Эдвин Грей - Diving Stations

Hamilton seemed unconcerned by the unexpected accuracy of the enemy fire. With calm professional detachment, he noted the color of the water thrown up by the bursting shells and turned to Mannon. ‘They’ve stirred up the mud, Number One,’ he observed casually. ‘And that means we haven’t enough depth of water for diving.’

The next salvo brought four shells whining down on the fleeing submarine, but Blood’s expert handling of the helm kept Rapier out of immediate danger and Hamilton could feel the vessel jinking and twisting as the coxwain tried to throw off the enemy’s aim. He leaned over the for’ard bridge screen. ‘Secure from Action Stations, Mister Gunner. Get below!’ Two more explosions rocked Rapier to starboard arid the crumbling fountain of water thrown up by the bursting shells fell on the exposed bridge like a shower of heavy summer rain. ’Stand by Diving Stations! First Officer and Coxwain to remain on the bridge. All hands below!’ Hamilton moved to the voice pipe. ‘Stand by to take over lower steering. What’s the depth of water, Pilot?’

Scott checked the echo sounder on the starboard bulkhead. ‘Thirty-five feet, sir.’

‘Thank you, Pilot,’ Hamilton turned to Mannon. ‘No chance of diving yet, Number One. I’m not going to risk sticking the old girl’s nose in the mud.’ Crouching down on his knees, he opened the signal locker and fumbled inside. ‘Are they gaining on us?

‘Yes, sir◦– range down to two thousand.’ Mannon sounded a little puzzled. ‘The rear ship seems to be firing at something to the south.’

‘Perhaps it’s bombarding Taikoo,’ Hamilton suggested as he continued his search of the locker.

‘I don’t think so◦– the shells are falling too short. Hang on… I can see another ship. Looks like a gunboat.’ Hamilton found what he wanted and straightened up holding a couple of large cylindrical canisters. Tucking them under his arm, he raised his binoculars to find out the cause of Mannon’s excitement.

The jaunty outline of a China gunboat, its light grey paintwork merging into the misty background of Victoria Island, was barely distinguishable in the bad light. But the large battle flag fluttering from the pole mast and the black smoke belching from her tandem funnels abaft the wheel-house made it impossible to mistake her purpose. Flame flashed from the muzzle of the for’ard gun as she challenged the destroyers.

‘It looks like Firefly, sir!’

‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised, Number One,’ Hamilton agreed calmly. ‘Only an idiot like Harry Ottershaw would take on three destroyers. They’ll blow him out of the water with a couple of salvos.’

‘Do we go about and give him support, sir?’ Mannon asked.

Hamilton shook his head. ‘No◦– and Ottershaw wouldn’t thank us for it if we did. He’s only shown himself in order to draw the Japs away and give us time to find deep water. If Rapier turns back, we’ll both be done for.’ He flipped open the cover of the voice pipe. ‘Control Room-take over lower steering. Stand by to dive.’ He snapped the lid shut and turned to Blood. ‘Diving stations, Cox’n. Get below.’ Ernie Blood moved to the upper hatch. He was sorry to miss the fun. But on the other hand, he preferred to be a live hero rather than a dead one and he wholeheartedly endorsed the skipper’s unpalatable decision.

‘One of the destroyers is resuming chase, sir.’ Mannon warned from his vantage point at the rear of the conning tower. ‘The other two are closing on Firefly.’

As Hamilton glanced astern to check the situation, he saw flame suddenly leap mast-high from the gunboat’s superstructure as a salvo of enemy shells crashed down and exploded behind the wheelhouse. The little ship shuddered under the impact of two more direct hits but, seemingly undeterred by the punishment she was taking, Firefly defiantly maintained course towards her two powerful antagonists and a well-aimed shell from the for’ard gun forced one of the destroyers to turn away.

Hamilton moved to the engaged side of the bridge, jerked the fuse of the smoke candle, and threw the spluttering canister into the water. It was a device issued to submarines for service as a distress signal◦– the smoke from the canister floating on the surface indicated the location of the sunken vessel to rescue craft hurrying to its assistance. At that precise moment Rapier was certainly in distress and, in the circumstances, Hamilton felt justified in putting the emergency canisters to a more immediate and practical use. Ripping the paper from the second cylinder he tossed it into the water to join its companion.

‘Depth of water, Mister Mannon?’

The first officer moved to the voice pipe to transmit the question to the control room below and waited while Scott checked the echo sounder.

‘Forty feet and shelving, sir.’

‘Very good, Number One. Get below. Diving in one minute.’

Baffled by the improvised smoke screen, the pursuing destroyer reduced speed and stopped firing.

There was a brief respite and then an unlucky gust of wind suddenly cleared a gap through the smoke to reveal the fleeing Rapier barely a mile away. Hamilton heard a salvo of shells screaming towards the defenseless submarine. A near miss kicked Rapier to port and, before the submarine had fully recovered, Hamilton was hurled across the bridge by the blast of a second shell bursting close under the starboard ballast tank. The brilliant white flash of the explosion dazzled his eyes and he fumbled blindly for a handhold.

Then, just as suddenly, the unpredictable breeze changed direction again and closed the gap in the smoke screen, bringing another short but vital reprieve from the enemy guns. Seizing his opportunity, Hamilton clambered down into the upper hatch and pressed the diving klaxon.

AHOOA…AHOOA…AHOOA.

Rapier was already sliding beneath the surface by the time he reached the control room and a quick glance at the dials showed that Mannon had used his intelligence and put the submarine into a shallow dive so that if, by ill-luck, they struck the muddy bottom of the Straits, it would only a glancing blow.

‘Propeller noises approaching, sir,’ Murray reported from the hydro-phones.

‘Slow ahead both motors◦– level at forty feet.’

Hamilton made no attempt to stop engines and shut down for depth charges◦– the water was probably too shallow for the destroyer to use underwater weapons without placing herself in equal danger. It was a gamble worth taking. Every single minute counted and, once Rapier could reach the area covered by the shore batteries, she would be safe from further attack. Not even the most foolhardy enemy captain would put his ship at risk against shore guns….

The submarine suddenly jolted sideways as if struck by a giant hammer, light bulbs shattered, gauge glasses cracked, and cork insulation wafted down from the deck head seams like fine brown snow. Ten seconds later, as the men were picking themselves up off the deck, the angry rumble of a violent explosion echoed like distant thunder against the hull plates.

‘Either that was bloody close,’ someone murmured ‘or the Japs are using fucking big depth charges!’

The force of the concussion had blown the main fuses and there was a general sigh of relief as the emergency lamps glowed to life. Hamilton cast an anxious eye at the dials and felt reassured by what he saw. He rubbed a large bruise on his left buttock, where he had been thrown against a valve wheel.

‘I don’t think it was a depth charge,’ he said quietly. ‘It sounded more like a ship blowing up.’ He turned to Murray crouched over his hydro-phone equipment. ‘Where’s the destroyer now?’