The deep silence, p.1
The Deep Silence,
p.1
THE DEEP SILENCE
Douglas Reeman joined the Navy in 1941. He did convoy duty in the Adantic, the Arctic and the North Sea, and later served in motor torpedo boats. As he says, ‘I am always asked to account for the perennial appeal of the sea story, and its enduring appeal for people of so many nationalities and cultures. It would seem that the eternal and sometimes elusive triangle of man, ship and ocean, particularly under the stress of war, produces the best qualities of courage and compassion, irrespective of the rights and wrongs of the conflict… The sea has no understanding of righteous or unjust causes. It is the common enemy, respected by all who serve on it, ignored at their peril.’
Reeman has written over thirty novels under his own name and more than twenty best-selling historical novels, featuring Richard Bolitho and his nephew Adam Bolitho, under the pseudonym Alexander Kent.
WORLD WAR II NOVELS BY DOUGLAS REEMAN
A Prayer for the Ship
High Water
Send a Gunboat
Dive in the Sun
The Hostile Shore
The Last Raider
With Blood and Iron
HMS Saracen
Path of the Storm
Deep Silence
The Pride and the Anguish
To Risks Unknown
The Greatest Enemy
Rendezvous—South Atlantic
His Majesty’s U-boat or Go in and Sink!
The Destroyers
Winged Escort
Surface with Daring
Strike from the Sea
A Ship Must Die
Torpedo Run
The Volunteers
The Iron Pirate
In Danger’s Hour
The White Guns
Killing Ground
Sunset
A Dawn Like Thunder
Battlecruiser
For Valour
Twelve Seconds to Live
The Glory Boys
THE ROYAL MARINE SAGA
Badge of Glory
The First to Land
The Horizon
Dust on the Sea
Knife Edge
THE DEEP SILENCE
DOUGLAS REEMAN
Essex, Connecticut
An imprint of Globe Pequot, the trade division of
The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc.
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Distributed by NATIONAL BOOK NETWORK
Copyright © 1967 by Bolitho Maritime Productions
McBooks Press paperback edition 2023
Douglas Reeman has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information available
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Reeman, Douglas, author.
Title: The deep silence / Douglas Reeman.
Description: McBooks Press paperback edition. | Essex, Connecticut : McBooks Press, 2023. I Series: The Modern Naval Fiction Library | Summary: “March 1967: HMS Temeraire, Britain’s latest and most advanced nuclear submarine, is ordered to the Far East to reinforce the British fleet against a threat from Red China”— Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2022054378 (print) | LCCN 2022054379 (ebook) | ISBN 9781493071616 (paperback : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781493071654 (ebook)
Classification: LCC PR6068.E35 D44 2023 (print) | LCC PR6068.E35 (ebook) | DDC 823/.914—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022054378
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022054379
The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.
Contents
1 The Black Pig
2 An Ugly Word
3 Taking the Strain
4 Sword and Medals
5 Romeo Tango Five
6 Human Error
7 Welcome Back
8 And Goodbye
9 ‘If You Can’t Take a Joke…’
10 Decision
11 Rank and File
12 Play it Cool
13 It Had to Happen One Day
14 Into the Valley
15 A Matter of Trust
16 The Bait
17 ‘I Am Not God!’
18 Someone Should Talk About It!
1
The Black Pig
The bleak waters of the Gareloch were speckled with countless tiny whitecaps as the stiff south-westerly wind bore up from the Firth of Clyde and flattened the gorse of the distant hills like wet fur. Firmly anchored at her usual moorings, the submarine depot ship caught the dancing reflections in her tall sides, which shone with spray and the drizzle which had been falling steadily since first light.
Yet, in spite of the wind and the damp air, it was warm, even humid, for early March, and the wide stateroom of the captain commanding the submarine squadron seemed still and lifeless, and the windows which overlooked the broad expanse of open water were misty with condensation.
The captain, a compact little man with sparse greying hair, sat watchfully behind his littered desk and studied his unexpected visitor with unrelaxed caution. Senior officers were not unusual aboard the depot ship, and with the growing importance of the submarine arm of the Navy they were almost a weekly disturbance to the intricate and dedicated routine. But Vice-Admiral Ronald Vane was not just another visitor on some fact-finding tour or other. As the prime organiser and guardian of the new nuclear arm to the submarine fleet he represented something special, whose word was worth full attention.
He was known to be an unpredictable man, and his sudden arrival from London by helicopter that morning, unheralded and without the normal ceremonial, had been a bad beginning to the day.
Even allowing for the eccentricities which were to be expected from any admiral, Vane was an unusual man. He was small and thin, and dressed in a grey pin-striped suit, the wide lapels and baggy trousers of which would not have been out of place in the twenties. It was still creased from the cramped flight in the helicopter, and the captain wondered what made a man of such power and importance dress in a manner which would be shunned by his own steward.
