Jermain smiled. ‘I agree. That’s what I would do.’ He peered down at the chart. ‘Alter course to zero one zero. We’ll close in a bit.’

  The sounding recorder began to swing as if caught by a magnet.

  Mayo said doubtfully, ‘Fifty fathoms, sir,’

  Jermain picked up the engine-room handset. ‘Is everything all right, Chief?’

  Ross answered immediately, as if he had been sitting with the phone in his hand. ‘Running like a clock, sir.’

  ‘We’re turning towards the land and into shallow water, Chief. If we draw blank or the sonar gets a strong echo in the original area I’ll turn back and go to maximum speed. So be prepared!’

  He heard Ross chuckle and felt slightly relieved. Ross said, ‘Like looking for a nigger in a coal-hole, sir!’

  Oxley’s voice caught his attention. ‘Getting distorted echoes, sir. Could be a throwback. But definitely not another vessel.’

  ‘Keep searching. I shall make another sweep to the westward in ten minutes.’

  The admiral had sat on a stool as if the suspense was getting him down. He remarked, ‘The Americans will have something to crow about if they break through your screen, Jermain.’

  So it’s my screen now, is it? Jermain said aloud, ‘I don’t suppose the target will be too pleased, sir!’

  The admiral ignored him. ‘I can just hear that idiot Conway if the Temeraire makes a hash of this! He’ll probably withdraw every blasted British warship from the Far East!’ He glared at the round-eyed control-room messenger, the only man present who was not employed and therefore listening. ‘What do these mildew-minded little shop stewards know about this sort of thing, eh?’

  With her searching sonar swinging around her like an invisible shield the submarine prowled nearer and nearer to the shoreline. No one spoke any more, and men became conscious of the silence, of heart-beats, and the endless, dragging minutes.

  *  *  *

  Right forward, in the Temeraire’s underbelly, Max Colquhoun sat stiffly in his steel chair, his eyes moving restlessly across the shoulders of the sonar operator. By his side Oxley lounged with his chin on his chest, his fingers drumming a little tattoo on his microphone. On the tall panels the lights flickered and the operators’ headsets squeaked and muttered with all the noises from the sea around them. It was a strange world, Colquhoun thought. As if the whole crushing force of the sea was filled with unknown chattering creatures.

  Petty Officer Irons, the senior sonar rating, readjusted his dials and said briefly, ‘There it goes again, sir.’ The microphone at his elbow relayed the strange bleeping sound which had earlier aroused Oxley’s attention.

  It reminded Colquhoun of a disturbed bird in a hedgerow. Chirping irritably before dropping once more into a doze.

  Oxley said, ‘I still can’t make it out.’ He glanced at the sounding gauge. ‘God, we’re in forty fathoms now!’ He yawned and stretched his legs. ‘Why didn’t I stay in ordinary boats? What could be better than a rainy day in Gosport, sipping beer in the old Anglesey?’

  Irons said sharply, ‘There it goes again, sir.’ He paused and then added, ‘I think it came from a slightly different bearing.’ His fingers readjusted the red dial. ‘Three five five degrees or thereabouts.’ He twisted round to look at Oxley’s frowning face. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but it only makes a sound for a few seconds!’

  Colquhoun said, ‘Well, there’s nothing on the surface. We’d have heard it long ago.’

  Oxley stared at him. ‘Sub, you can be very helpful at times.’ He ignored Colquhoun’s expression of surprise and switched on his intercom. ‘Captain, sir? I think I’ve found out what the strange echoes are.’ He winked at Colquhoun. ‘I think there are fishing boats overhead. Maybe several over a wide area. Small boats without their engines running would be almost impossible to detect at this stage.’

  Jermain’s tone was patient. ‘So what did you hear?’

  ‘I read some months ago that the Russians have been using some sort of underwater fishing gear. It makes a fish sound and helps to attract any nearby shoals to the area.’ He scowled at Irons, who was openly grinning at him. ‘Well, that’s what I read sir.’

  Jermain did not laugh. ‘You could be right. I should have thought of that. There are no Russian trawlers in this area, but no doubt the Chinese have this gadget, too.’

  Another pattern of bleeps rattled in the microphones, and Irons rubbed his ears angrily. ‘Hell, that was close!’ He glared at the panel. ‘I hope the bastards catch a bloody whale!’

