Sato at the chart-table heard the Captain’s remark and smiled sardonically. Confounded hypocrite, he thought. He’s just had six hours of undisturbed sleep, and we all know it.
Yashimoto was speaking again. ‘The pressure tests tomorrow night, Chief. We continue on schedule?’
The Engineer Officer wiped the sweat from his forehead, turned tired eyes on the Captain. ‘Yes, sir.’ The tone was resigned.
His on-board inspection completed, Yashimoto went up to the casing by way of the gun-hatch rather than disturb the men at work in the conning-tower. Once on the casing he stepped carefully, choosing his way through the litter of trees and branches, the dry tinder cracking under his feet as he made his way across the gangplank to the bank. It was his custom each morning to visit the foundry-site to see how work was progressing and to encourage the men. It was a chore he enjoyed because it enabled him to escape from the confinement of the submarine with its abiding odours of battery gas, diesel oil and human sweat, and it provided an opportunity for exercise. He always combined it with a brisk walk about the hillside to check that the cutting party of the night before had not left ‘scars’ which might be visible from the air. Physical exercise had become imperative for Yashimoto ever since Masna, in a moment of intimacy, had chided him about his weight problem. This she had done with a taunting slap on his bare but ample stomach; much as he enjoyed sharing her bed, he had resented the Malaysian girl’s diminution of his dignity. Dignity was something to which Yashimoto attached great importance. Determined to surprise her, he had been dieting throughout the patrol, supplementing this with daily exercises in his small cabin.
Half an hour later, coming down the hillside through the trees, he met Satugawa on his way back to the foundry.
‘That was quick work, Chief,’ said the Captain cheerfully. ‘You should have had a rest. Even a short one helps, you know.’
Satugawa shook his head. ‘Not possible, Captain. I have had a wash and breakfast. They refresh a man. I told Shimada to rest for two hours. After that he will relieve me at the foundry. Then I will take a rest.’
Yashimoto was in the midst of praising the work of the en-gineroom staff when Satugawa held fingers to his mouth in a gesture for silence. The distant drone of aircraft engines grew steadily louder, the sound coming from the south. The two men listened intently. Though nothing could be seen from where they stood under the trees, they stared anxiously at the fragments of sky which showed through the leafy canopy.
Yashimoto looked at his watch. With a frown he said, ‘Morning reconnaissance.’
Satugawa nodded agreement. Their heads turned slowly to follow the sound of the aircraft they could not see as it passed to the westward. When it had faded into the distance, Yashimoto said, ‘Never closer than a mile, I’d say. And not as low as usual.’
‘It reminds me, Captain. Something I must discuss with you. The tests tomorrow night.’
Yashimoto’s head came up in alarm. ‘Nothing wrong is there?’
‘No. It’s not that. It’s a question of method. Before we move the boat to the centre of the basin we will have to strip off the camouflage. That will be quite a task. Once in position in the basin we will flood tanks and submerge. Say, to twenty-five metres. Then check to see how the repairs stand up to pressure. But that pressure will be entirely external.’
Yashimoto’s face arranged itself in a puzzled frown. ‘And so? What of it?’
The Engineer Officer avoided the challenging stare. ‘If that test is satisfactory we have to make another. With the boat surfaced, we will shut the upper and lower hatches, flood the conning-tower and raise the pressure in it by pumping in compressed air. The angled steel plates — those to be bolted into position over the cavity where the main pressure hull meets the vertical wall of the conning-tower — those plates are outside. The correct place, since external pressure will force them against the cavity in the pressure hull which they cover when the boat is submerged. It is necessary, however, to subject them also to internal pressure. Something equivalent to the stresses imposed by the explosion of depth-charges — the whiplash effect.’
Yashimoto continued to frown, pinching his nose between thumb and forefinger. ‘Yes, Chief. We have discussed this before, though not in such detail. What is the point you want to make?’
Satugawa looked into the trees, away from the Captain’s disconcerting stare. The second test will be the most exacting. If it fails — I don’t think it will he added hurriedly, ‘but if it fails we shall need another day in the creek. During that time the boat must continue to be concealed from observation from the air. For this reason I think we should reverse the testing order. Make the second test first.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘We can make the second test while still alongside and without removing the camouflage. That’s the point, sir.’ Yashimoto gazed at the trees, fingered his beard. ‘It’s a good point, Chief. Yes — we’ll do that.’
Satugawa’s face showed relief. ‘I think it’s the logical thing to do, Captain.’
After a brief chat about progress of the repair work they parted, the Engineer Officer going off in the direction of the foundry while Yashimoto made for the submarine. He was in good spirits. It was nine o’clock, the real heat of the day had not yet come, and under the trees the early morning air was still cool. To talk with the Engineer Officer was always reassuring; the man was so intelligent, so competent, that it could not be otherwise. Yashimoto had little doubt that the coming tests would be successful. Buoyed by these thoughts he began to hum a simple, repetitive folktune, one which his wife Akiko often sang when she was doing the things she enjoyed, like working in the miniature garden, or painting, or arranging flowers. It would be marvellous to get home, to be with her again. Absolutely marvellous. But Kure and the Inland Sea were far away, and the war in the Pacific at a difficult stage. It seemed that I-357 would be based on Penang for a long time to come. He sighed, was momentarily sad, until pictures of life in Penang, Masna in so many of them, restored his cheerful mood.
Soon we sail, soon we sail, he hummed, putting the words to Akiko’s folktune: At dawn we dive, at dawn we dive he added, as he walked beneath the trees with a new bounce to his step.
Barratt arrived on the bridge looking like a coal-heaver, every visible part of him blackened and streaked with perspiration. Saying, ‘I’ve got her, Number One,’ he turned Restless away from the island and set course for the southwest, towards the coast and clear of the channel used by coasters and dhows making for Mocimboa da Praia. ‘I’ll brief you in a moment,’ he said. ‘But there are a few things that won’t wait. Tell Dodds I want him up here. Double quick.’ The First Lieutenant went to the phone, spoke to the Navigating Officer who soon came clattering up a bridge ladder. He made for the dusky figure in the Captain’s chair. ‘Sir?’ He did his best to look as if the Captain’s appearance was normal.
‘Out there on the starboard bow,’ Barratt pointed. ‘There are three tall casuarina trees on top of that hill. See them, Pilot?’
Dodds stared in the given direction. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘We’ll remain on this course until they are difficult to see. Then we’ll turn on to a patrol line, two or three miles of it, which keeps them in sight. Got that?’
Dodds said he had.
‘I want you to standby to fix our position, and plot the patrol line when I give the word.’
‘May I use radar, sir?’
‘No you may not. Radar is shut down and will stay that way. Use the old bow and arrow.’