The admiral turned suddenly, his eyes bright in his pale, lined face. ‘When did the Temeraire come alongside?’
The captain sighed and relaxed slightly. Perhaps it was a courtesy visit after all. It seemed as if every possible person had come to see the latest addition to the new nuclear force, from technical experts to hopeful newspaper correspondents. The Temeraire was, after all, something very special. One of the latest hunter-killer submarines, fully equipped with a fantastic range of homing torpedoes and ultra-sensitive sonar detection gear, she was fully powered with a nuclear reactor which was at the head of its field.
‘She came in at dawn, sir.’ The captain pushed a thick folder across his desk. ‘She’s completed a full three months’ trials and working up, and I’m sending her on to Rosyth for a final checkup for defects.’
The admiral ignored the folder. ‘I’m afraid that’s no longer possible. In my briefcase I have a new set of orders for the captain. He will be required to sail tomorrow at dawn.’ His tone was flat and uncompromising. ‘I suppose you can see to all his requirements?’
The captain stared at him with amazement. ‘But it needs another month at least, sir! There are always teething troubles at this stage. We’ve ironed out a lot of them, of course, but the Temeraire’s brand new, and we can’t afford to take chances!’
The admiral eyed him coldly. ‘Fortunately, the choice is not yours, Captain.’ He turned his back and wiped the haze from the window with his sleeve. He was looking straight down on to the vessel in question, and he found himself wondering what gave her the strange air of menace. Her rounded black hull was devoid of all the usual clutter of conventional submarines, and, apart from the tall, wafer-thin tower, there was nothing to break her smooth outline but for the hydroplanes which were folded on either side of her bows like two sharp ears.
There was silence in the cabin, and then the captain said, ‘Where will she be sailing, if I may ask?’
The admiral stared fixedly at the black shape below him for several more seconds, In the far distance the tannoy squeaked and a metallic voice intoned, ‘Up spirits! Up spirits!’
Then he said with sudden impatience, ‘I’d like to go aboard at once. It will save time and repetitions.’
The captain controlled his irritation and picked up his cap. ‘If you’ll come with me, sir.’
The admiral followed the other officer out into the noise and bustle of the upper deck where oilskinned sailors moved busily beneath the swaying derricks as fresh stores were swung out to the waiting submarines. There was the sickly smell of rum in the air, and as the admiral passed the main galley he saw the cooks putting the finishing touches to the midday meal.
Then down a steep gangway and along a well-worn catwalk where a saluting sentry led the way across to the Temeraire. She began to look her size, the admiral thought. Her four and a half thousand tons made
He could see the scrapes and slime on her fat hull, the scratches on the black paint below the tower, or fin as it was now called, and it was hard to imagine her as being so completely new and untried.
A young, harassed lieutenant was supervising the loading of a large packing case, and he looked up startled as the captain snapped, ‘I’m going below. I take it your C.O. is still aboard?’
The officer nodded, his eyes wandering to the admiral with the uncertainty of a man who has been told only part of the truth. ‘Yes, sir.’
The admiral climbed through the screen door of the fin and peered down the oval hatch at his feet. He was a sceptical man, but even so was instantly impressed. The average submarine was constructed something like an underground train with one central passageway running from stem to stem. From his position above the hatch the admiral could see down and down as the ladders pointed the way through three decks and into another world. He followed his guide below and across the gleaming control room. Even without the watchkeepers at their stations it was somehow alert and exciting. Rows of shining dials and repeaters, the sheathed periscopes and radar scanners, all gave the impression of immense power and strength. He wondered what else apart from size made the Temeraire so different from the other boats which still made up the bulk of the fleet. He decided it must be the smell.
Normally a submarine was pervaded by the unchanging odour of diesel oil and machinery. Here there was nothing of the kind. It was more of a sweetly antiseptic smell, mixed with that of sweat and cooking, a strange, unreal essence like the steel shell which contained it.
A petty officer handed the admiral a small film badge without a word and another to the captain. The latter pinned his to his jacket and said without humour, ‘The usual precaution, sir. Just to make sure you don’t become radio-active without anybody noticing!’
They passed down a narrow, brightly lit passageway, the sides of which were covered by pastel-coloured plastic, and which again gave the air of unreality. Outside a door labelled Captain the admiral said flatly, ‘David Jermain, isn’t it?’
The other man nodded. ‘He’s had command right from the time the keel was laid, sir.’ He tapped on the door. ‘This’ll be a shock for him. The whole crew is about worn-out by the trials. They should have been going on leave from Rosyth.’
The admiral merely blinked. ‘The world is unfortunately full of surprises. Not all of them pleasant!’
* * *
Commander David Jermain waited until the admiral had seated himself in the small cabin and watched his hands busy with the lock of his briefcase. Once he glanced across the little admiral’s head to catch the captain’s eye, but the latter merely shrugged, as if the visit was a complete mystery to him also.