  Without warning the gauge on the centre of the panel gave a sharp jerk and then settled firmly at an angle. Irons crouched low and began to move his dials with set concentration. Through his teeth he said, ‘Strong echo, sir! Bearing Green one zero zero! Extreme range but definite!’

  Oxley came to life. ‘Continue tracking!’ In the intercom he said sharply, ‘Definite contact, sir! Extreme range, bearing Green one zero zero!’

  As if in reply the intercom crackled, ‘Start the attack!’

  Oxley grinned. ‘Soon be over now I’

  *  *  *

  Jermain listened to the brisk passing of orders as the helm went over and like a circling aircraft the Temeraire swam round in a tight turn on to the new bearing. Half aloud he said, ‘Just as I thought. The enemy must have known about the fishing boats and has been sculling about behind them all day. Just waiting his chance!’

  ‘Course one one zero, sir.’

  ‘Very good. Increase to twenty knots!’ He looked at Wolfe. ‘As soon as we cross into deep water I’ll dive to three hundred feet!’

  Wolfe nodded and tapped the planesman’s shoulder.

  The admiral was on his feet. ‘Can you head him off?’

  ‘Should be easy, sir. He’s taken too long to make his attack. Nemesis will be making her next turn in five minutes, so he’ll have to crack on speed. I shall close the range as for two homing torpedoes and then loose a grenade.’ He smiled in spite of his earlier uncertainty. ‘All parties will hear the grenade and know that the hunter has been hunted!’

  He watched the gyro repeater as the admiral said, ‘That’ll make ’em sit up! You see now why I wanted your boat on this exercise? To me it’s more than a show of force, Jermain, it’s the only way to prove our worth out here!’ He rubbed his hands. ‘I might get a couple more nuclear boats under my command in the near future. That’ll stop any possible chance of our authority being undermined!’

  Mayo called, ‘Crossing the Shelf now, sir! Eight hundred fathoms in five minutes!’

  Jermain heard Drew’s harsh voice on the intercom as he goaded his torpedo party into the final part of the attack drill. He did not really care what the admiral saw in the exercise. The important thing was that the crew had behaved extremely well, and at no time had a single defect been reported. Now perhaps they could get on with the business of training undisturbed.

  The sounding recorder began to swing slowly and then more steeply as the sea bed fell away. Maybe at their present depth of one hundred feet they would make a slight shadow across the treacherous cliff edge as they swam into safer waters.

  Without warning there was an insane screech of metal, like a bandsaw across solid steel, and as the deck gave a warning tilt to port the nerve-searing sound was followed by a violent, shuddering lurch which threw some of the men from their feet.

  Jermain reeled against the periscopes, his ribs aching from a blow against the greased metal, his mind momentarily stunned as the hull received a full jolt as if from a solid object. For an instant he imagined that they had collided with another submarine. Already the depth gauge was rotating wildly, and he heard Wolfe yelling hoarsely at the coxswain.

  Jermain forced his mind to hold steady. ‘Slow ahead! Watch your gauges!’

  Jeffers, the second coxswain, sounded breathless. ‘Can’t hold her, sir! The planes is jammed!’

  ‘Diving, sir!’ Wolfe was gripping the planesman’s seat, his eyes glued to the dials.

  Jermain felt the deck corkscrewing beneath him and heard Wolfe say tightly, ‘One hundred and fifty feet, sir! One hundred and seventy-five feet!’

  As if to emphasise the danger, the hull shuddered again and more violently. It was like hearing an oil drum being beaten with a giant hammer. And in between each boom there was the screech of metal, grating at the hull like steel tentacles.

  ‘Emergency surfacing drill, Number One!’ Jermain listened to his own voice and found time to wonder. It sounded calm and unemotional, yet he could feel his nerves screaming in time to the Temeraire’s struggles with the thing which was trying to destroy her. ‘Close all watertight doors!’ The control room seemed to become smaller as the oval doors were clipped shut.

  Wolfe added, ‘Still diving, sir. Two hundred and seventy-five feet!’

  Jeffers gasped as his control wheel slackened for a few seconds and then locked again. Every eye was fixed on the dials, and each ear was numbed by the regular booming impacts against the tough steel.

