He pictured the old Colonel, alone, or with his friend the doctor. It must seem strange without Victoria coming to see him whenever she was off duty. After tomorrow, nothing would ever be the same for any of them.
Tybalt surfaced slowly, the water still streaming and gurgling from the bridge and conning tower as the first figures appeared from below. The sea was very calm, with a slow, undulating swell like breathing.
Ross wedged himself in the forepart of the bridge and snapped open the main voicepipe. The moon was very bright, touching the wet hull and the sea itself with trailing patterns of silver. It made him feel naked, although the hydrophone operator had reported that the area was empty of ship movements. He stared at the great expanse of stars. The sense of nakedness was merely an uncomfortable delusion; he knew that from experience. If any aircraft chose this moment to fly over, it would see nothing. Tybalt, like any surfaced submarine, would be like a small black stick, lost amidst the moonlight on the sea’s face.
He pictured the chart in his mind. The nearest land was less than six miles beyond the dark wedge of the bows. With some twenty-seven fathoms under the keel, there was still enough room to manoeuvre. He peered at his watch, the luminous dial very clear in the glacier light. Like that night when she had come to him, her body held in the moon’s glow like a living statue.
He said, ‘Open the forrard hatch.’ At least they would not have to keep it open and vulnerable when the chariots were eventually launched from their protective cases aft. Dark figures moved around the four-inch gun and he heard some tackle being dragged along the casing. A less war-like use for it this time: the gun, with block and lowering gear lashed to its muzzle, would be used like a derrick to launch Sinclair’s collapsible boats, with the men already packed inside them. The sea was calm, and this should avoid any risk of capsizing them on the submarine’s bulging saddle-tanks. Marines and Gurkhas loaded with weapons and grenades would sink like stones.
He spoke directly into the voicepipe. ‘The first boats are on deck, Number One. Shut the hatch when I say the word.’
He watched the dark shapes move from the hatch, and first one then another of the boats was opened out near the gun. One figure stood motionless in the centre of all the preparations. Ross knew it was Sinclair.
Unreachable and unafraid. No wonder his men respected him. Or was it not respect, but fear?
There were a few splashes and then the paddles took charge, taking the boats clear of the swaying hull. The next pair were already in place. What would the people at home think if they could see their sons and brothers preparing here to risk everything without argument or protest?
A lookout said, ‘All away, sir.’ He was whispering.
‘Close the hatch.’ Again Ross stared at the sky. It was as if they were the only creatures alive.
‘Chariot party in position!’
The first lieutenant was proving his worth. He would trim the boat down just enough to allow the handling party to release the chariots, but not enough to sweep them over the side.
Ross looked around for the boats, but they had been swallowed up completely despite the moonlight. He thought of Sinclair’s heavy wrist-compass . . . the cold, nude body in the rain . . . Villiers’ gratitude when he had been confronted unexpectedly with Sinclair’s pretty wife . . . Did he know? Did he suspect?
He thrust the thoughts away angrily. ‘Ready to launch!’
He saw the froth of the first propeller, somebody waving at the conning tower as he himself had often done. He raised his arm in a private salute while the two-man submarine backed away to avoid damage or collision.
Down below at the helm, Mike Tucker would be sharing it. Reliving the numbing excitement and the fear.
‘Second one’s away, sir.’ The seaman sighed. ‘Never volunteer!’
Ross scanned the night for movement. The flares of fishing boats perhaps, but otherwise there was nothing.
He rubbed his eyes to hold any weariness at bay. A lot might depend on the alertness of the enemy depot-ship’s men. But provided they had discovered nothing about this operation from some unknown source, the first moves should be a complete surprise.
He thought of the main target, the Java Maru. In happier times she had been on regular runs from Japan to Hong Kong and Singapore, as well as other Far Eastern ports. In those casual days when strict security was a joke, it would have been simple for such a well-known visitor to record all the warships and defences, the regiments and the preparations, if any, for possible hostilities. No wonder men like Richard Tsao were determined that it would never happen again, and were prepared to fight for what they believed in: their own independence.