The admiral drew out a narrow folder and cleared his throat. Then surprisingly he glanced around the cabin and said crisply, ‘You seem very comfortable here?’
Jermain smiled gently. ‘I’ve not had a great time to get used to it yet, sir.’
The admiral studied him thoughtfully. Jermain was an impressive figure, a man who somehow suited the boat. He was over six feet in height, with a slight stoop to his broad shoulders, the mark of many months in submarines. The admiral knew that over half of Jermain’s thirty-six years had been given to the Navy, and of that more than ten years had been in submarines. In spite of his high technical ability, which the admiral knew from his records, Jermain had a strange old-world appearance which made him instantly arresting. He had a thoughtful, grave face with deep lines on either side of his mouth. But his brown eyes were faintly humorous, and when he had smiled his whole countenance had become almost youthful. His dark hair was rather too long for the admiral’s taste, but it seemed to suit him nevertheless. He recalled that Jermain was a Comishman. That probably explained it, he decided The bleak coasts of Cornwall had produced so many sailors, navymen and pirates alike that it was easy to visualise some of Jermain’s heritage.
He realised that the others were watching him and he said rather sharply, ‘I am afraid that I have new orders for you, Jermain.’ He dropped the folder on the small desk. ‘You must complete storing and take on a fresh outfit of torpedoes and proceed to sea tomorrow at dawn.’
Jermain’s eyebrows lifted slightly. ‘Destination, sir?’ He was still on his feet, his tall frame loose and relaxed, yet giving the impression of vigilance, like a cat.
The admiral coughed. ‘Singapore. The situation in the Far East has been deteriorating lately, as you are no doubt aware. The Americans, quite rightly, expect us to do our fair share in reinforcing the nuclear screen in the area, so for that reason I cannot afford to give you any more time to complete your final trials. Temercàre can get a fair amount of help from the Singapore base in the way of small repairs and so forth, does that suit you?’
Jermain stared at the folio. ‘I don’t have much choice, do I, sir?’
‘No, you do not.’ The admiral glanced at his watch. ‘You’ll be under the local control of Vice-Admiral Sir John Colquhoun when you get there. He is having a difficult time of his own without your adding to it!’ He gave a brief smile. ‘Our goverament is bent on cutting down the naval and military strength in the area, and I am afraid that Sir John’s own command is an obvious choice for the axe! However, that does not concern you. The Chinese Communist government is making fresh infiltrations and troubles which we think may endanger the peace of the Far East as a whole. The Americans are keen to contain this threat, but to do so they must have our backing. Anyway, it’s all in your orders.’
‘My number one has left the boat, sir.’ Jermain tried to read beyond the admiral’s calm eyes. ‘He has been appointed to take command of the Phoenix, this boat’s sister ship.’
The admiral replied coolly, ‘I know. I ordered it myself. I’m sending you Lieutenant-Commander Ian Wolfe as your new number one.’ He paused. ‘Your brother-in-law, I believe?’
Jermain dropped his eyes. ‘He was, sir. Married my sister about three years ago. They’re divorced now.’ He continued quickly, ‘I thought he was in line for a command of his own, too?’
The admiral looked down at his feet. ‘A further cruise as your, er, understudy might well be to his advantage, Jeimain.’ He stood up. ‘Anyway, I want this boat ready on time. Forget the little nagging problems and concentrate on getting her shaken down into a fully operational boat! If World War Three broke out this afternoon I suspect that you would be the first to badger me to be allowed to get into action! Well, this is an emergency. We don’t want another Malaysia or another Viet Nam in the Far East, and if a show of real force in the right place and at the right time can prevent it, then I think your, er, temporary inconvenience will be well worth while!’
Jermain said, ‘It is asking a lot of a brand-new boat, sir.’
‘I believe in asking a lot, Jermain. It’s the only way I gee results!’ He grinned unfeelingly. ‘Send me a signal when you sail. I must get bade to the Admiralty, or the Ministry of Defence as our political guardians now choose to call it.’ He chuckled. ‘Although what we are supposed to be defending is sometimes a complete puzzle to me!’
Jermain groped for his cap. ‘I’ll see you over the side, sir.’
‘Please, no.’ The admiral tucked his briefcase under his arm. ‘I don’t want any ceremony. There are too many starving defence correspondents slopping gin in the depot ship’s wardroom by now. One sight of me and the whole thing will be out on their front pages!’ He paused momentarily by the door, his eyes searching. ‘When you get to Singapore you’ll be working with the Americans, something which is nothing new for you with the Holy Loch just over the hill. But Singapore itself is undergoing a reappraisal by our government, and the submarine section in the Far East will become less dependent on any base there.’
Jermain frowned. ‘Vice-Admiral Colquhoun has always been fully responsible for our operations out there, sir.’
The admiral shrugged. ‘Things change. God knows, I’ve seen enough during my service!’
He stepped over the coaming. ‘I’ll go now. There’s a lot to do.’
