He scrambled back towards the edge of the hole, slipping and stumbling as he went. When he put his hand over, he felt Leech’s slippery grip on his fingers. Tom pulled and heaved. Leech was heavier than the rest of the men, and Tom had to summon extra strength to help him out. Soon Leech was sprawling on the deck beside him.
‘God bless you, Ellis,’ he said. ‘I won’t forget this. God bless you.’
The old ship shuddered and lurched, listing to one side. Prisoners who had fought their way out of the hold hurtled along the deck and landed in a heap against the rail. Tom shouldered his way between the sweating bodies and struggled over the slippery bars. Like dozens of others he flung himself clear as the ship pitched. For a few seconds, as he fell, everything was a blur. Then he smacked down on the waves and was instantly sucked under with the drag of the vessel as it slipped beneath the surface. His ears were filled with the rush and pressure of the sea and the metallic creaks and groans of the huge collapsing hull.
The force of the sinking ship dragged Tom down deeper and deeper. Powerless, he held his breath until his lungs were bursting. He began to panic and struggle.
This is it, he thought. This is the end.
He opened his mouth and gulped a belly-full of salt water. Then, suddenly, the downward pressure eased, and he found himself shooting upwards. He kicked furiously, sensing a chance to save himself. Peering up, he searched for the light, but nothing was visible through the shadowy water apart from the flailing legs of other prisoners.
He finally burst clear of the surface, gasping and spluttering for air, choking up salty bile. As he rubbed the water from his eyes, the blurred images of other men came into view. Some were beating around in panic, others yelling for help. He scanned the sea around him and caught a glimpse of George, only a few yards away, clinging to a broken beam. Tom gathered his strength and swam towards him with clumsy strokes. George’s face was sickly pale. His skin was almost transparent, the white bones of his cheeks and nose visible. Tom stared at George’s eyes. That expression. He’d seen it on so many faces, especially on the faces of the sick men in the hospital hut. A look of hopelessness. A look of surrender.
‘I can’t bloody swim, mate,’ George said, his teeth chattering.
‘Just hang on. We’re going to be all right. We can’t be far from the shore.’
Above the yells of the prisoners and the lapping of the waves came the buzz of an aircraft. It circled the area. As it banked overhead, Tom caught sight of the stars and stripes on the tailfin. Then suddenly the aircraft dived, swooping towards them from the clear blue sky. The hammering of machine gun fire filled the air. Bullets slapped the water like tropical rain. Men screamed as they were hit.
‘What the hell are they doing?’ yelled George.
‘Duck,’ Tom shouted.
Tom took a gulp of air and forced his head back underwater. Again he held his breath until his chest was nearly collapsing. When he returned, choking and sputtering to the surface, he saw that the plane was still circling above them but had stopped firing.
The water frothed and eddied where the ship had gone down. All around, bodies floated on the surface amongst debris from the wreckage, shattered planks of wood, hatch covers, rubber life-preservers, a cooking pot, a few broken latrines. Desperate prisoners clung to some of these things. Other men thrashed around, looking for something to grab onto, shouting in vain for the help that would not come.
The aircraft moved on to join a swarm of planes attacking the next ship in the convoy. As Tom struggled to keep afloat, treading water next to George’s beam, he had a clear view of dozens of planes strafing the bulky vessel, their fuselages flashing in the sun as they dived. Anti-aircraft guns blazed from the deck. Within seconds the horizon lit up with the orange shock of an explosion as the fuel tanks caught. The ship blew up in a ball of fire. A giant wall of flame coursed over the water, raging towards the survivors. Oil drums bobbing on the surface caught and started to burn. Amid the chaos of the explosions came the agonised screams of burning men.
A lifeboat from Tom’s ship nosed its way through the fires and the wreckage. Perilously low in the water and lopsided, the lifeboat was crammed with Japanese guards and soldiers from the ship. Some prisoners swam towards it, pleading to be taken on board. Tom watched in horror as one by one they were pushed back into the water; their knuckles beaten off the side with oars and bamboo poles. One man clung to the bow of the boat, refusing to let go. A guard stood up and opened fire with his machine gun. The prisoner fell into the water, a pool of his blood spreading through the waves.
‘Bastards,’ choked George. Tom’s teeth were chattering despite the tropical sun overhead. He knew he needed to find a way of getting George to shore. He tried dragging the beam with one hand and swimming with the other, but he was too weak to make any progress.
‘Just go, Tom. You might make it without me,’ George gasped. ‘Go now, mate.’
‘Don’t be stupid. I’m not leaving you.’
Tom searched around for something to float on. He couldn’t tread water any more. There was plenty of debris from the ship floating his way, and when a sizeable plank came by he grabbed it with both hands. He hoisted his body onto it front first, forcing splinters from the rough wood into his stomach and
