The distance to Medjumbi was thirty-three miles — about two hours’ steaming at sixteen knots. Once past it, he would tackle the little islets, taking the submarine up through the inshore passages on their landward side.
In an immensely difficult situation he was aware of one potent factor in his favour — the action had taken place off the Mozambique coast. Fort Nebraska had been sunk about a hundred miles south of Cabo Delgado; twenty miles north of that cape lay the mouth of the Rovuma River, the boundary between Tanganyika and Mozambique: the former a British colony, the latter Portuguese.
British aircraft and warships could not attack I-357 in Portuguese territory without flouting the International Convention and offending their oldest ally, a still most useful and friendly one notwithstanding her nominal neutrality. It was fortunate, he reflected, that the British were respecters of international conventions.
The risk he ran using Portuguese territory was internment of the submarine and its crew, but that was far less serious than losing them to enemy action. The repairs would take three or four days. If air reconnaissance found I-357 during that time, the British would exert diplomatic pressure on the Portuguese Government to ensure internment. The only way to prevent that was to hide I-357.
Having determined from the chart the course to steer, the Captain picked up the phone to the engineroom. An ERA answered.
Tell the Engineer Officer to come to the bridge immediately,’ said Yashimoto. He hung up the phone, told the Navigating Officer to follow him, and made for the conning-tower ladder.
Six
On reaching the bridge Yashimoto gave the Coxswain the new course to steer and ordered the Navigating Officer to take over the watch from the First Lieutenant. ‘Keep a sharp eye on the lookouts,’ he said. ‘This hot weather can make them careless.’ He had scarcely finished speaking when a dark shape came to the front of the bridge. ‘Captain, sir. You sent for me.’ It was the Engineer Officer.
‘Good. I want a word with you and the First Lieutenant.’ Followed by the two officers, Yashimoto led the way past the periscope standards to the after gun-platform. Feeling his way in the darkness he touched the twin barrels of the A A gun. They were still hot from recent firing. He waited until Kagumi and Satugawa were close to him before breaking the silence. ‘First I must tell you what is to happen before daylight. Then you will get your orders.’ He explained where I-357 was heading, what he was looking for, and the steps to be taken to conceal the submarine. He spoke fast, a staccato of clipped sentences, his voice raised against the noise of the diesels. When the Captain had finished Satugawa was the first to speak. ‘Repairs are not possible until the boat is stopped and in sheltered water. So it is good to have your news, Captain.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Yashimoto. ‘But I hope you will not now require four days?’
‘Hopefully not.’ The Engineer Officer’s tone was guarded.
‘Right,’ said Yashimoto briskly. ‘Now for your duties. To be attended to immediately.’ He spoke first to Kagumi, ‘Prepare an inflatable for launching. Check that the outboard engine is in good running order. Take four men as crew: a signalman, two seamen and a mechanician. You’ll need a compass, leadlines for sounding, signal torches, boathooks, spare fuel and rope painters. Your duty will be to examine and report on possible hide-outs. You and your crew will carry revolvers and spare ammunition. I’ll give you detailed orders when the time comes.’ Yashimoto paused, looked up at the sky where the moon had found a break in the clouds, its light illuminating the little group on the gun-platform. He was not pleased to see it. The new compass course would take them five miles clear of the light at Ilha Medjumbi, but they would not be past it until half an hour before midnight — that was still two hours away. After that the moon could be useful.
He shifted his attention to Satugawa. ‘Now your duties, Chief. Muster every implement on board that can be used for sawing, chopping or cutting timber, branches or brushwood. For a start begin with the damage control outfits. Take from them the saws and hatchets in each compartment. There are other items which can be adapted. Bayonets and cutlasses, for example. With your lathes, drills, etcetera, it should be possible to turn them into pangas or the equivalent. We want forty of these to be ready by 0130. That gives you four hours. Any problems?’
Darkness hid the Engineer Officer’s grim smile. The question was typical of the Captain. Of course there were problems. Many of them, and not the least the time available. But he said, ‘I will do my best, sir.’
Yashimoto consulted the luminous dial of his watch. It showed 2147. ‘Later than I thought,’ he snapped. ‘Better get busy.’
The three men left the gun-platform. Yashimoto returned to the bridge, the others to the control-room. The wardroom steward arrived on the bridge with a bowl of rice, dried fish and hot tea.
Yashimoto lowered his binoculars. ‘What is our ETA for sighting the Medjumbi light?’ he asked the Navigating Officer.
‘Twenty-three hundred, sir.’
‘Another hour and a quarter.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The Captain looked to the west, the direction in which the moon would be moving when it passed its zenith towards midnight. The sky there was still heavy with cloud, but the break high in the east through which moon and stars now shone was growing larger. Well, one can’t have everything, he decided. We have a calm sea, no more than a light breeze, and a fine hot night. He sighed, took off his cap, ran a hand across a moist forehead. He was tired, but rest was out of the question. Certainly until well into the coming day, if then. Only now, for the first time since the encounter with Fort Nebraska, was he able to reflect upon the night’s events. So much had happened in so short a space of time. It was difficult to believe that it was just about an hour since I-357 had fired the first shell at the Liberty ship. That seemed to him to have taken place much further back in time.
He had not enjoyed the killing of the survivors. They were seamen, like him and his own men. But Japan and the United States were at war. It was his duty to sink enemy shipping. Similarly it was his duty to do everything possible to prevent the loss of I-357 and her crew once she had been damaged by enemy gunfire. Had the US ship not fired that shell he wouldn’t have been compelled to liquidate her survivors. What made matters worse was the deception the Americans had employed. Already on fire and sinking, the Liberty ship had stopped engines, turned out lifeboats, and begun signalling. All those actions suggested a crew about to abandon ship, despite which they had opened fire. In the circumstances he’d had no option but to do as he had. It was either the Americans’ lives or those of his men. The Fort Nebraska was carrying supplies to the enemy. Her crew were actively engaged in fighting Japan. Those who chose to be warriors must abide by the bushido code. They had died in action. No warrior could ask for more.
Much to Yashimoto’s relief clouds once more shut out the moon, settling a cloak of darkness over the sea on which the submarine moved steadily in towards the coast.
As so often, it was he who made the first sighting of the winking point of light on the port bow. He did not announce it, waiting instead to see how long it might take Sato and the lookouts to pick it up. In the meantime he checked its characteristics: a white light flashing twice at one minute intervals, range ten miles. Yes, it was definitely Medjumbi Island. His thoughts were interrupted by Sato’s voice. ‘Red ten, sir. White light flashing twice.’ The Navigating Officer’s report was followed almost immediately by one from the bow lookout. Yashimoto doubted whether the man had actually seen the light, but let that pass. Instead he growled, ‘It’s been in sight for close on two minutes. In that time we have travelled nearly half a mile. You men must be more vigilant.’