Эдвин Грей: Diving Stations

‘Stop engines, aye aye, sir.’

The acknowledging bell of the telegraph repeater tinkled faintly from deep inside the hull, and Rapier almost immediately started losing speed.

‘Is that wise, sir?’ Mannon asked.

‘In the circumstances and in my judgement◦– yes,’ Hamilton told him. He disliked having his orders called into question, but he had enough sense to realize that the first officer meant well in his inexperience. Nevertheless, he made a mental note to speak to him later in the privacy of the wardroom. He did not believe in admonishing junior officers in front of the men. ‘If this was a hostile boat, the last thing we’d do is to turn ourselves into a sitting target by stopping,’ he explained. ‘It’s the most effective method I know of making sure the enemy will investigate before he starts shooting. And it’ll give us time to rig up some sort of identification.’

The threatening roar of the aircraft engines was now clearly audible, but Hamilton remained outwardly unconcerned. Walking to the after end of the conning tower, he peered towards the stern. Drury and three hands were carefully spreading the flag across the deck and lashing the ends to the mooring cleats along the sides.

‘It doesn’t seem to be having much effect on the Japs,’ Mannon observed doubtfully, as the bombers formed up in line-ahead formation.

‘Perhaps they’re color blind,’ Hamilton grunted. He watched the three Mitsubishis carefully. ‘Hard a’starboard, Cox’n!’

Ernie Blood spun the wheel and Rapier’s bows swung to the right, so that she presented her stern to the approaching aircraft like a bitch on heat. Hamilton waited expectantly, but the huge Union Jack had no apparent effect on the intentions of the oncoming machines. As they levelled off at five hundred feet, he saw a cluster of black bombs fall away from the belly of the leading aeroplane.

‘Everyone down!’

The first Mitsubishi swept over the top of the conning tower with the shattering roar of an express train screaming through a wayside station. The shriek of the falling bombs passed directly overhead, and the ear-splitting explosion as they struck the sea well clear of the starboard bow threw a fine spray of water over the submarine.

‘Not even a near miss,’ Blood commented scornfully. ‘And on a sitting target at that. Bloody Japs must be cross-eyed.’

By the time Hamilton had scrambled to his feet, the three aircraft were already climbing for height and banking over for a second attack. He released a string of obscenities to relieve his feelings. Mistaken identity was an ever present hazard at sea. But not even a half-blind idiot could have missed the enormous Union Jack spread out across Rapier’s stern. For reasons best known to themselves, the Japanese pilots were making a deliberate and cold-blooded attack on a neutral warship. Well, if that was the way they wanted to play it…

‘Gun crew close up to action stations! Full ahead both engines, Cox’n. Maintain course, but stand by to go a’port when I give the shout.’

‘Helm, aye aye, sir. Standing by.’

Mannon watched the three Mitsubishi Otori bombers level off at two thousand feet at the end of their steep climbing turn. It was his first taste of an air attack, and he felt his stomach churning as the aircraft angled down into a shallow dive for the next bombing run. Hamilton’s incisive command broke the spell.

‘Hold fire until you’re quite sure they intend attacking, Number One. I’ll leave you to give the order.’

The sudden responsibility chased the fear from Mannon’s blood. Hurrying to the for’ard section of the bridge, he checked the gun crew were at their battle stations, ordered the layer to follow the leading aircraft in his sights, and warned Morgan, Rapier’s gunner’s mate, to wait for the order. Then, seemingly unconscious of the fact that he was standing in the middle of the target area, he joined Hamilton and watched the formation coming in again, with the concentration of a spectator at a football match.

This time the bombers approached out of the sun directly over the submarine’s bows. Two were flying in line-ahead, while the third hung slightly astern of its companions on their starboard flank.

‘Watch the first two, Number One,’ Hamilton snapped. ‘And open fire as soon as they show themselves to be hostile. I’ll keep an eye on the other bastard. I don’t know what he’s doing, but he’s up to no good.’

Hamilton’s instinct, born from long combat experience against the German Luftwaffe proved uncannily accurate. The third aircraft suddenly swooped to wave top height and swung towards the submarine. Bright yellow flames flickered from the nose, followed moments later by the tak-tak-tak of machine gun fire.

‘Hard a’port, Cox’n! Stand by◦– fire’

The shrill whistle of the falling bombs merged with the staccato chatter of the machine gun and Rapier threw back a wall of spray as the bows slammed sideways. The sudden alteration in course caught the Japanese bomb aimers off balance and their bombs exploded harmlessly clear of the submarine, although the concussion kicked the boat sharply to starboard.

‘Keep after them, Number One!’ Hamilton shouted to Mannon.

Rapier’s gunners needed no encouragement and blobs of black cordite smoke trailed across the sky in pursuit of the bombers as they veered back into the sun.

‘They don’t seem too keen now we’ve started hitting back, sir,’ Mannon grinned cheerfully.

‘Don’t get too bloody cocky, Number One,’ Hamilton told him discouragingly. He put his mouth to the voice pipe. ‘Control Room, send up the Lewis guns. Any internal damage?’

‘Control Room, sir. Lewis guns on their way. No reports of damage. Did we get any of the bastards?’

‘Not yet, Scotty◦– but we will.’

Taking advantage of the momentary lull, Hamilton carried out a rapid visual inspection of the hull for external damage. Several bullets had struck the side of the conning tower, but had done little more than chip the paintwork. Glancing up, however, he saw the white ensign had been ripped to ribbons by the Japanese machine guns.

‘They’re coming in again, sir,’ Mannon reported anxiously.

‘Stand by. Open fire as soon as they get within range, Number One.’ He looked across at Ernie Blood. ‘Everything under control Cox’n?’

‘Fair to middlin’, sir. It ain’t exactly the first time, you know.’ He stared up at the sky to check the position of the aircraft relative to the submarine, and then nodded his head to starboard. ‘I’ve been watchin’ that there boat, sir. Seems to be in a hell of a bloody hurry.’

Hamilton swung his glasses in the direction Blood had indicated, and saw a large launch some two miles away from the submarine’s starboard quarter. It was one of the big TSD Chris Craft designs – the sort of vessel millionaires use for shark fishing off Florida◦– and, judging by the glistening white wave curling from its bows, it was running at a good twenty knots. He shrugged. It posed no threat to Rapier. Probably an innocent fishing party getting the hell out of it when they saw the shooting start. And who could blame them? It wasn’t their war.

‘Nothing to worry about, Chief. Just a fishing boat making for Macao.’

The throaty roar of the Nakajima Kotobuki radial engines climbed to a high-pitched scream, as the bombers hurtled down to renew their attack. Rapier’s unexpected swing to starboard threw Hamilton off balance, and he clung to the rails as the deck tilted under his feet. A wall of water swept over the bows drenching the gun crew on the exposed foredeck with spray, but the sharp rhythmic bark of the quick-firer never wavered for a second. Often knee-deep in swirling foam, the gunners continued serving their weapon as if engaged on peaceful summer afternoon target practice in the Solent.