  Jermain said, ‘Must be one of those fish-buoys! We’ve got it wrapped round the fin and the after hydroplane!’

  He could feel the sweat pouring between his shoulders like ice water, could sense the horror around him which already fringed on the edge of panic. The young messenger was gripping a petty officer’s sleeve, his eyes filling his face like mirrors of terror, and in the chart-room entrance Mayo stood with his arms wide against the tilting hull as if he had been crucified.

  Ross’s voice came on the intercom. ‘I’m blowing everything, sir! Can you try and free the aft-planes?’

  Jermain said, ‘Try opposite helm, Coxswain! See if you can shake it off!’

  Twine swung the wheel, his eyes steady as he watched the gyro repeater. Twisting and turning like a snared fish the submarine thrashed wildly from one side to the other.

  Only the admiral appeared unmoved, Jermain noticed. He stood against the plot table, his pale eyes empty of expression, like a man already dead.

  ‘Four hundred feet, sir?’ The man’s voice sounded fractured.

  Jermain dashed the sweat from his eyes and listened to the banshee screech against the hull. Down and down. Nearly five thousand feet to the bottom. No one had ever lived from a last dive. Friends of those lost in early disasters spoke glibly of a ‘quick death’, but who could tell? Jermain saw a seaman staring at the curved side as if expecting to see it cave in at any second.

  ‘Four hundred and fifty feet, sir!’

  There was a long-drawn-out rattle and then a violent jerk which nearly threw Jermain to the deck.

  Jeffers yelled, ‘It’s free, sir! She’s answerin’!’

  The sounds were changing again. Now it seemed as if a giant piece of metal was being bounced aloiig the casing, its trailing cable rattling jubilantly behind it.

  Jermain said flatly, ‘Hold her, Number One. I don’t want to pop up like a cork!’ He saw the needle begin to turn in their favour, and heard a seaman sobbing quietly behind him. He added, ‘Keep her at periscope depth.’ Over tus shoulder he snapped, ‘All sections report damage and injuries!’

  Voices crackled and hummed through the intercom system, voices unrecognisable in strain and relief.

  ‘Open up the boat. Stand by emergency deck party!’

  Jeffers did not turn. ‘Shall I be relieved, sir?’

  Jermain shook his head. ‘No, I want you there at the planes. We’re not out of the wood yet!’

  Wolfe said, ‘No apparent damage, sir. Two torpedomen slightly injured in the fore-ends.’

  ‘Very well. Pass the word for the doctor.’

  Oxley’s voice sounded loud over the speaker. ‘Lost contact, sir. The submarine must have turned away.’

  Twine said between his teeth, ‘Not bleedin’ well surprised, with all this row goin’ on!’

  Jermain met Wolfe’s eye and wondered if he too had been struck by Oxley’s behaviour. With the boat diving headlong for the bottom Oxley could still retain an interest in his hard-won target.

  The deck party were already mustering below the bridge ladder, their expressions mixed between shock and surprise at being alive.

  Sub-Lieutenant Colquhoun slung his leg over the coaming of the control-room door, his fingers fumbling with his lifejacket. He did not seem to see either Jermain or his father, but stared blindly at his waiting men.

  The admiral broke his silence and said tightly, ‘Well, Jermain, I hope you’re satisfied!’

  Jermain tore his eyes from the depth gauge. ‘About what, sir?’ He saw the anger flickering in the admiral’s eyes, like reflections in the side of an ice floe.

  ‘By your pig-headed stupidity you’ve not only lost the submarine contact, you also damn nearly sunk this boat!’ He waved his hands around him. ‘You should have stuck to the instructions!’

  ‘We would have made no contact, sir.’ Jermain eyed him angrily. ‘At least, it would have been too late to intercept.’

  Sir John Colquhoun turned away. ‘We don’t know for sure that Oxley did make a true contact. It might be just one more piece of damned incompetence!’ He seemed to be talking to himself now. ‘The humiliation! Your excuses’ll cut no ice with me, I can assure you!’

  ‘Sixty feet, sir I’ Wolfe was watching the admiral, his features grim.

