A Dawn Like Thunder (18 page)

He found himself thinking of the girl who had died in
Ceylon. He faced it.
Who had been murdered.
He had heard some of the others discussing it, how Ross and the P.O. Wren, Mackenzie, had been there at the scene. Now the girl was just a memory. He tried not to compare her with Eve again.
She
must still be lying there, buried under fallen buildings; they had insisted that it was not so, that she had been laid to rest in one of the big communal graves where the bombing had been at its worst.

But suppose not? Was she still lying there with nobody to care? Or maybe there hadn't been enough of her to bury anywhere.

‘What?'
He almost snarled at the seaman who had pulled back the curtain.

The sailor said, ‘The old man wants you in the control-room.' He winked. ‘Just dreaming of a juicy bit, were you?'

Tucker's feet hit the deck almost soundlessly. He glanced at the curtained bunks, the men off-watch. So many times. He could still remember his first boat, the warnings about getting a move on when the klaxon tore the place apart. He had regarded his messmates with some scorn, thinking, no bloody fear there. One or two of them had been quite plump, not all that fast on their feet.

When the klaxon had sounded, however, he had found himself alone in his mess. They had been able to move when they needed to.

Into the oily air of the control-room: men welded to their seats, eyes watching their instruments. Tucker took a quick look at the depth gauge. One hundred feet, no swell, no other sounds.

The skipper was by the chart table and the plot with his navigating officer. Peter Napier was peering at the chart, his notes under one hand. There was hair like down on his cheeks; perhaps he intended to grow a beard to impress the
ladies. Tucker found he could still grin. Some hopes of that. The first bit of wind would blow it off.

Bob Jessop raised his head. ‘Good weather. The proverbial mill-pond up top. The last run in should be fair enough.'

Tucker noticed that the navigator had suddenly vanished, and the duty stoker by the periscope well had also melted away.

Jessop said, ‘It seems that the Number Two wants to pull out.'

Napier looked directly at Tucker, his eyes defensive, resentful. For just a second in that youthful face, Tucker could see Ross's friend David Napier, who had died in that other attack.

Napier said, ‘I don't know what to say about it. We're a team. Rice is good. I've never worked with anyone else.'

Jessop said flatly, ‘You should have seen Captain Pryce, or Jamie Ross before we left. This is a bit late!'

Napier stared at him. ‘Well, it's not my fault! I'm ready and geared up for it. A piece of . . .' He coloured slightly and let it drop.

Jessop said, ‘As far as I can estimate, I shall have to put you off here.' His pencil tapped the chart. ‘It will take you at least three hours to locate the target, do the job and then get back to the pick-up area.'

Napier rubbed his chin. ‘Another three hours. That's a bit of a risk.'

Jessop stared past him at the curved hull, the tired, intent faces. ‘It's a hell of a risk to
my
men, all fifty-eight of them, every time we attempt one of these crackpot schemes!'

Napier looked surprised at the skipper's hostility. ‘I only meant . . .'

‘We sighted a convoy of ten ships yesterday, with just the one clapped-out escort. A full pattern of torpedoes
would have taken care of most of them – I might even have had time to reload for a second go. More use, surely, than a grounded hulk full of railway gear?'

Tucker said, ‘I've brought my own kit, sir. The chariot will carry three, especially if we go on the surface for most of the time.'

Napier said sharply, ‘Was this Commander Ross's idea?'

Tucker grinned. ‘Even ratings have good ideas sometimes, sir!'

Napier flushed again. ‘Sorry. Asked for that.' He made no further comment, as if it was already settled. Then, hesitantly, he said, ‘Together we could . . .'

Tucker said casually, ‘Of course we can.' He added, ‘I'll tell Nick Rice, if you like.'

Napier shook his head. ‘No. I'll tell him.' He walked away, his mind apparently resolved.

The skipper said, ‘What was the subbie's brother like? Jamie Ross's best friend, they tell me.'

‘I've never seen two men so close, sir. Like brothers, they were.' He dodged the question he knew was coming. ‘Jamie Ross has never got over it.'

