Эдвин Грей - Diving Stations

Ottershaw suddenly grabbed the drift of Hamilton’s carefully guided conversation and, taking his cue, he stood up. ‘In that case, Commander, perhaps we should not detain you any further. You will obviously wish to get to sea as soon as possible.’

Aritsu gestured in agreement. ‘Of course, Lieutenant Commander. I will have my motorboat take you and the Lieutenant back to your ships. As professional sailors, we are all aware that our greatest enemy is the sea itself. I am sure you will be equally anxious to get back to your own ships before the typhoon strikes. I suggest we tell our respective governments that the whole incident was due to a misunderstanding and that no apologies are called for.’ Ottershaw picked up his cap from the table and started towards the door, but Hamilton reached out his hand and stopped him.

‘Hold hard, Harry,’ he whispered, ‘we’ve got the bastard on the run. Let’s rub his bloody face in it while we’ve got the chance.’ He turned to Aritsu before the gunboat captain could object. ‘It’s too late to get out of the bay, now, Commander.’ The cutting edge of authority in Hamilton’s voice caused the Japanese officer to look up sharply. ‘I reckon the typhoon will hit us inside the next thirty minutes◦– and that won’t even give you time to flash up your second boiler. I suppose you could lay out extra anchors, but if you can’t hold your bows into the wind I don’t give much for your chances.’

Aritsu nodded with stoic resignation. ‘I have no doubt you are right,’ he agreed quietly. ‘I would like to have a few minutes alone while I consider what to do. In the circumstances, gentlemen, I must ask you to return to your ships without delay.’

Hamilton could feel the deck of the destroyer moving beneath his feet as the sea took on the long swell that normally preceded the approach of a typhoon. Ottershaw fidgeted impatiently at the delay. What the hell was the fool playing at? Aritsu undoubtedly had problems, but Firefly’s predicament was no less worrying. And even Hamilton would have more than his fair share of trouble when he tried to steer the submarine out of the storm-lashed bay. And yet, for some unaccountable reason, Rapier’s skipper seemed in no great hurry.

The three men made their way along the narrow steel corridor leading out to the well deck just abaft the bridge companionway. Suma ’s officer-of-the-watch greeted the Commander with a copybook salute and acknowledged Aritsu’s clipped instructions before scurrying away to carry them out. Taking advantage of the hiatus, Hamilton walked to the rails and surveyed the worsening weather conditions.

The sea was already rising and small white wave crests scattered the bay as the wind grew in strength and intensity. The entrance of the bay, flanked by tree-clad cliffs, seemed sealed by an impenetrable black curtain as the front moved towards the coast.

‘What’s your maximum speed with one boiler?’ he asked Aritsu.

‘Fifteen knots if we’re lucky.’

Hamilton did not answer immediately. He stared at the ominously dark storm clouds gathering over the sea beyond the entrance to the bay. ‘I suppose that’s not much if you’ve got to fight your way out in the teeth of an eighty knots gale,’ he commented. He turned away from the rail and glanced up at Suma’s single funnel in time to see a billowing mass of black smoke spluttering from the stack, as the engineer switched on the sprays and flashed up the cold Number Two boiler. Then his eyes moved down to the heavy bridge hamper and he shook his head sadly.

‘The Commander’s right, Harry,’ he said loudly enough for Aritsu to hear. ‘The sooner we get off this floating bloody coffin the better. She’ll be over in a couple of seconds if she breaches and the wind catches her.’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Ottershaw said fervently. ‘I don’t know why you’re hanging about.’ He made his way across to where Suma’s motorboat was waiting to take them off. Hamilton’s gloomy comments were beginning to send cold shivers down his spine. And what they were going to do to Aritsu was anyone’s guess!

But Hamilton continued to survey the situation with all the leisure of a man intent on solving an abstract technical problem from the quiet depth of a comfortable armchair. ‘Of course,’ he observed to Aritsu, ‘it’s unfortunate you chose to anchor with your stern facing the entrance. It means you’ll have to swing completely round to get your bows to the wind. We do things differently in the Royal Navy. We always make sure we’re pointing in the right direction to begin with.’ He nodded towards Firefly and Rapier and swallowing his pride, the Japanese was forced to concede his point. Hamilton’s cruelly objective analysis of the situation only served to increase his own unease over the impossibility of his position.

Even assuming he could perform the herculean task of turning the destroyer through a complete half circle of one hundred and eighty degrees without breaching, Aritsu was doubtful whether Suma ’s engine would produce enough power to make headway against the ferocious strength of the hurricane-force winds.

‘Not much use laying out extra anchors either,’ Hamilton continued as if he could read Aritsu’s mind. ‘Bad holding ground◦– shifting sands according to our charts. You’ll be hurled back onto the reefs.’

‘Are you quite…’ Ottershaw began, but Hamilton cut him off brusquely in mid-sentence.

‘If you’re willing to take part in a spot of unorthodox seamanship, however. I reckon I might be able to help,’ he told Suma ’s skipper with a sudden and totally unexpected smile.

‘I am quite prepared to consider anything you suggest, Lieutenant.’ Aritsu successfully hid the eagerness in his voice, but Hamilton knew the reaction was that of a drowning man clutching at a straw. And, in the circumstances, it was an apt analogy. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as if considering his plan.

‘I reckon we could use Rapier as a sort of sea anchor. If we pass a couple of six-inch hawsers around the conning tower and I submerge to say, thirty feet, I could drag your bows around in half the time it would take you using your engines and rudder. Then, having got you pointing into the wind, Rapier could act as an anchor. What’s your weight?’

‘535 tons standard◦– probably less at the moment as our bunkers are half-empty.’

‘Excellent! Rapier displaces just under a thousand tons in diving trim. If I poke my motors up to full power, I reckon I could just about hold you until the typhoon blows itself out.’

‘It’ll never work,’ Ottershaw interjected before Aritsu could answer. He had learned his seamanship at Dartmouth and he did not believe in unorthodox solutions. Hamilton’s ideas were all very well in theory, but practice would be another matter. It was just the sort of foolhardy scheme he would have expected from this crazy submariner.

‘Perhaps it won’t,’ Aritsu agreed. ‘But it’s worth trying. And I can see no alternative.’

Hamilton grinned, patted the Commander on the shoulder reassuringly, and swung himself over the rail. Ottershaw followed and moments later they were huddled in the sternsheets of the open motorboat, as it throttled to full power and eased away from the destroyer’s beam.

The epicenter of the storm was still some thirty minutes away, but the waters of the bay were already being whipped to a frenzy of flying spray by the rising wind. The two British officers were quickly soaked to the skin as the coxswain of the motorboat swung the bows towards the distant Rapier. Once out of the protective lee of the Suma, the mounting strength of the sea swept the cockleshell boat to starboard and it pitched violently as Shinikani fought the controls to maintain course.