assets already in theatre… so…”
A second line went all the way up and through the China Sea… to Siberia.
“Here… which would trouble our new friends… but again… their Pacific assets could do the job.”
Jinyo nodded, but stayed silent, although he knew where this was leading.
“So, it is here, I think.”
The line went from the Atlantic, round the Cape, across the Indian Ocean, traversed the Arabian Sea, and culminated in the Persian Gulf.
He looked up at his experienced man and saw a question in his eyes, and encouraged him to speak.
“Suez, Commander. Why not through the canal?”
Nobukiyo smiled.
“Good question. You didn’t see what I saw. Some of those vessels wouldn’t fit, I think. But, in any case, I think it’s secrecy. Remember all our wartime briefings on what went through the Suez Canal into the Indian Ocean? Always very precise. Never wanting for detail?”
“Hai.”
“Look at the course this immense fleet is sailing.”
He tapped the chart and created a dotted line.
“Well off shore… away from prying eyes. They don’t want to be discovered and reported about.”
“You certainly must be correct. Commander.”