Jessop said, ‘I see.' Then, ‘Thanks for sorting it out. When we get back I'll stand you a drink, anything you like. Then the boat's in for an overhaul. About bloody time too!'

The navigator returned, his face suitably blank. ‘All fixed, sir?'

‘Yes. Thanks to our diplomat here, I think we can say just that.'

The last hour aboard the submarine went quickly: usually the waiting-time seemed to drag. Dressed in their rubber suits, the three men sat in the petty officers' mess, half listening to the sound of the trimming tanks being
adjusted, feeling the slow swell now that the boat had glided up to periscope depth. Tucker did not know what Napier had said to Rice, but he felt that the Number Two was pleased, if surprised, that Tucker himself was going along. He wondered vaguely what Ross would say when he found out. He had already suggested to him that the chariot's two-man crew would feel more confident with one of their own helping them to ‘take off. He had not said who it might be.

Why had he decided to be the third man? Two men alone took enough risks in the chariots . . . men had died or just silently vanished. Nothing could change that. Why complicate it?

Napier broke into his thoughts. ‘There are a couple of small islands where the freighter ran aground.' He peered at the borrowed chart. ‘Just a few miles from the Rangoon River, her destination no doubt. Once inshore of the nearest one, we shall get a better idea.'

Rice asked sharply, ‘No booms?'

Tucker noticed that he avoided looking at the young officer.

Napier folded the chart. ‘They say not. We'll fix the charge and head straight back. No slip-ups. We should make it before full daylight.'

Rice muttered, ‘Christ, I should hope so. The place will be crawling with Japs!'

Tucker said, ‘I've checked my gear.'

Rice nodded. ‘Me too.' He patted his suit. ‘Pistol, blood-chit, money, the lot.' He forced a grin. ‘Even the headache pill!' But it made him look even more strained.

Napier stood up and groaned. ‘I'll just have a last word with the skipper.'

Rice breathed out very slowly. ‘D'you reckon he's going to be O.K?'

‘Of course. Right as ninepence. The last one was his real test. This'll be like a training cruise.'

Rice did not look convinced. ‘I'm glad you're coming along, Tommy. In your place I'd have thought twice about it.' He touched his arm. ‘You didn't tell Ross, did you?'

Tucker shrugged. ‘He had enough on his plate.'

Napier reappeared in the entrance. ‘Ready to go.' He looked at each of them in turn. Afterwards Tucker remembered it well. As if he was trying to reassure himself, rather than give assurance.

Out and through the control-room, now fully manned although Tucker had barely heard anything. As if the boat was holding her breath.

Jessop glanced at them briefly, his dark beard almost red in the dimmed lights.

‘Remember the current, Sub. And watch out for fishing boats – they'll be sleeping with their nets most likely, but don't take anything for granted.' He singled out Tucker and said in an undertone, ‘Keep your head down.'

After that, it was like moving to an unspoken drill pattern. The surprisingly cool air after the hull's stuffy confines, water sloshing over their feet while they prepared to release the chariot from its various clamps. Tucker had already noticed that the casing party was only two or three men and the saddle-tanks were already almost awash. The skipper was keeping his command trimmed down, a minimum target should the enemy have any detection gear which might reach this far. Three hours there, three back, Tucker thought. A long night. He watched as Napier slipped into the forward position; he saw the glowing dials on the control panel suddenly light up, and hoped he would remember to adjust the pump and air pressure to allow for the extra man. He could recall when the old rear-admiral, Ossie Dyer, had insisted on donning a full suit and full gear
to be dragged through a Scottish loch to see what it was like. It had nearly killed him, but the lads had loved him for it.

Tucker helped Rice to climb aboard and then turned to look up at the conning tower. Not many stars but a clear sky, so that he could see the skipper and his lookouts watching as the motor kicked into life, and a backlash of bubbles and phosphorescence surged against the two seated figures.

A thumbs-up? Or it could have been a casual salute. The next moment he was aboard, his arms wrapped around Rice's body while the chariot dipped heavily and then backed clear of the dark hull. He felt rather than heard the thunder of inrushing water as
Turquoise
began to flood her tanks and prepared to dive.

Napier twisted round in his seat and waved his arm. He was in control, with nothing but the operation in his thoughts.

