Эдвин Грей - Diving Stations

‘Green◦– one◦– zero, sir. Range thirty-five hundred.’

‘Course three-two-five, sir. Speed four knots.’

Scott’s torpedo director◦– the fruit machine as it was irreverently known to submariners◦– clicked busily as he fed in the data.

‘Down periscope! Group up main motors. Steer three-zero-zero.’ Hamilton picked up the intercom. ‘Bow ends◦– blow up one, two, three, and four tubes.’

‘Bow ends, aye aye, sir.’

‘Up periscope!’ Despite the quiet calm of the control room Hamilton could feel his heart pounding with excitement as the cruiser came into his sights. Take it easy◦– no hurry. Remember, they don’t know you’re there. Plenty of time for a double check. No point in making silly mistakes. He carefully centered on the cruiser’s pagoda-like bridge structure and moved the handle-bar grip so that the two images of the rangefinder element came together. ‘Range that !’ Blake noted the angle and relayed it to Sutton. ‘Bearing that Hamilton paused for the electrical artificer to read the scale. ‘Down periscope!’ He stepped back as the periscope slid down into its well. ‘Looks like a Mogami class heavy cruiser plus a couple of destroyers. The moon’s out and visibility is good.’ He didn’t add that all they needed was a modicum of luck, but the men in the control room knew his unspoken thoughts. ‘What’s the DA, Alistair?’ he enquired with the casualness of a man asking the bus fare to Aldgate.

‘Twenty-seven Red, sir.’

Hamilton rubbed his nose thoughtfully. No problems there. His slight alteration of course at the beginning of the attack had shown sound judgement.

‘Up periscope.’

Hamilton’s knuckles suddenly whitened as the lens mockingly reflected an empty sea. He scanned to the left but the dark shadows had vanished. Swearing softly to himself he swung the ’scope to the right. Shit!

‘Target moving to starboard◦– away from us. Speed increasing.’ He peered intently through the lens. ‘Now twenty degrees to starboard of old course. What does that make it, Alistair?’

‘Two-nine-five, sir.’

Of all the bloody luck! The enemy ships were now steering an almost identical course to Rapier and, with their superior speed, the range was rapidly lengthening.

‘Director angle for three-degree track angle?’

‘One degree Red, sir.’

‘Down periscope. Open bow caps.’ Hamilton realized the hopelessness of the situation, but he was loath to pass up even an outside chance of sinking a Japanese cruiser. He moved to the monocular attack ’scope at the rear of the control room.

‘Up periscope◦– put me on director angle.’ Blake placed his hands on top of the skipper’s and guided the column onto the critical bearing.

‘On director angle, sir.*

The targets were now moving steadily towards the horizon. Only the cruiser was still in range◦– and then only just. ‘Stand by 1-2-3-4. Prepare to fire….’

He waited until the stern of the cruiser centered in the graticule sights of the attack scope. ‘Fire One… Two… Three… Four! Down periscope. Flood Q. Eighty feet!’

Rapier nosed deeper. Now they could only wait. Perhaps the skipper would be lucky this time, although the expression on his face did not encourage optimism.

‘Torpedoes running, sir,’ Glover reported from the hydro-phones.

No one spoke a word and all eyes went to the sweeping second hand of the control room clock and a dozen brains wrestled with the same arithmetical problem◦– two miles at forty-five knots equals three minutes. If there was no explosion in the next one hundred and. eighty seconds they knew the torpedoes had missed. And sitting quietly at their stations, leaning against the bulkheads, or standing motionless in the center of the tiny claustrophobic compartment, they waited….

It was Hamilton who finally broke the tension. ‘Secure from diving stations.’

‘I suppose we ought to look on the bright side, sir,’ Mannon forced a smile. ‘At least we haven’t had to put up with a depth charge attack. They didn’t even know we were there.’

‘That’s what makes it all the more damnable, Number One,’ Hamilton retorted bitterly. ‘Perfect conditions, a sitting target, and everything in our favor. They say the devil looks after his own and I’m beginning to believe it.’ He straightened up. The attack may have been abortive but it wasn’t the end of the world. ‘Maintain depth and course. Reduce to half speed.’

Mannon walked over to join Hamilton and the navigator at the plotting table. ‘Do you think we should hang about and see if they turn up again, sir?’ he asked.

Hamilton shook his head. ‘No◦– we can’t even be sure they will come back. And we can’t afford to waste time. According to the last radio report the military situation is deteriorating in Hong Kong. We haven’t had much success against the Japanese Navy◦– let’s see if we have more luck with their bloody army!’ He looked up at Scott. ‘Well, what are you waiting for, Pilot? Lay off a course for Hong Kong.’

‘Stand by for gun action!’

Hamilton moved back as the periscope sank down into its well under the deck plating and waited while Morgan and the gun crew scrambled into the cramped tunnel of the gun tower.

‘Gun crew closed up and standing by, sir.’

‘Stand by to surface! Blow main ballast. Full ahead both motors.’ There was a hiss of compressed air as Venables opened the valves and, restored to positive buoyancy, Rapier lurched upwards like a cork. Only the skill of the two coxswains controlling the fore and aft hydroplanes kept her safely below the surface, and Hamilton could see the sweat beading Blood’s face as he jockeyed the big diving wheel with the delicate care of a chef de cuisine mixing a soufflé.

‘Main ballast clear, sir.’

‘Surface!’

‘Up helm ’planes… blow Q! Watch the trim… blow stern compensating tank.’

‘Ten feet, sir.’

‘Reverse ’planes. Open gun hatch.’

Hamilton was already climbing into the empty steel vault of the conning tower. The damp salt air tasted good after the sour atmosphere inside the submarine and he drew it deep into his lungs as he pulled back the clips of the hatch. A blast of foul-smelling vapor, forced upwards by the pressure inside the boat belched through the open hatchway and, with the wisdom of experience, Hamilton held his breath until it had blown clear. Then, gripping the edges of the narrow hatchway, he heaved himself up on to the bridge.

Butterfield and Swire’s shipyard at Taikoo lay to port and, so far as Hamilton could make out, it seemed to be deserted◦– no doubt the Chinese workforce had fled at the first sign of trouble. A heavy pall of smoke hung over the mainland and fierce fires were burning in Kwun Tong and amongst the shattered remains of the Kai Tak airfield. Further to the west, the glow of more fires reddened the sky above Kowloon and the stabbing flames of Japanese field guns ranged along the waterfront showed that the enemy was now in occupation of the entire mainland area of the New Territories.

Hamilton put his mouth to the voice pipe. ‘Obey telegraphs. Transfer helm to upper steering position.’ A small nagging doubt made him wonder whether he was being wise. A fast dive would be impossible with so many men on deck. However, on the other hand, Rapier would be three times more effective as a surface warship in the event of the enemy attempting to launch an attack across the waters of the Strait. Torpedoes would have little value against small landing craft. ‘Stop motors. Engage both engine clutches. Half-ahead together.’