Several changes had to be made with the flotation gear, various sizes and combinations of empty drums being tested before it was decided to concentrate on two of medium size.
‘Between them they give positive buoyancy plus a useful margin,’ said the Torpedo Officer. ‘Flooding one will provide the negative buoyancy needed. It’s a question then of timing the rate of sinking and adjusting the flooding accordingly.’
‘Not so easy,’ said the TGM. Like the others he wore only shorts, his brown body glistening with perspiration, his hair wet and matted.
So the tests went on. Time and again the TGM would pull a lanyard and call, ‘Flooding now.' The Torpedo Officer would start the stop-watch; after an interval of time the TGM would announce, ‘Bottomed now,’ the Torpedo Officer would give the sinking time and the midshipman would record it. Then would begin once more the laborious business of raising the sunken rig, securing it alongside, lifting the flooded drum on board and emptying it. That done, the whole process was repeated. And repeated it had to be, many times, before Taylor shouted. ‘Marvellous. That’s just what we need — exactly two minutes. Well done, TGM. Now for the swim.’
The TGM looked up, an eyebrow raised. ‘Safe here, is it, sir?’
‘Absolutely. Sharks won’t go through shallow channels to get inside a reef. Not even to eat sailors.’
‘Are you going to swim, sir?’ inquired the midshipman with a note of disbelief.
‘Of course I am. So are you. Petty Officer Benham will take over the stop-watch and notebook.’ The Torpedo Officer looked round. ‘Right. We have four swimmers; you Tripp, the volunteers — Corrigan and Wilson — and myself. Let’s get starko for a start.’
Following the Torpedo Officer’s example, the swimmers took off their shorts and stood nude but cheerful waiting for the next instalment.
‘Fine-looking lot,’ observed the Torpedo Officer with a sardonic smile. ‘Now we come to the drill. We get into the water first. Hang on to the starboard side, waiting and watching. When the PO shouts GO we swim flat out, parallel to the beach. When he shouts STOP we stop…’
‘Logical,’ observed the midshipman.
The Torpedo Officer glared at him, ‘… and tread water. You, Tripp, will then measure the distance covered by each swimmer. For our purposes we’ll take the average of the three.’
‘How will I know the distances?’ inquired the midshipman.
‘Because, my lad, before the swim begins you will have swum to the beach and taken station opposite the motorboat. When you hear STOP you will drop a marker, stride smartly forward — a stride to a yard — until you are opposite the first swimmer when you will drop another marker. He’ll be the slowest. Ditto the second, ditto the third. He’ll be the fastest.’
‘What do I use for markers, sir?’
‘These.’ The Torpedo Officer stooped, picked up a small linen bag. ‘Tie this round your waist until you’re on the beach. It contains four small pieces of wood.’
‘Jolly good.’ Tripp took the bag, peered into it. ‘Clever. I wonder who thought of it?’
The Torpedo Officer ignored the impertinence.
At three o’clock in the afternoon Barratt woke from deep sleep, pleasantly shocked to find that it was so late. After a shower and change he went to the bridge where the Navigating Officer was on watch with Midshipman Galpin. Whereas the sky had been clear of cloud when last seen by Barratt it was now seven-tenths overcast, dark masses of cumulo-nimbus moving in from the north-east, the screen of rain beneath it rent by distant lightning.
‘What’s the barometer doing?’ he asked the Navigating Officer.
‘Falling, sir. Nothing dramatic but I think we’ll be getting that rain before long.’
With a non-committal, ‘H’m,’ Barratt went to a wing of the bridge, looked along the side. ‘I see the motorboat’s been hoisted. When did they get back?’
‘About an hour ago, sir.’
‘Is all well?’
‘I believe so. Lieutenant Taylor and the TGM are busy with the rig now.’ Dodds pointed aft. ‘You can see them forward of the quarterdeck screen. The Chief ERA and some of his people are giving a hand. Cutting and welding.’ ‘Good. Any idea how the Shipwright’s getting on?’
‘He’s modified that wooden frame. The TGM has tested it for buoyancy. Says it’s okay, sir. Looks a bit like a sledge now.’
‘I’m glad to get the news,’ said Barratt drily. ‘Nobody else seems to have thought of telling me.’
‘Your orders were that you were not to be disturbed, sir. Unless wanted on the bridge.’
‘Ah, yes. My fault. Number One about?’
‘In his cabin resting. He’s got the last dog-watch. He’s a bit short of sleep. Up all night while you were away with the shore party — and most of today.’
‘Of course. I‘d forgotten that. Inconsiderate of me. Glad you mentioned it, Dodds.’ Barratt trained binoculars on Maji’s skyline where the casuarinas stood stark and solitary against bundles of grey cloud. Taking the strap from his neck he folded it round the binoculars, put them back in the bin marked ‘CO’. ‘I’m going to see how Torps and company are getting on. Be back soon.’
When the Captain had gone Dodds went to the bridge chart-table where a midshipman was plotting the destroyer’s position. ‘Not bad,’ he said looking over the young man’s shoulder. ‘Could be neater. Your numerals are too large. Small is beautiful, Galpin.’
‘I do my best, sir.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Dodds absent-mindedly. ‘The Captain’s looking a lot better since his rest.’
Galpin nodded, a faraway look in his eyes. ‘I wonder if the messman’s going to give us mangoes tonight. Last lot were absolutely marvellous.’
The Navigating Officer grunted disapproval. ‘Food and women. All you mids ever think of these days.’
‘I didn’t say anything about women, sir.’
‘No. But you think about them, Galpin.’
Barratt was in his day-cabin making notes for the night’s briefing when the bridge phone rang. It was the officer-of-the-watch, Lawson, to report that the storm had broken. There was heavy rain, though the thunder and lightning were still some distance away. ‘The casuarinas are no longer visible, sir. Nor the island.’
‘Is it blowing?’
‘Yes. About force six. More in the squalls.’
‘Awnings furled, ventilators trimmed?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. I’m coming up.’ Barratt resented the interruption; the briefing notes were complicated, required concentration. He’d hoped the storm would pass astern but obviously it hadn’t. For God’s sake, why now? he thought on his way to the bridge. I’d have welcomed it tonight, but not yet. Heavy rain not only shuts down visibility but puts out fires. So much, then, for the Headman’s signal if it were made now. Barratt panicked. The submarine might be about to leave, was already leaving? Restless was on the blind side of the island, at least five miles from the entrance; more when she was at the seaward end of the patrol line. Anything from fifteen to twenty minutes steaming at twenty knots. Fuel remaining was getting dangerously low so full speed was out, even for a short time. If the Jap was ready to go, the storm might be all that he was waiting for.