‘Isn’t that a bit of a snag, sir?’
‘No. Good thing if they see us at times. What’s more, unless this sky clears there won’t be any moonlight. In that case we’ll have to take steps to ensure that they do see us.’
That had sounded very odd to the Navigating Officer, but he decided against asking for the Captain’s reasons. No doubt all would be made clear at the briefing. So he concentrated once more on the chart and the problems of the night ahead. The only shore light which would be of any use was on Tambuzi Island. With its ten mile range it would be visible briefly when Restless turned at the north-eastern extremity of her beat. Not that shore lights mattered much now that radar was once again in continuous operation. That, plus asdic and the echo-sounder, would make the night less hazardous. Nevertheless he hoped the sky would clear by the time the moon rose.
He switched off the chart-table light and went to the bridge for a chat with John Taylor who was keeping the first dog-watch with Peter Morrow. Having briefed Taylor on the navigational aspects of the new patrol line, he went down to his cabin for a shower and change. While doing so he thought about the coming night; the ship was buzzing with rumours about what was to happen, some more lurid than others. There seemed to be no doubt that there would be action of a sort before daylight; but how, when, and where would have to wait for the Captain’s fireside chat. Notice of it had already been given by the Coxswain over the ship’s broadcast system. Rubbing himself down in the shower, Dodds wondered if he’d be doing the same thing on the following night, or was this to be his last shower? The Biblical ring of that made him smile sheepishly. He supposed he was over-dramatizing the situation. But he couldn’t deny the queasy feeling somewhere in his stomach. He knew it had nothing to do with hunger.
Yashimoto was entering the day’s events in the War Diary, notably the sighting of the British destroyer, the circling Catalina, and the steps which he had taken to prepare I-357 for the possibility of a surprise attack that night. He had almost completed the task when, at his request, the Engineer Officer came to the cabin.
‘Sit down, Chief.’ The Captain’s face was grave as he made room on the settee. ‘There is much we must discuss. First, the repairs.’
‘They’re well in hand, Captain. We’ve got the better of that confounded hinge, but we’ve problems with fractured air pressure lines on the starboard side where the piping by-passes the lower hatch. Damage caused by the torn plating when the shell burst. We’re replacing the damaged sections of piping. This will not delay the programme for tomorrow night’s tests.’
Yashimoto shook his head. ‘As long as that destroyer patrols off the entrance we may have to defer, or even abandon, those tests, Chief. They could interfere with our state of preparedness. We have to be ready to repel an attack at any time during the night. If it has not come by first light — ’ he paused. ‘We must wait to see what tomorrow brings.’
The Engineer Officer drew a hand across tired, sunken eyes. ‘So you think the British might attack, although this is neutral territory?’
After a brief examination of his fingernails, Yashimoto said, ‘To be honest, Chief, I do not think they will. The British still take an old-fashioned view of the sanctity of neutrality. But I cannot count on that. The island is small, remote and unimportant. The coast hereabouts is also remote. Probably no more than a handful of Portuguese colonial officials spread over tens of thousands of square miles. The British might take a chance. Fortunately they can’t know exactly where the boat is lying, and they must
appreciate the dangers of attempting to force the narrows.’
‘Plunging gunfire?’ suggested Satugawa.
‘How? If they do not know where the target is? No — I regard an attack as possible but unlikely.’ Yashimoto held up an admonitory finger. ‘You must treat that as strictly confidential. The crew must believe an attack is imminent.’
‘You may count on me, Captain. But what, then, do you think the British will do?’
‘Watch and wait, I think. Ask their Fleet HQ in Kilindini for orders, though Keda tells me there have not yet been wireless signals of sufficient strength to suggest transmission from any vessel near us. But lamp signals were probably exchanged with the Catalina when it was over the ship. The clue to further action may lie in those signals.’ He nodded, as if confirming his conclusion. ‘In the meantime, as I’ve said, they’ll watch and wait. The destroyer is patrolling off the headland now. Shinzo Nikaido tells me our search receiver is picking up intermittent radar signals. They occur at fairly regular intervals, their bearing always restricted to the sector opposite the mouth of the creek. The destroyer must be on a patrol line which brings her into that sector for short periods. Most of the time she appears to remain west of the creek where the headland masks the transmissions.’ Yashimoto opened the desk drawer, took from it the box of Penang cheroots, held it out to the Engineer Officer. ‘A cheroot, Chief?’
‘Thank you, Captain.’ Satugawa took one, produced a lighter, put the flame to Yashimoto’s cheroot, then to his own. ‘Little chance, I suppose, of attacking the British carrier?’
Yashimoto drew on his cheroot, inhaled, expelled a thin column of smoke from between pursed lips. ‘It is evening of the 23rd November. The carrier’s amended ETA off Mombasa is now 27th/28th. If we leave here even as late as the 25th we should be in time. Later than that might still give us an opportunity to attack. The carrier is bound for Durban. She must leave Mombasa in due course. If we can’t get there in time to attack her on arrival, we must do so when she leaves.’
Satugawa found the Captain’s confident tone, his calm demeanour, impressive. Once again he was grateful that a man of such quality commanded I-357. Nonetheless, he felt bound to ask the obvious question: ‘But if this British destroyer remains on patrol outside, what d’you intend doing, sir?’
Through the thin curtain of smoke which hung between them Yashimoto contemplated his questioner through narrowed eyes. ‘We shall put to sea sometime during the next forty-eight hours — even if we have to abandon the tests. We will choose the time, the moment for action. It will have to be dark. We will move into the basin and trim right down. At either midnight or four o’clock in the morning — times when the destroyer’s watches will be changing and vigilance will be relaxed — we will make our move. Around those times the headland lookout will report by signal torch on each occasion that the destroyer reaches the farthest end of its patrol line. On receiving that signal at an appropriate moment, I will take I-357 through the narrows at full speed, diving to periscope depth within a mile of clearing the headlands. Sato’s chart indicates that the depth of water shelves steeply after the first mile.’
Satugawa took the cheroot from his mouth. ‘The destroyer’s asdic and radar, Captain?’
Yashimoto shook his head. ‘Their asdic is effective only up to fifteen hundred yards. Towards the end of that range signals are weak, particularly against the background of land and shoal water which we shall have. Within a few minutes of clearing the headlands the radar target will be no more than our periscope — too small to register. The destroyer’s chances of detecting us will be slight.’ Juggling with his lips, Yashimoto swivelled the cheroot into a corner of his mouth, leant forward, the pouchy eyes bright. ‘Whereas,’ he went on, ‘our chances of sighting the destroyer will be excellent. We shall have chosen the moment — we will have the advantage of surprise.’ He drew on the cheroot, puffed whorls of blue smoke at the deckhead. ‘I intend to sink that destroyer as we leave Creek Island, Chief. The Imperial Japanese Navy will give the British a lesson in tactics.’