Эдвин Грей - Diving Stations

Suma ’s cutter was already swung out and ready◦– a normal precaution when a warship is operating under combat conditions in a designated war zone◦– and the boarding party of six armed seamen under the command of a young Korean sub-lieutenant climbed down into it, as the deckhands lowered it into the water and released the falls.

Responding to the signal flag fluttering from the destroyer’s halyards◦– the square of yellow and blue bunting -indicating the letter K ◦– the junk had come to an untidy stop and was waiting dead in the water as the cutter approached. The flag letter K in the International Code meant Stop Immediately and Aritsu showed little surprise at the junk’s prompt obedience. The native seamen plying their trade along the Chinese coast knew nothing of such matters as signal codes and international conventions, but experience had taught them that any warship flying the yellow and blue flag intended them to stop. And failure to obey could mean a shot across the bows or a brutal shelling, depending on the mood of the naval commander◦– and his nationality.

The crew of the junk made no attempt to resist as the cutter came alongside and disgorged the boarding party. They stood in the stern neither helping nor hindering, seemingly unconcerned by the unceremonious visitation. Aritsu watched through his binoculars for signs of hostility, but the three Chinese seamen accepted the invasion with disinterested docility.

Sub-Lieutenant Mihoro looked quickly to right and left as he swung over the low side of the junk, but he could detect no obvious signs of concealed weapons and, raising his arms imperiously, he sent the boarding party for’ard to search the bows, while he and the petty officer went aft to question the crew.

The junk’s cargo, carefully protected from the weather under heavy tarpaulins, covered every available inch of the deck space and Petty Officer Kino swore sharply as he stubbed his bare toe against something hard. Lifting the edge of the tarpaulin, he bent down to examined what was underneath and let out a soft but expressive hiss of surprise.

‘Over here, sir!’ he called to Mihoro.

Ordering the two armed guards to come aft and cover the Chinese crew, the sub-lieutenant joined Kino amidships. The petty officer’s bayonet sawed through the securing ropes and, throwing back the tarpaulin, he showed the officer the cargo of black steel barrels hidden beneath the covers.

Oil!

Mihoro thought quickly. Unlike the petty officer he could understand English, and his eyes narrowed as he read the stenciled white letters on the side of each barrel◦– Diesel Oil. De Gama Oil & Wharfage Company, Macao. Well, the junk was outward bound from Macao right enough. But where to? Chinese sailors were notoriously wary of deep-sea voyages and were normally only happy when hugging the coast. Yet this particular junk was steering a course that was taking it out to the middle of an empty sea, the nearest land to the south, Borneo, was over a thousand miles away.

Getting to his feet, Mihoro glanced suspiciously at the three Chinese seamen standing meekly in the stern under the guns of the guards and spoke rapidly to Kino. The petty officer nodded and called Teishu down from the bows where he was checking another group of similar barrels. The seaman saluted as Kino gave him his instructions and, climbing on to the gunwale, he began semaphoring to the destroyer with his arms.

Seitaka, Suma’s Yeoman of Signals, raised his telescope and read off the message. He passed it on verbally to Aritsu who was waiting impatiently at his side.

‘Sub-Lieutenant Mihoro requests you go aboard the junk, sir. He says he has found a large number of oil barrels – diesel oil.’

The impatience vanished from Aritsu’s face. He was suddenly alert. Diesel oil◦– fuel for warships. Enemy warships. What a stroke of luck. He could not only destroy the enemy’s supplies but, if he was able to establish the rendezvous position for the refuelling operation, he could also lay an ambush and sink the warship for which it was intended. The normally taciturn commander was actually smiling as he ordered the bosun to lower away Suma’s motorboat.

Aritsu sniffed the air suspiciously as he climbed over the side of the junk to join Mihoro and the boarding party. Ignoring the three prisoners, he slowly walked down the length of the deck and examined the serried rows of barrels. The last doubts vanished from his mind by the time he had completed his inspection. Much as he would have liked to seize the junk as a prize and bring the captured oil back to Whampoa in triumph, it would interfere with his other plans, and after a short pause, he ordered Kino to unseal the barrels and tip the fuel into the sea. Better to destroy the stuff and leave himself a free agent, he decided. He turned to the Korean sub-lieutenant.

‘Bring the prisoners to me.’

Prodded forward by the bayonets of the guards, the Chinese sailors shuffled their way down from the poop to the well deck amidships where Aritsu was waiting.

‘Which of you is the Captain?’ he asked in fluent Cantonese.

Chen Yu moved forward half a pace and bowed. Aritsu stared at him in silence for a few moments◦– his deep-set eyes boring into the Chinaman’s brain, as if laying bare the innermost secrets of his soul.

‘Where are you taking the oil?’ he snapped.

‘Palambang, sir.’

‘Liar.’

Chen Yu bowed in acknowledgement but made no reply. He stared down at the deck and remained silent.

‘You are in the pay of the British.’ Aritsu made the question sound like a statement of fact. ‘You are being paid to refuel British warships.’

‘No, sir. Not being paid, sir.’ Chen Yu answered truthfully.

Mihoro had disappeared through the hatch into the tiny cabin under the poopdeck and, as Aritsu pursued his interrogation, he suddenly emerged carrying a number of navigation instruments◦– instruments of a sophistication and type not normally found in a primitive Chinese sailing vessel… Aritsu paused in mid-question, took one of the instruments from the sub-lieutenant, and examined it carefully. He smiled to himself as he saw the official British Admiralty mark stamped into the brass casing.

‘Lies are of no avail,’ he told Chen Yu ominously as he held the sextant up in front of his face. ‘Give me the information I want and no harm will come to you. Where is your rendezvous position with the English warship?’

Chen Yu made no reply and the commander snapped a swift order in Japanese to the guards. Picking the Chinese skipper up by the arms, they threw him down across the opened hatchway leading to the hold and held him firmly, so that the lower part of his left leg was placed at an angle across the empty space – the limb being supported at thigh and ankle by the rigid coaming surrounding the hatchway.

‘A crippled Captain is of no use to a healthy crew,’ Aritsu said quietly. ‘Tell us the rendezvous co-ordinates.’ Chen Yu stared up at him with wide, terror-filled eyes.

Aritsu nodded and one of the sailors slammed the butt of his heavy service rifle down on the Chinaman’s shin. There was a dry cracking sound of splintered bone and Chen Yu’s leg snapped like a piece of rotted wood. Blood oozed through the cotton material of his trousers where the broken bone protruded through the flesh. He remained silent for a moment and then shrieked like a wounded animal as the pain reached his brain.

‘The other leg, Suka,’ Aritsu ordered unemotionally. He waited for the sailors to rearrange the Chinaman over the hatchway, so that his right leg stretched out in readiness for the same treatment. The agony of the movement brought more screams, but the commander’s expression remained completely impassive. Bending forward, he stared down into Chen Yu’s perspiring face. ‘Tell me the position or you will never walk again.’