A Dawn Like Thunder (40 page)

‘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 one 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 few shots cracked into the submarine's hull and
conning tower but a savage burst of fire from the Brownings took care of them, and cut down anyone stupid enough to remain in view.

‘Slow ahead!' It was not possible. Ross saw the three U-Boats neatly moored alongside their new mother-ship. There were perhaps two more on the other side. Could it be the whole group?

Fifty yards, thirty, with occasional shots slamming into the hull or glancing off the abandoned deck-gun.

Someone shouted wildly, ‘Another boat comin'!'

Ross stared at the raked bows of the three U-Boats until his eyes watered. The new arrival was too late. He could hear Murray yelling in the control-room, the periscope dipped now to measure the final approach. A scuttle in the depot-ship's straight side opened and a rifle appeared.

Tucker caught one of the Browning gunners as he fell gasping on the rough plating, and took over the gun himself.

‘Here, you bastards!' Then he shouted, ‘Christ, it's the bloody marines!'

The boat which, unbelievably, appeared to be a pilot cutter, crashed alongside, and wild-looking marines and Gurkhas spilled on to the casing even as Murray stopped the engines. Like athletes their arms went up and then over, their grenades bursting almost instantly on the depot-ship's decks.

Major Sinclair was striding through them. ‘Single shots! Save your ammo! This is not bloody Whale Island!'

Then he clambered up the ladder and said, ‘Thought the boat would come in handy. It'll get us ashore. After that, it's up to us.' He lifted his Sten-gun and fired almost from the hip, and somebody slithered into the sea alongside.

Sinclair snapped, ‘Get Villiers up here with his bag of tricks. The outboard targets might escape otherwise.'

He was watching the seaplane, lifting and circling again like a startled bird.

Ross felt the bows snag into the U-Boats' headropes, nudging between two of the hulls in a screeching embrace.
Tybalt
felt heavier, and when he peered down at the foredeck he saw that the water was almost up to the open hatch.

‘We lost a chariot.'

Sinclair barely turned. ‘I had a spot of bother on the road. Three of mine copped it.'

‘Dead?' Ross saw the surprise in Sinclair's eyes.

‘Well, they are now.'

Villiers lurched through the hatch. ‘What's happening?' He seemed dazed by the silence. Just a few random shots and the dead seaman, and a slow-moving pall of smoke from the riddled launch.

‘We're getting out. Go with Major Sinclair and sabotage the moorings on the other side. Where's Number One?'

Villiers looked at his sleeve. It was spattered with blood.

He said quietly, ‘He was coming up to give you a hand. Stray bullet.' He shook his head as if it was all suddenly too much for him to comprehend. ‘He's alive, but I couldn't move him. He just stared at me and said he'd stay with
Tybalt
.'

Sinclair said impatiently, ‘Well, let's get a bloody move on. Won't be quiet much longer!' He fired two single shots at an open scuttle, and Ross guessed it was probably his last Sten magazine.

Ross ran to the scarred plating and looked at the forward hatch as the first trickle of water overran the coaming.

He said, ‘Clear the boat. We've got less than half an hour.' To Villiers he called, ‘Don't hang about.' He thought of the first lieutenant, down there dying and alone. Aloud he said bitterly, ‘I know how he feels!'

Mike Tucker tossed the scarlet flag with its cross and swastika over the side. ‘There. All done.' Murray would even have his own flag at the end.

Ross touched his holster and realized that it was still clipped shut.

Another bullet ricocheted from the conning tower and whimpered away over the smoke. Sinclair's men were retreating to their stolen pilot cutter. Some were being carried, a few just managing to hop over the littered deck.
Tybalt
's Chief was the last to leave, with barely a glance at the water as it surged through the big forehatch. The bows were beginning to go under.

‘Plane's having another go, sir!'

Ross heard the rattle of machine-guns and saw Sinclair's men diving for cover, while one of them fired at the seaplane with a Bren-gun until it was empty.

‘Ready when you are, sir!' Youthful and surprisingly fresh-looking, Captain Bobby Pleydell reloaded his revolver without once taking his eyes from the depot-ship's rails and bridge.

‘Wait another minute.' Should he have sent Villiers when they had already done so much, and paid so dearly?

Pleydell was saying, ‘It was a bit dicey.' He grinned and looked even younger. ‘But then, it always is in this outfit!'

The pilot boat's engine roared into life, and Ross saw two of the marines holding one of their comrades in a sitting position so that he could see what was happening.

Mike Tucker was also watching. He saw the man die in their arms and be laid at peace in the scuppers. Somehow he knew. The White Ensign he had hoisted for Ross's benefit had been the last thing that dying marine had seen.

Ross said, ‘It's taking too long.' A mooring wire was beginning to fray as
Tybalt
put her full weight against it.

Pleydell said, ‘I'll send two of my chaps to fetch him.
They can get round there over some lighters.' He strode away, slim and erect amid so much pain.

The submarine gave a violent lurch and sank swiftly between the two inboard U-Boats. As
Tybalt
hit the bottom the two other boats seemed to crowd together again. Ross turned away. The periscope was still raised: it was as shallow as they had expected. But all he could think of was the periscope. As if Murray was still there, keeping an eye on things.

The air quivered to new explosions: Sinclair's booby-traps offering their challenge. It would slow the enemy down. It would not stop them.

Beyond the depot-ship's protective hull the explosions seemed much closer. Villiers felt his heart beating wildly, his breathing so fierce that he could barely fill his lungs. He could feel Sinclair behind him, see his ramrod-straight shadow as he watched for any threat or movement from the ship's deck.