Men clambered up and past him before vanishing below to prepare for the next hours of waiting.
No turning back. The chariots were on their way, miniature submarines in a vast ocean. Elsewhere, Sinclair’s men were paddling towards the land, probably too busy to consider the risks awaiting them.
‘Clear the bridge.’ The lookouts were gone in seconds, glad to be joining the rest of the skeleton crew.
He could picture the faces in the control-room, waiting to sever the last link. A quick look at the stars and the endless pattern of silver beyond the bows.
‘Take her down, Number One. Periscope depth.’
Then he closed the voicepipe. Begin the attack.
18
Together
JAMES ROSS LOOKED at the control-room clock and then at the few men who would remain here until the last possible moment. How empty the boat had seemed when he had walked through it, from the fore ends and the empty torpedo tubes, then right aft to where Arthur Pound, Tybalt’s original Chief, had been watching over his engines and electric motors as if this were a normal patrol. One with a return trip.
There had been a few grins, but mostly there was only a set determination now, something almost physical.
Ross said, ‘As soon as it’s full daylight they’ll be looking for us when we don’t appear anywhere near Penang. It should be too late by then. We’ll go straight in. I’ll want a handling party on deck, and the forward hatch open to make it appear genuine. I can’t dive the boat anyway, it’s too shallow there for comfort. We could get stranded before we were anywhere near the target.’ He looked around at their intent faces. ‘Straight in. We’ll open the bow doors and scuttle her slowly – the main hatch will do the rest. We shall clear the boat and fire the fuses.’ He saw Villiers nod, living his part of it. A three-pronged attack, what Pryce had wanted. The two chariots at the far end of the anchorage, Sinclair’s landing party, and the final hammer blow, Tybalt herself. They all knew what to do: only the survivors would know if it had worked. In war that was always the worst part, as he had heard his father say so many times. Young men dying, bravely and without hesitation. But they would never know if their sacrifice had been worthwhile.
He looked towards the conning tower. ‘I’m going up.’ He saw the gratitude on Mike Tucker’s face as he added, ‘You come with me. I think we can safely leave Number One and his team to make the last run-in.’
He pulled himself up the ladder, the rungs very cold under his fingers. Or is it me? He heard Tucker humming to himself as he followed close behind him, as if he had been done some immense favour. The old firm.
They had surfaced for the last time around midnight, the stars partly dimmed by layers of drifting cloud, like smoke. It would be a hot day again. Shortly after surfacing they had passed the two tiny islands of Goh Raja Yai and Goh Raja Noi and had fixed their position exactly before steering almost due north. Ross had watched the gyro repeater ticking round, the chart a ruthless reminder that they were on course, with the Malay Peninsula reaching out across the bows to embrace or crush them.
The two tiny islands, like tips of sea-bed mountains, had been a great help. But they must have torn the keels out of many lesser vessels over the centuries.
‘The information is that the Germans have two Arado seaplanes at Penang. One will be sent to look
for us, I expect.’ He was amazed that he could joke about it. ‘Provided their Nippon friends have bothered to tell them!’
Tucker said, ‘And if we can’t get out of it . . .’
‘We’ll go overland. Anything. I’m not throwing in the towel for anybody.’
Tucker sounded satisfied. ‘That goes for me, too. I don’t fancy a second helping of their hospitality!’
They felt the bridge shudder as the Chief cut the motors and brought the powerful diesels into play. Right on time. What was he thinking about? His dead family, how it might have been? Ross pushed it from his mind. There was no room for pity now. There never was.
‘One thing, Mike.’ He looked up at the German ensign as it flapped weakly in the damp air. ‘If we get a chance . . .’
Tucker’s grin was very white against the sea’s backdrop. ‘I guessed you’d think of that. I’ve got Tybalt’s White Ensign right here.’
Ross tensed as a lookout said, ‘I think it’s getting a bit lighter to starboard, sir.’
‘Yes. It is. Call the gun crews.’ The handling party. They would be cut down in seconds if the surprise did not work. It took real guts to stand on an exposed deck while they approached the target. Ross clenched his pipe in his pocket so hard that he was surprised it did not snap. They had real guts. Otherwise they would not be here.
