Yashimoto interrupted. ‘How d’you know all this?’
‘We landed by the huts, sir. The people came out. The noise of our engine woke them. I learnt what I’ve told you with sign language. It was not difficult.’
‘Trees, bushes?’ Yashimoto’s prompting was eager. ‘Anything like that?’
‘Yes, sir. It’s well wooded round the creek. Many trees. Thick undergrowth. Mangroves fringing the water’s edge.’ ‘Any other settlements on the island? Any catamarans apart from those you saw?’
‘No, sir. They say there are no people except those in the village.’
Yashimoto shot a questioning glance at the First Lieutenant. ‘More sign language?’
‘Yes, sir. But the responses were not difficult to interpret.’ The Captain grunted approval. ‘Tomorrow we will survey the island. In the meantime — did you see a suitable berth?’ ‘Two possible berths, sir. One on the east bank, another on the west bank. There’s deeper water on the western side.’
‘What’s the width of the creek?’
‘About two hundred and fifty yards at the mouth. Down to about a hundred in the narrows which lead into it. It widens out again after that. Into an oval basin. There’s just enough room for the boat to turn there.’
Looking into the night to where the islet lay, a black hump on a dark sea, Yashimoto said, ‘You have done well, Kagumi. I shall not forget this. But your work is not finished. You must pilot us in. Take station in the inflatable a ship’s length ahead. Use the signal torch as a stern light and I’ll follow. Keep to about two or three knots once we head into the creek.’
The First Lieutenant saluted in the darkness, turned on his heels and clattered down the ladder to the casing.
The inflatable’s outboard engine spluttered into life, its note rising as Kagumi steered the fast, bouncing, little craft into position ahead of the submarine.
To Yashimoto the task of taking I-357 into a narrow creek he had never seen, without a chart and in almost total darkness, was a nail-biting experience, though in fact he had little to do but ensure that the Coxswain followed the inflatable’s blue light. The Navigating Officer kept calling the depths recorded by echo-sounder, the Yeoman stood at the Captain’s shoulder reading Kagumi’s signals, and a signalman stood by with a searchlight to be used in case of emergency. The bridge lookouts were at their posts but there was little for them to do. The First Lieutenant was proving as efficient as always, warning well in advance of changes in course and speed.
Unable to see in the darkness Yashimoto tried to keep in his mind a picture of the creek as Kagumi had described it. Thus, when the blue light began to swing in a wide circle to starboard and the Coxswain turned the bridge wheel for I-357’s bows to follow round, Yashimoto realized that they were heading into the creek. The light ahead began to blink, the Yeoman acknowledged, read the signal aloud: Dead slow now. Narrows about five hundred yards ahead.
Yashimoto ordered revolutions for two knots and the note of the diesels dropped to a lower rhythm. With ballast tanks blown to reduce her draught, and engine revolutions sufficient only to maintain steerage way, the submarine moved slowly through the water, the Coxswain turning the wheel as necessary to keep the blue light ahead. On Yashi-moto’s orders the beam of the searchlight swept the sides of the creek, revealing rocky cliffs, above them wooded slopes which led up steeply from the mangroves fringing the water. The blue light ahead moved to starboard, then held steady on its course for some time before beginning a turn to port; I-357 followed round. Sato reported that the turn had been one of forty-five degrees. Kagumi had just finished the message, entering the narrows now when, by good fortune or, as Yashimoto preferred to believe, in response to divine intervention, the moon slipped out of the clouds in the western sky, bathing the scene in silver light, the rocky sides of the narrow channel looming above the submarine, the tangle of mangroves glistening wetly.
Ahead to port Yashimoto saw catamarans drawn up on a small beach, and on the higher ground, beneath clumps of coconut palms, a semi-circle of thatched huts. In front of them dark shapes were grouped about open fires. Some rose and gestured towards the submarine, others remained on their haunches. The musky odour of the little settlement came drifting across the water; the indefinable but unmistakable smell of an African village, a compound of woodsmoke, of long-cooked food, and the sour-sweet smell of human bodies. To Yashimoto these were the reassuring odours of a Buddha-sent haven.
The inflatable’s blue light blinked and the Yeoman read the signal aloud: Stop engines. We leave the narrows now to turn sharp to starboard around the bluff.
The diesels stopped and I-357 began to lose way. As they followed the blue light round to starboard Yashimoto saw that the creek had widened out into an oval basin. He was wondering where the berths were of which Kagumi had spoken, when the inflatable signalled: Suggest you turn bows to seaward. Good berth south of the bluff. We go there now. Will take mooring lines when you've turned.
Yashimoto decided there was sufficient room in which to turn the bows to seaward using one propeller to go ahead and the other astern: Standing turn as they called it at the submarine base at Yokasuko. It required the use of the electric motors as the diesels could not be put astern. Now clearly visible in the moonlight the inflatable had stopped close in on the western side, just south of the bluff; there the bank ran straight for several hundred feet before curving round the head of the creek.
This is the berth, winked the blue light. Depth of water ten metres. Shoals rapidly three to four metres from the bank.
The submarine finished its turn, bows to seaward, the inflatable came alongside, took the end of a mooring line which had been lowered into the water from the fore-casing and towed it inshore. Two seamen jumped on to the bank, hauled the line ashore and made it fast to the trunk of a tree.
At the submarine’s end the mooring line was taken to the capstan on the fore-casing, the offshore bow anchor was dropped and the capstan began to turn, warping the bows in towards the bank as the anchor cable was paid out.
The process was repeated with a stern line and stern anchor until the submarine was alongside, the port saddletanks close to the mangroves which lined the bank. The difficult, improvised manoeuvre had been completed within ten minutes of leaving the narrows. Soundings with hand leadlines gave the average depth of water in which I-357 had moored as eight metres. In the shallowest part, towards the bows, there was just under three metres beneath the keel. The Navigating Officer reported that the tide was rising. High water was, he said, still three hours away.
‘What’s the rise and fall?’ demanded Yashimoto.
‘About four metres, sir.’
Yashimoto said, ‘Good,’ and ordered partial flooding of ballast tanks in order to reduce the submarine’s above water profile.
The inflatable came alongside and the First Lieutenant reported to the bridge. Somewhat perfunctorily, for he had more important matters in mind, Yashimoto congratulated him on the night’s work. Having done that, he came to the point. ‘There will be no rest for the crew until well into daylight tomorrow. The inflatable is to proceed immediately to the mouth of the creek. Crew it with a petty officer and two ratings.’ The orders were delivered in Yashimoto’s customary staccato of clipped sentences, the voice high-pitched. ‘They will take with them a machine-gun, rifles and ammunition. They will ensure that no catamaran leaves the creek. Warning shots are to be fired across the bows if any attempt to do so. If these are disregarded the catamaran’s occupants are to be killed. Is that understood, Kagumi?’ ‘Yes, sir.’