Tucker adjusted his breathing apparatus and sucked deeply on the air supply. The chariot was answering well in spite of his additional weight. He felt the water surge around his chest and throat, splattering his mask, and wondered what Rice was thinking about. Probably nothing. Yet. They would be all right once they got started.

Tucker doubled his fist and felt Rice tense under it.
Otherwise I'll have to be a bit regimental with the pair of them!

Far away on the starboard bow they saw a tiny cluster of lights. Fishing boats, but too far off to be dangerous. The Japs were that confident. Hardly surprising when you considered that their armies occupied the whole of South-East Asia from Burma down to Java, to say nothing of the hundreds of islands in the Pacific, where long-range sea and air battles had already cost so many ships and lives, Japanese and American alike.

Tucker pictured the great warhead of explosive they were carrying. Set against the immensity of war, it might not seem very significant, as
Turquoise
's skipper had bitterly remarked. Without noticing it, he patted Rice's gleaming rubber suit. But like Sicily, it was a beginning: the road back.

It was the only way to think of it.

The sea grew more choppy closer in to the land, and Tucker knew Napier had his work cut out keeping the chariot on its proper course. When he looked abeam, he noticed that the faint lights from the fishing boats had vanished, as if they had all been doused in response to a secret signal. Half an hour later they began to reappear, and Tucker gave a quiet sigh of relief. The lights had been momentarily hidden by the first small island. They were on course. Napier was doing his job, and he hoped that Rice would regain some confidence by the time they reached their objective.

Provided that nothing delayed them, they should be making their return journey to the rendezvous with precious little darkness left to conceal them.

Tucker smiled.
If you can't take a joke, you shouldn't have joined.
The sailor's answer to just about everything.

He tensed as something dark and shapeless drifted past; Napier must have seen it just in time to avoid hitting it. A half-submerged boat of some kind, doomed to drift up and down the invisible coast until it finally went to the bottom.

It would be almost funny if the target had been moved, or emptied of her much needed cargo. He wondered what Napier would do then. Drop the charge anyway, if only to prove he could do it?

A bright green flare exploded somewhere over the land and floated gently into the darkness. A long way off. The
Japanese Army perhaps, or was it some kind of signal to the dozing fishermen?

In spite of his discomfort Tucker almost fell asleep to the even, sluggish motion. He saw Napier and Rice exchanging hand signals and he wished he could see his own watch to check their progress. Like a leaping fish, a white feather of spray broke across the blackness between sea and land. The second island, the offshore current breaking across some scattered rocks like those he had seen on the chart. Three hours? It hardly seemed any time since they had watched the submarine begin to dive, their only contact broken.

He thought he saw Napier hunching his shoulders, ready to dive and shake off their trailing phosphorescence if a strange vessel loomed over them. But there was nothing.

Napier's arm lifted and stiffened, and as he steered the chariot in a shallow turn, Tucker saw the black, motionless wedge of a ship.
Their
ship. It had to be. Napier made no attempt to dive but continued along the side of the blacked-out vessel until they could identify the solitary funnel and old-fashioned bridge, and the derricks that must have been used to load the cargo of rail tracks. Tucker did not need to be reminded of the grim stories now filtering through of wretched Allied prisoners-of-war being forced to work on road and railway construction for the Japanese Army. Starved, brutally treated, and without medical care, it was no wonder men were calling them the railways of death. But instead of fear at the possibility of what might happen if they were captured, Tucker was surprised to discover that he felt only anger, even hate.

There was a dangling rope ladder, and Tucker saw that some of the lifeboat davits were empty. The Japs had taken no chances. It was probably a native crew, which they had put ashore rather than risk some further disaster. There had been mention of a salvage tug. If it had indeed arrived, it
would make an early appearance to begin or complete the work of moving the vessel, or the cargo, to a more suitable position.

Napier and Rice were holding the rope ladder and peering up at the ship's guardrails. Napier opened his visor and said, ‘The anchor's down. Let's get on with it.' He sounded very calm, matter-of-fact, as if it were indeed just another exercise. Rice slipped into the water, his hands fending off the steel plating.