Deep in thought, Commander Russel hung up the phone and sat on the edge of the bed, his back to the mosquito netting, contemplating his feet. ‘Strange that Barratt should be involved. The mills of God no doubt.’ He nodded agreement as if someone else had made the remark, before reaching for the silk dressing gown which hung on the back of the door.
With a uniform jacket over his pyjamas the SOO stood at the top end of the operations table, billiard cue in hand. Pointing with it to the miniature model of a merchant ship on the many times enlarged chart, he said, ‘That’s the position Fort N gave in her four S signal.’ The cue moved northwards to a tiny grey warship. ‘That was Restless's position at 0435. Where she found the wreckage, twenty-six miles east of Ponto Pangani, picked up the survivor and saw evidence of the machine-gunning.’ He moved the cue back in a southerly direction. ‘The survivor last saw the submarine here. Surfaced and heading down-moon at about 2130. At that time down-moon would indicate a westerly heading. In other words, in towards the coast.’
Captain George Reynolds, short title Captain (D), a large, rotund man with mischievous blue eyes and a bucolic face, was the administrative authority for the destroyers, frigates and corvettes of the Eastern Fleet’s escort forces based on Kilindini. He looked up from the chart. ‘This chap Corrigan. I wonder how reliable a witness he is? You can’t see much when you’re in the water at night. At least I couldn’t and I’m more buoyant than most.’ He chuckled fruitily. ‘Of course mine was nasty cold Atlantic — and rough. Corrigan, one of the Yank’s gun-crew, claims a direct hit on the conning-tower. I wonder? It was a night action. Wasn’t it perhaps the flash and report of the submarine’s gun immediately forward of the conning-tower?’
The SOO nodded. ‘Survivors’ reports can be dodgy. Rather like witnesses of a road accident. Depends a lot on what they think they saw.’
‘Trouble is,’ said Captain (D), ‘non-submariners tend to regard the whole bridge structure as the conning-tower. They don’t realize that the tower inside all that free-flooding space is on about the same scale as one cigarette in a packet of twenty. If Fort N did secure a hit the odds are against it being on the conning-tower itself.’
‘On the other hand there was no point in massacring the survivors, unless…’ The gloomy aspect of the SOO’s face was heightened by shadows from the wall lighting.
‘Unless what, SOO?’
‘Unless the Japanese captain decided he must take steps to prevent it being known that the boat was damaged. But for Corrigan we wouldn’t have known, would we?’
‘Possibly. But I think it’s more likely that the Jap was simply working off his rage at being hit. It isn’t the first time their submarines have murdered survivors from merchant ships.’ Captain (D) sighed. ‘They tend towards the barbaric, you know.’
The SOO frowned at the little ships on the operations table as if they were somehow responsible. ‘However improbable, I do feel we shouldn’t dismiss the possibility that Corrigan may be right. As I see it we’re confronted with simple alternatives. One, that the submarine cannot dive — two, that it can. If the latter case I imagine it will remain on the surface until dawn, using darkness to move well away from the sinking. If it can’t dive it’s in trouble unless it can somehow evade air cover.’ He turned to the Flight Lieutenant who represented the RAF in the operations room. ‘What do you say, Hutchison?’
‘It certainly will be in trouble if it can’t dive, sir. The Catalinas take off shortly on routine dawn patrols.’ He looked at the wall clock. ‘In about fifteen minutes. One from here, the other from Pamanzi. We’ll concentrate them on the area to be searched — and put two more Cats in the air if necessary. Incidentally we’ve just heard that a Cat from Pamanzi was sent off shortly after the sinking to look for survivors in the position given in Fort TV’s signal. It got there a few hours later. Searched in heavy rain but found nothing.’
‘I see.’ The SOO looked doubtful. He pointed the billiard cue at the RNVR Lieutenant. ‘Plot the furthest-on right away, Cookson. One radius at twelve knots from 2130, the other at twenty knots. That’ll give us the Japs’ furthest-on at both economical and maximum speeds.’
‘More likely to be the former.’ Captain (D) mopped his forehead with a large handkerchief. ‘Our Nippon friend is a long way from base. Maximum speed burns up the fuel.’
Cookson measured off the radii from Fort Nebraska's position, plotted the furthest-on circles. The Flight Lieutenant jotted details on the notepad on which he’d already written the position co-ordinates. He looked at the SOO. ‘Will two Cats do?’
‘Yes, I think so. At least until we’ve briefed the Admiral. Important to cover the furthest-on areas first. Fortunately we have Restless down there.’
The Flight Lieutenant picked up the phone marked RAF. ‘Duty Officer, 290 Squadron,’ he said.
Captain (D) leant over the operations table. ‘If the submarine can’t dive it’ll opt for concealment during daylight. Not too difficult on this bit of coast.’ He pointed with a large finger. ‘We’ll put Restless on an inshore search right away. She can sniff round the coastline and islands. If the Admiral agrees we’ll ask 290 Squadron for a third Catalina to support her directly. Of course using the air means over-flying Portuguese territory.’
‘We’ve standing permission to overfly, sir, if we’re looking for survivors.’
‘Thank you, Hutchison,’ said Captain (D). ‘I’d forgotten that.’
The SOO snapped a finger at the RNVR Lieutenant. ‘Draft the signal to Restless, Cookson.’
While Cookson was busy with the signal Captain (D) and the SOO went out on to the verandah. Below them a thin curtain of mist rose from the water between Lukoni and Port Reitz, revealing as it lifted the hazy outline of warships at anchor.
Captain (D) looked at the dawn sky. ‘It’s going to be a hot day, Ian.’
The SOO nodded absent-mindedly. ‘I’m sorry in a way that Restless is down there. Not going to help Barratt.’
‘What are you driving at?’
‘You know — his wife’s death in Changi.’ The SOO’s expression of gloom deepened. ‘He’s just seen the remnants of a massacre. A Japanese one. That on top of the other business.’ He shrugged. ‘Could be too much.’
Captain (D)’s head moved up and down in slow affirmation. ‘I see what you mean. On the other hand it may help him work off steam. The possibility of coming to grips with the little yellow men. I’d hate to be one of them if he does.’ He looked at his watch, yawned noisily. ‘Another two hours to breakfast. Dear me. Don’t think I can hold out that long. You coming, Ian?’
‘I’ll come down later, George.’ The SOO looked puzzled. ‘Thought you were on a diet. Getting rid of some of that blubber?’
Captain (D)’s rubbery face arranged itself in a cheerful smile. ‘Came off it yesterday. But I don’t intend to overdo things. Couple of eggs, sausages and bacon, toast and marmalade, coffee, a little fruit perhaps — nothing excessive.’
The SOO shook his head. ‘You’re incorrigible.’
George Reynolds and Ian Russel had been term-mates at Dartmouth.
For Barratt the twenty minute interval between the despatch of his signal to Kilindini and the receipt of Captain (D)’s reply was a busy one. His first action was to put Restless on a north-westerly course and increase speed to twenty knots. ‘We’ll close the land,’ he explained to Charlie Dodds. ‘And make northerly progress. Let me have ETAs at Cape Delgado for the submarine. One at twelve knots the other at sixteen. And an ETA for Restless at twenty knots.’