Some birds rose flapping and screeching as the submarine’s bow-wave sluiced over their resting place. Ross watched them until they had vanished into the darkness. Tonight the birds would be back again. By then . . . ? Men clambered past them, and practised fingers soon had the heavy machine-guns mounted and ready.
Ross found himself thinking of his father. Was this how it had been for him? Two men alone on a tiny conning tower in that obsolete submarine, with all hell breaking loose around them? Big Andy and Ralph Pryce’s father, side by side. He glanced quickly at his companion. Like us.
He leaned forward to watch as other figures appeared near the four-inch gun. He hoped they had remembered to lay out some mooring wires to make the boat appear normal to anybody who was on watch when they burst in. He had the chart fixed in his mind as if it were printed there: the scattered islets and the larger island of Salang with its harbour at Phuket. To the east of it was the anchorage. A good choice. Ross smiled faintly. Unless you were the idiot who was trying to crack it.
It was so sudden, like the glow of an unexpected flare. It was the sun, barely making an appearance, but in no time at all . . . Ross swallowed hard; his mouth felt like leather. He ducked over the voicepipe.
‘First light, Number One.’
Murray replied, ‘Course is three-five-zero. Ready and waiting.’
‘Very good.’ It was something which had been set in motion by others, and now nothing could stop it. He thought of Captain Pryce, saying how he would have liked to be here with them. At the time he had not been so certain, but now he was convinced of Pryce’s sincerity. He thought too of the old rear-admiral in Scotland, Ossie Dyer. What would he think when he heard about this last grand gesture by the men and boys he had trained and encouraged when all the odds had seemed stacked against them? Ossie Dyer and his old dog. Walking beside some Scottish loch together, maybe in the company of his Wren.
Home thoughts. They could be fatal at a time like this. And yet, they came. Victoria would be at her desk, or with Pryce while they waited for news . . .
Tucker asked quietly, ‘All right, sir?’
He looked at him with great warmth. I am the one who should be grateful. He said, ‘I’ll let you know later on.’ They both laughed, and in the control-room Villiers and Murray looked up tensely, and then at one another with disbelief.
It would be another vivid dawn. A time for action.
‘I can hear an aircraft, sir.’
They all peered into the deep shadows beyond the rounded saddle-tanks. It was difficult to hear anything above the confident growl of diesels. But now they could see the wake creaming astern, the sudden shine of spray across the deck-casing.
Tucker pointed. ‘Out there somewhere, sir. Port side. I’m sure I heard it!’
Ross had never known him to be wrong in such matters. And there it was. An intermittent buzz, fading away and droning back.
He shouted, ‘Stand by on deck!’ He saw the gunlayer give a thumbs-up sign and lean against the four-inch. He had even thought to wrap his head in a massive bandage, not just as another wounded U-Boat ploy, but to hide his earphones.
Tucker said hoarsely, ‘Land, sir! Port bow!’
Ross heard the periscope move and knew Murray would be fixing their position again. For the last time.
The aircraft sounded closer, but was probably flying so low that it was still invisible. The light was gaining and spreading and even though there was no real colour, Ross imagined he could smell the land.
Murray’s voice bounced up the tube. ‘I can see the target, sir! Right on the button!’ He was obviously using the main periscope at full power.
Ross heard himself say, ‘It’s there! The bloody thing is where they said it would be!’ He looked around the crowded bridge at their creased and unshaven faces. ‘So let’s go and wake ’em up, eh?’
Two of them laughed. It was a madness; of course it was. Ross lowered his mouth to the voicepipe again. But madness was all they had left.
‘Stand by for maximum revs, Number One! Tally-ho!’
He had to wedge his elbows on the side of the bridge to steady his glasses. He had imagined he was shaking, but realized that Tybalt was slicing through the fierce cross-current which had made things so difficult for the chariots. It was still blurred, but he could see the target, the Java Maru, solid in the water, and probably moored fore and aft to keep her accessible to her charges. Then he caught a glimpse of the low, crouching hulls alongside. At least three, and perhaps others on the landward side. Surely somebody would realize what was happening?