  ‘Up periscope.’ Jermain staggered, and for a moment he thought the steering had jammed. But as the periscope hissed from its well he saw that the weather had worsened, and in spite of the watery sunlight the lenses seemed to be shrouded in heavy mist. But it was rain, steady, torrential rain, which was beating the sea’s surface into froth and fine spray.

  He straightened his shoulders. ‘Can’t see a thing. Surface!’

  He brushed past the admiral and stopped beside the deck party. ‘You will have to get out on the hull. It’ll not be easy, and speed will be essential.’ He looked at Colquhoun’s pale face. ‘But no risks, understand?’ He saw him nod, but there was little understanding in his eyes.

  Mayo yelled, ‘I’m sending up an additional rating to replace Jeffers, sir!’

  The hull staggered, and Jermain swarmed up the ladder, knocking off the first set of clips and opening the hatch in automatic movements. Up the ladder with the deck party panting at his feet and then through the second hatch and on to the surface navigation bridge. The water was still draining away, and the fin’s fibreglass covering was thick with crusted salt and trailers of weed.

  With the rain beating savagely at his head and shoulders Jermain pulled himself the last few feet into the open cockpit at the top of the fin. The rain was as deafening as it was heavy, and the masked sunlight shimmered around the wallowing hull and made the sea seem like steam. As if the sea was angry to lose its victim and its rage had been transformed into heat.

  Jermain clambered over the edge of the screen, his eyes straining astern. He saw the raw welts on the black whaleback where the trapped cable had scored through the paintwork to the metal itself. And then bobbing astern like a sea-anchor he saw the dull-coloured buoy and the last coil of wire which appeared to be holding it to the boat’s vertical rudder.

  He shouted above the hissing rain, ‘Pass the word to the control room! We must retain this speed the whole time. If we stop the buoy may sink and wrap itself around the screw, then we are done for! Not that the Communists would mind towing us into port!’ The joke had no effect, and he heard his instructions being relayed tonelessly through the intercom.

  Lieutenant Victor squeezed into the cockpit. ‘Number One sent me up to lend a hand, sir.’ He blinked at the sea and added, ‘God, what a mess!’

  Jermain turned to Colquhoun. ‘Are you ready?’

  Colquhoun nodded dumbly.

  ‘Right then. Take your men down to the rear of the fin, just like you did when the dinghy came aboard. I suggest you rig a tackle to the handrail and pay out two men towards the vertical rudder. Once there they should be able to hack that wire free without too much difficulty.’ He gripped the boy’s arm. ‘I’ll trim the boat as high as I can, but the men who do the job will be swimming for part of the time, so hold on to their lifelines like hell!?

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ll go myself,’

  Jermain watched the little group climb down to the partly submerged deck and-waited as they rigged the lifeline and huddled together for a last conference.

  During all the confusion no one had reported hearing the end of the exercise, which was hardly surprising. The attacking submarine was to detonate two grenades to signify a successful strike, and no doubt at this very moment her captain was congratulating himself at this unexpected result.

  Jermain gritted his teeth and plucked his sodden shirt away from his chest. All it needed now was for the unseen fishing boats to arrive and demand damages!

  6

  Human Error

  Max Colquhoun shouted above the noise of the dinning rain, ‘Right then! Pay out the lifelines and make sure there’s no slack!’ He looked directly at the seaman who was to accompany him along the wave-washed deck. ‘We’ll take one hacksaw each and work in relays!’

  The man, Gipsy Archer, bared his teeth and wiped the water from his black hair. ‘Should get a tot of neaters for this, sir!’

  Colquhoun tore off his streaming clothes and stood swaying on the steel casing. Under his bare feet it felt like ice. Then he tightened his underpants around his waist and tied one of the lifelines hard against his hips. He had to work fast, and not give himself time to waver in front of the watching men.

  At first he had thought his legs would not even carry him down to this treacherous place, and his offer to do the job himself had seemed all the more a cruel mockery. He missed the tough competence of Petty Officer Jeffers, whose seamanship appeared to come as much from instinct as from any set drill.

  He blinked the spray from his eyes and handed Archer the end of a loose rope bridle. Like lumberjacks on a giant log they would walk down the sides of the hull, held apart by the bridle and steadied by the slender lifelines.

  He tried to grin. ‘Right, Gipsy I Let’s see how good a seaman you are!’