Эдвин Грей - Diving Stations

Hamilton looked up sharply. The name obviously meant nothing to Murray, but Pearl Harbor was the main base of the US Pacific Fleet in Hawaii. No wonder everyone was in a panic.

‘Can you pick up any of the Australian stations?’

‘I doubt it, sir. The Aussies mostly use low-power local transmitters. I think I could get Saigon radio◦– but they’ll be broadcasting in French.’

‘I can speak French,’ Mannon said quietly.

Hamilton nodded. ‘See if you can find Saigon, Sparks.’ He thrust his head out of the compartment as Murray began turning the dials. ‘Jamieson! Tell Kingham to report here at the double!’

‘Aye aye, sir.’

Hamilton turned back into the compartment. The second operator would be able to listen out on the main communications channel for instructions, while Murray was busy making his way around the dial searching for news from the civil stations. A crackle of atmospherics spat from the loudspeaker above the main receiver and the voice of a French newscaster was gradually distilled from the noise, as Murray twiddled the fine tuner. Mannon listened intently, while Hamilton idly leafed through the wireless signals received during the morning. He could pick out odd words like ‘Washington’ and ‘Roosevelt’ but the rest meant nothing and he waited a trifle impatiently.

‘Got enough yet, Number One?’

‘I think so, sir. Japanese carrier aircraft and midget submarines hit Pearl Harbor at dawn. They caught the Yanks by surprise. According to Saigon◦– and their reports are based on American news agency wires◦– the entire US Pacific Fleet has been destroyed!’

‘Bloody Hell!’

‘There’ll be bloody hell for you, Murray, if you don’t concentrate on your job,’ Hamilton snapped curtly. ‘You are not to repeat what you have just heard to anyone◦– understand? I will tell the ship’s company in my own good time. Meanwhile, stay tuned to Singapore and send all signals to me personally.’

‘I suppose we ought to call up Singapore and ask for fresh orders, sir.’ Mannon suggested diffidently.

‘Well, you suppose wrong, Number One. To hell with bloody orders◦– I’m making my own decisions from now on.’ Hamilton glanced sternly at the radio operator. ‘And remember, Murray, you didn’t hear that either.’

Although nightfall had brought the Navy a welcome relief from the air attacks that had raged without respite throughout the day, the land battle for Hong Kong continued into the darkness. The men on the gunboats could hear the sharp chatter of machine guns echoing across the black water and see the flicker of gunfire against the night sky, as the Japanese invaders maintained pressure on the exhausted and outnumbered troops falling back towards Kowloon. And, as they gathered at the rails with their mugs of steaming cocoa, they considered themselves infinitely better off than the soldiers struggling for survival in the holocaust ashore◦– even though most of them had been continuously at action stations for nearly twelve hours.

It was a sentiment shared by the officers. Standing at the starboard bridge wing of his gunboat, Ottershaw tried to follow the progress of the battle through his night glasses. But without adequate communication links to the troops ashore, it was impossible to make sense of the chaos and confusion on the darkened mainland. And, although it had always been a proud tradition in the Navy to give what help it could to the Army, there was little the ships could do until dawn….

‘Reduce to half-speed, Number One. I want to be in the vicinity of Castle Peak Bay at first light, in case the Japs try to make a landing. And if there’s any trouble during the night at least we’ll be close at hand.’

While Forsyth was passing his instructions to the helmsman and engine room, Ottershaw examined the situation further to the east. It was not very encouraging. Victoria Island seemed fairly quiet, but large fires were still burning in the center of Kowloon and the dense pall of smoke hanging in the sky over the Colony’s only airfield at Kai Tak boded ill for the next day. If the RAF had been knocked out, air supremacy would pass to the Japanese and, with no fighters to drive off enemy bombing attacks, the prospects for the Navy’s little ships looked decidedly gloomy.

He turned to the gunboat’s bosun standing to the rear of the wheelhouse. ‘Secure from Action Stations, Mister Phillips. Tell the cooks to get some grub ready and pipe all hands to dinner in thirty minutes.’

The chief wondered what the cooks would use for food. Firefly had left for sea at short notice and the stores waiting on the quayside had been left behind in the rush. Dinner, for all the promise of its name, was likely to be cold bully beef and ship’s biscuits. Still he supposed it could be worse and, acknowledging Ottershaw’s order with a salute, he made his way aft to the galley.

‘I see that bugger Hamilton just managed to get away in the nick of time, sir,’ Forsyth said suddenly. ‘A good thing for his reputation probably,’ he added bitterly. ‘Those bloody submariners are all the same◦– all wind and bluff. I don’t see anything brave in sneaking along under the sea and torpedoing some poor bloody ship that doesn’t even know you’re there. They ought to try standing on the surface in broad daylight and fighting the enemy face to face.’

‘You don’t seem to like our friend Hamilton, Number One,’ Ottershaw observed mildly.

‘Damned newspaper hero, sir,’ Forsyth said firmly. ‘He wouldn’t have got that DSO without the help of his pals in Fleet Street. And, thanks to him, poor old Gerry Cavendish was booted out of the service.’ 1Ottershaw made no comment. He did not share his executive officer’s views and he had no intention of getting involved in an argument. He had little doubt that antipathy to the submarine commander dated back to the former’s lack of initiative when Ottershaw was being held as an unwilling guest on Suma.

‘I’m bloody hungry,’ he announced without making any attempt to reply to Forsyth’s statement. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m going down to the wardroom for a quick bite. Find young Peters and tell him to take over the Watch.’ Ottershaw stopped and turned as he reached the head of the companionway. He looked at Forsyth with a cold eye. ‘And change that damned shirt before you come down for dinner, Number One. It’s filthy.’

Rapier was running submerged at half-speed steering north-east with Lantau Island to the starboard, when Hamilton came to periscope depth to obtain a fix. The very survival of the submarine could depend on accurate navigation over the next few hours and he was anxious to pinpoint their exact position while things were still quiet.

Searching along the ridged hills of the island, he found a suitable landmark and called off the bearing to Scott. ‘Ching Fort bearing zero-six-zero.’ The upper lens swiveled questioningly to the left in search of another prominent feature. ‘Castle Peak◦– zero-zero-five. Down periscope!’

Stepping back from the column, he joined Scott at the table and waited while Rapier’s navigator ruled the lines of the cross bearings onto the chart and neatly calculated the fix.

‘I’ll check Castle Peak Bay as far as Brother’s Point first,’ Hamilton explained. ‘If there’s no sign of enemy activity we’ll double back around Lantau and run up the eastern side of the island so that we can approach Hong Kong from the south-west.’

‘What then?’ Mannon asked.

Hamilton shrugged. ‘I don’t know until I’ve established the situation, Number One. If I can contact one of the gunboats and get a report, well and good. If not, we’ll have to fight our own private war. Tell Morgan and his cut throats to close up in the gun-tower. I doubt if we’ll find any targets worth wasting a torpedo on.’ He snapped his fingers at Bushby and waited for the periscope to slide upwards.