A lookout called, ‘Aircraft closing from astern, sir. Seaplane.’ He even found time to clear his throat. ‘German markings.’
Ross straightened his back. ‘Be ready to acknowledge his signal.’
It was strange, but he could feel nothing, as if everything but his mind was frozen in time.
‘Here we go!’
The seaplane with the black crosses clearly visible on its wings roared over the water, so low that it tore a deep ridge across the surface.
Ross watched and saw a light blink brightly from the cockpit.
He said, almost to himself, ‘Wrong signal.’ He removed his cap and waved it above as the seaplane began to turn for another sweep. Just for a second he trained his glasses on the depot-ship. Still in shadow, with only her funnel and masts painted in the red-gold of the dawn. He thought he could see the tanker, but it was further up the anchorage, much further than he or the chariot crews had planned for.
He wondered if Major Sinclair’s party had reached its objective, the first being to mine and booby-trap the only road which led to this place. He also tried to remember what Villiers had told him about Arado seaplanes. It was a little late now. He felt Tucker’s eyes on him, and said, ‘Surely to God somebody’s awake!’
They needed a diversion for the last two hundred yards. At any second . . . He snapped, ‘What was that?’
Somebody shouted, ‘Fast launch, sir! Heading this way!’ Then he called, ‘Belay that, sir! It’s going about!’
In the strengthening glow Ross could see the launch rocking wildly as her engines were flung to full astern. It seemed to be packed with people, Japanese soldiers, not Germans. It was as if they had all gone mad: some were firing their rifles into the water, and there were muffled bangs, all harmless and unreal at such a distance.
Tucker exclaimed, ‘Astern of the launch, sir!’ His voice was angry, even shocked.
Ross watched in silence as more shots cracked out, then there was yet another bang, and he recognized it as the sound of an exploding grenade which had been lobbed into the water.
It was on
e of the chariots, either blown to the surface by the explosions or forced into an emergency escape drill. Except that there was nobody left to escape. One figure still clung to the Number Two’s position, and through the powerful glasses Ross could see the torn diving-suit, the great bloody gashes shining above the water like part of the dawn.
Whoever it was must have been delayed, perhaps by the tanker changing her anchorage; they had been forced to wait before they could attach their charge. It seemed likely that the chariot had developed a fault, or one of its crew had been overcome by a failure in his breathing gear.
Ross did not even blink as the Arado seaplane roared overhead, the pilot trying to see what was happening.
They had needed a diversion. He wiped his mouth with his hand and called, ‘Full ahead, Number One!’
Murray repeated the order, his question unasked.
Ross said, ‘One of the chariots.’ When he looked again, it and its lone rider had vanished. Maybe they had not even had time to fix their charge to the tanker. They were beyond caring.
He felt the conning tower vibrating fiercely and saw the long bow-wave rolling back from the stem. The water looked muddy in the strengthening light.
There were people on the Java Maru’s deck now, and he imagined he heard the sound of a klaxon carried across the water like a challenge.
‘Here comes the launch!’ The two Brownings dipped suddenly and rattled into life even as the launch slowed down to look at them. At twenty yards they could not miss. Across and up and down, until nothing moved and smoke was beginning to pour from the wheel-house. And then there were flames. One of the seamen fell to his knees, his head thrown back in a soundless cry as a machine-gun poured a stream of tracer from the depot-ship’s bridge wing.
‘Fire!’ The gunlayer with the head bandage pressed his trigger, and the four-inch deck-gun recoiled while the empty shell-case pitched unheeded over the side. The shell exploded inside the depot-ship’s forecastle, the hole gleaming momentarily like an evil eye as splinters cracked and ripped through the hull. It was unlikely that many of the German sailors were aboard; they were probably enjoying the rare freedom of quarters ashore. But the effect of the shell would be devastating, especially if word of the chariots’ presence had not yet reached the ship and her charges.
A Dawn Like Thunder Page 30