Эдвин Грей - Diving Stations

Hamilton saluted and escorted the captain to the port side, where the men waiting in the steam pinnace helped him safely down the slippery ballast tanks and onto the gunwale. Someone had painted HMS Dreadnought in large black letters on the side of the antediluvian tender and Hamilton could not resist a smile as he saw it. No doubt Snark disapproved of such levity, but he had the wisdom to ignore the wanton desecration of his beloved government property. And Hamilton concluded that the old post captain was probably secretly pleased by this unorthodox demonstration of his men’s high morale.

Black coal smoke and a shower of dancing red sparks erupted from the tender’s spindly funnel as she went astern to clear the submarine and then, with her White Ensign snapping proudly in the breeze, she chugged away until her outline was swallowed up by the darkness.

‘Half-ahead together.’ As Rapier began moving forward Hamilton glanced at Mannon. ‘There’ll be no sleep for us tonight, Number One. And we’ll have to miss our grub.’ He stared out over the starboard side at the opaque blackness that cloaked the mainland. The fires had mostly died away and the darkness added a furtive secrecy to the enemy’s preparations. ‘I wonder what the bastards are up to?’

‘Could we risk going inshore for a quick look, sir?’

‘I suppose we might get away with it if we were to make a high speed run down the coast on the surface,’ Hamilton said thoughtfully. Like Mannon he found the challenge difficult to resist. And the depth of the water precluded a more cautious submerged approach. ‘To hell with it◦– let’s try it!’ He turned to Blood. ‘Cox’n steer towards those fires on the airfield. When we’re half a mile off-shore turn east and follow the coast.’

The fact that Hamilton’s impulsive decision would probably bring Rapier under fire did not seem to unduly worry the phlegmatic Ernie Blood. The old veterans had seen it all before◦– and survived. Having sailed through the Dardanelles with Martin Nasmith’s E.n in 1915 and escaped a steam submarine disaster in the twenties, the coxswain was a fatalist. If his number came up this time he’d had a good innings. And he did not believe in meeting trouble before it arrived.

‘Aye aye, sir.’

Rapier’s bows began to swing to starboard as Blood spun the helm and Hamilton searched the darkness ahead for enemy patrol ships.

‘Ring down for maximum speed, Number One.’ He moved to the front of the bridge and leaned over the screen. ‘We’re going to take a run down the coast, Morgan,’ he shouted to the gunner’s mate. ‘Keep trained to port and load up with HE. If we see anything worth shooting at I’ll give you the word.’

‘Deck gun, aye aye, sir.’

‘Keep your eyes peeled, look-outs! And sing out if you spot anything. But concentrate on the water◦– I’ll watch out for shore targets.’

‘I thought this was a recce run, sir,’ Mannon reminded him quietly. Hamilton’s preparations suggested a rather more active role.

‘Well, I’ve changed my mind, Number One. No point in half measures. If we spot any landing craft I intend to blow ’em out of the water. It’s about time someone remembered that attack is the best means of defense.’

‘Turning to starboard, sir,’ Blood reported.

The barrel on Rapier’s deck gun swung to the left as the coxswain brought the submarine parallel to the northern shore and Hamilton began surveying the mainland through his binoculars as he searched for signs of enemy activity. He knew he was taking a gamble, but the element of risk involved would be reduced to the minimum by the priceless advantage of surprise.

There was certainly plenty going on. Army trucks were creeping along the roads in long straggling convoys and, at odd intervals, Hamilton could see small groups of tents where Japanese soldiers were setting up camp. Other troops were busy clearing the debris of burnt-out aircraft at Kai Tak, so that the landing ground would be ready to receive their own planes at dawn. An engineer unit was hard at work repairing a small road bridge under the inadequate light of storm lanterns that flickered fitfully in the off-shore breeze.

‘Something’s going on over there, sir!’ Mannon reported suddenly. ‘Fine on the port bow◦– about a thousand yards.’ Hamilton lowered his glasses and found the deep shadows that had attracted Mannon’s attention. Raising the binoculars he focused on a group of seven or eight small pontoons lying in the water. Moving his search to the left, he could see a dozen open trucks unloading more of the flat bottomed craft and a number of Japanese soldiers working like beavers in the dim glow of carefully shaded lamps.

‘Stand by for gun action! Target red-two-zero. Landing craft.’

‘I’ve got them, sir. Range eight-hundred.’

‘Confirmed. Ten rounds rapid, Mister Gunner!’

The first shell burst on the shingle and spat fragments of jagged stones in all directions like shrapnel. The second struck a pile of pontoons waiting to be lowered into the water and flames leapt skywards as the wooden hulls ignited. Hamilton could hear the confused orders and counter-orders as the officers tried to bring the panic-stricken troops under control and he saw a large truck spinning its rear wheels in the damp earth as its driver made a frantic bid to get clear.

Rapier’s third shell slammed into the cab of the lorry, where it exploded and sent up a sheet of vivid white flame that lit the entire area like a parachute flare. It revealed a scene of utter chaos – burning trucks, smashed and broken pontoons, and men running wildly in all directions to escape the murderous and unexpected attack from the peaceful darkness of the sea. Hamilton felt the adrenalin surge into his blood as the primitive excitement of battle gripped him.

‘Steer inshore, Cox’n. Let’s give the Lewis guns a chance. Is 500 yards enough, MacIntyre?’

The machine gunner grinned cheerfully and raised an upturned thumb. ‘Aye, that’ll be fine, sir,’ he confirmed in a thick Glaswegian accent.

‘Open fire when you’re ready ’

He heard the sharp click of the bolt as MacIntyre tucked the butt of the Lewis gun into his shoulder and sighted the shadowy figures scrambling for cover. Tak-tak-tak-tak-tak… tak-tak-tak-tak… . A line of tracer bullets ripped into the darkness and the screams of the soldiers carried back across the black water like the cadences of dying banshees. MacIntyre jerked the machine gun to the left and opened up on a group of Japanese struggling to climb aboard an escaping truck.

The devastating attack was all over in less than sixty seconds. Caught by surprise and with no weapons to hand, the enemy troops were unable to reply to the fusillade of high-explosive shells and machine gun bullets, and Rapier ran clear of the shingled beach without so much as a scratch. As the target area passed astern, Hamilton carried out a hurried post-mortem in the ruddy light of the burning lorries. At least two trucks had been hit and a dozen pontoons totally destroyed while, sprawled on the shingle, over twenty motionless bodies testified to the killing power of MacIntyre’s Lewis gun. It had been a highly successful hit-and-run raid even though it had not completely knocked out the enemy’s improvised embarkation point. A number of pontoons remained undamaged and, as he ordered Morgan to check fire, Hamilton could see the soldiers cautiously emerging from behind cover to assess the damage.

Rapier’s skipper now faced three choices: to circle around on the engines and return for a second strike, to switch over to the motors and go astern for a repetition of the bombardment, or to earn on eastwards in search of fresh targets. If he returned for a second attack, the enemy would be on the alert and he might not be so lucky. He made his decision without a moment’s hesitation.