Эдвин Грей - Diving Stations

‘Both clutches engaged, sir. Engines ready and standing by.’

‘Half-ahead together. Course two-six-zero, Cox’n.’ Hamilton stepped back from the voice pipe and glanced quickly around the horizon to check for other shipping. He turned to Mannon. ‘You can fall the men out from Harbor Stations, Number One.’

‘Fall out Harbor Stations! Control Room◦– stand by to take over lower steering. Duty Watch to passage routine.’ Hamilton leaned against the periscope standard and lit a cigarette as he watched the fo’c’sle party make their way below through the gun hatch. ‘I’ll finish the first Dog Watch, Number One,’ he told Mannon. ‘You take the second and I’ll give Alistair the middle. I’ll work out a proper routine in the meantime.’ He threw the cigarette over the side. ‘Once we’re clear of Lantau Island I intend to hold south on the surface at ten knots. That should bring us about halfway to Helen Shoals by dawn.’

‘Are we making for Charlotte Island, sir?’

Hamilton shook his head. ‘I wish we were, Number One. But it’s beginning to look as if we’ve been wasting our time. We’ve been recalled to Singapore.’

‘What the hell for?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine. But I know one thing,’ Hamilton added bitterly. ‘This was the first time I’ve ever tried my hand at forward planning◦– and it’ll be the last. Next time I play it by ear.’

Mannon nodded sympathetically. They had all, from the skipper down to the most junior rating, worked like galley slaves to set up the secret base on the island and now, on the whim of an admiral thousands of miles away, all their efforts had been reduced to nothing. Not that Mannon had ever been completely happy about the scheme. The lack of oil storage facilities on the island had worried him. But whenever he queried the matter of fuel reserves with Hamilton his questions were never answered, although the skipper’s smile suggested he had something up his sleeve. That was at least one problem they would not have to face if they were operating out of Singapore. But, even so, he could understand Hamilton’s disappointment.

‘I suppose I ought to be getting below, sir. I’ll see if I can get Monty to rustle up some food before I start my watch.’

‘Good idea, Number One. Ask him to have something ready for me when I come down. And tell Alistair I want to see him in the wardroom at four bells.’

He looked up at the sky. Night descended quickly in the tropics and the stars were already twinkling brightly in the black vaults of the heavens. A single searchlight, probably from the Tern patrolling off Castle Peak Bay, swept the northern horizon with monotonous regularity and, to the north-east, the gaudy lights of Hong Kong glowed red against the dark backcloth of the New Territories.

He could not help wondering how much longer the Colony had to enjoy its peaceful tranquility.

Hamilton stirred restlessly on the narrow bunk. After the cool chill of the air on deck, the interior of the submarine was unpleasantly stuffy and he was finding it difficult to sleep. The deck head fan made little impression on the turgid atmosphere and the wardroom reeked with the smell of stale human sweat.

Mannon was sitting on the settee looking at an old magazine and the dim glow of the reading-lamp was an irritating distraction which Hamilton could have well done without.

Damn the bloody C-in-C! Why the hell did he have to recall Rapier just when things were beginning to look interesting? And, he reminded himself, it wasn’t just pique at being deprived of his private hideaway and the cache of stores he had so carefully laid up in readiness for just such an emergency. He was quite prepared to admit that the secret base had been a crazy idea from the start◦– the sort of thing the hero did in a kid’s story book.

He rolled over and tried to sleep, but his brain refused to switch off and, to add to the agonies of insomnia, tiny drops of condensation from the deck head over the bunk dripped on his face with the relentless regularity of a primitive Chinese torture….

‘Sir! Wake up, sir!’

Hamilton couldn’t believe that he’d really been asleep, but apparently he had. His eyes opened and he was fully awake in an instant.

‘Murray’s picked up a broadcast from Singapore radio, sir,’ Mannon said excitedly. ‘The Japs are landing at Kota Bharu.’

Hamilton swung his legs out of the bunk and pushed his feet into the pair of plimsolls Monty had left in readiness. ‘Where the hell’s Kota Bharu, Number One!’ he grumbled irritably.

‘East coast of Malaya, sir◦– up near the Siam border.’

‘Is it, by God! It looks as though my hunch was right after all. Perhaps Layton knew what he was doing when he recalled us.’

He made his way through the bulkhead hatch into the control room. He had no doubts that the entire ship’s company had heard the news by now, but the men on duty gave no hint of excitement or curiosity when he appeared. They knew the skipper would tell them what he intended to do in his own good time. And, in the meantime, discipline demanded that they carried out their duties without question.

The radio compartment was situated aft of the control room and Hamilton glanced up at the clock as he entered. It was 3.55 a.m.

‘What’s this report you say you’ve picked up?’ he asked the operator brusquely.

Murray slipped off his headset and put it down on the bench alongside the radio. ‘I was searching around the medium band about five minutes ago, sir.’ He looked a little sheepish. ‘To be honest I was trying to find some late night dance music. And someone suddenly broke into the programme to say the Japs were landing.’

‘Where was this◦– Singapore?’

‘No, sir,’ Murray picked up a small book and pointed his finger to the top of the opened page. ‘According to the station call-sign it was Kuala Lumpur.’

‘Tune into Singapore and see what you get.’

Murray obediently twiddled the knobs and through the crackle Hamilton could hear the measured tones of the station announcer repeating instructions to the civilian population regarding blackout regulations and air raid precautions. After a few minutes, he repeated the initial news reports of the Japanese landings in the north.

Hamilton glanced at Mannon. ‘Sounds genuine enough and if Murray’s already heard similar reports from KL I’d say we’d got all the confirmation we need.’

‘Shall I call up Singapore base, sir?’ Murray asked.

‘No! Maintain strict radio silence until we know what the situation is. Keep tuned to the Admiralty transmitting station and send me a resume of the signals every fifteen minutes. But call me if you hear something urgent.’ He turned to Mannon. ‘Alistair is due off watch in a couple of minutes, Number One. Get up on the bridge and take over. I want to discuss our course with him. I’ll be up to relieve you as soon as we’ve worked something out. Then you get some shut-eye. We could have a busy day on our hands tomorrow.’

Back in the control room, Hamilton opened the small scale map of the South-East Asia area and stared down at it. Kota Bharu was approximately fourteen hundred miles away and Singapore seemed even further. Running at ten knots to conserve fuel, Rapier could not possibly arrive off the Malayan coast for at least five days and, even if he gambled on the oil supplies and steamed at maximum speed, it would take all of seventy-two hours to cover the distance. If only Layton had recalled them earlier. The presence of the two Japanese invasion convoys must have been known to the Singapore staff for some time. Surely someone could have made an intelligent guess!

He looked round as Scott came down from the bridge to join him and he moved to one side so that Rapier’s navigator could see the chart.