The captain eyed him coldly, a glint in his red-rimmed eyes. `It’s a pity it’s all a waste of time then, isn’t it?’

  Lieutenant Ralph Curtis lay fully clothed on a bunk in the submarine’s wardroom, his hands knitted behind his head, his eyes wide and sleepless, staring at the curved metal hull which rose over his body like the side of a tomb. The curtain which he had drawn along the length of the bunk allowed the harsh wardroom light to filter eerily across his tanned face and fair., sun-bleached hair, and beyond it he heard Duncan’s booming laugh and the subdued mutter of conversation. On the other side of the steel plating he imagined he could hear the swish of the Adriatic against the saddle tanks as the submarine forged her way through the night, her small charge wallowing behind her like a calf following its mother. He pressed his eyes shut for the hundredth time, but although sleep had eluded him for days, he felt the nervous tension running through him like an electric current, making his heart and body throb with something like pain.

  What had happened? What had changed his life from a breath-taking adventure to a living nightmare?

  He sighed deeply, and tried to stop himself from going over it all again.

  He gingerly allowed his mind to explore the future, and felt himself pulling back, his stomach contracting violently. He touched his forehead dazedly, feeling the cold layer of sweat which chilled his face into a tight mask. He shuddered violently. Fear. Ice-cold fear. He could almost see his father’s steady, unwavering gaze across the wide, littered desk.

  `No guts, my lad ! That’s what’s wrong with your generation!’ Then there would be a pause. `Now, look at me. A selfmade man. Built up this business from nothing, just to give you the chance I never had!’ His father, even across the miles of invisible ocean, his words, his very soul reached out to taunt and torture him.

  Curtis thought of his father, probably sitting behind that same desk, dealing with new orders for light machinery-or whatever he was making now-drumming into his employees how important it was to help the war effort, and, of course, to enlarge the business.

  Beyond the curtain Duncan laughed again, and for a brief instant Curtis felt the tinge of jealousy. Duncan, with his indomitable spirit and unwavering strength. He had served with him long enough to know him better than anyone he had ever met, and he had pictured so often the huge Australian astride his pony on his vast farm, trotting through the dust, exchanging jests with his father or his three brothers, and planning, always planning some new improvement which in

  itself would entail fresh labour and sweat before anything would show on the shimmering, dust-blown wastes of his untamed country.

  And Taylor, the E.R.A., did he envy him, too? He twisted his head on the coarse pillow as if to banish the nagging fears in his brain. Taylor, the personification of the British working class. Hard, shrewd, but gentle, and with a strange contentment which left Curtis baffled.

  Before it hadn’t mattered. They had all been the closelyknit crew of a midget submarine, the most lonely and the most dangerous section of any navy in the world.

  His mind ground remorselessly on. That had been before Roberts had been killed.

  His lips framed the unspoken words. “Before I killed him!”

  He opened his eyes suddenly, his whole body trembling, and stared hard at the shining deckhead. He remembered that day on the depot ship, only a month ago, when young Jervis had arrived to replace Roberts. It had seemed impossible at the time, the cruellest stroke which fate could possibly have played. As the boy had stepped into his cabin, with the bright sun behind him, it was as if Roberts had come back from the dead.

  He had questioned Duncan casually about the frightening likeness, but he had shrugged indifferently and said that there might be some likeness, but not so that you’d notice.

  Curtis clenched his jaw tightly, his eyes watering. Some likeness! Were they blind? Or was he going mad?

  A bell clanged in the engine-room and the beat of the engines slackened. It would be soon now. Soon he and the other three would be sealed in their little craft, and it would be too late.

  He rolled over on to his side, biting at the pillow. Fear, when did it come to him? When did he first notice that the blood of courage had begun to freeze within him?

  Soon it would be too late. The words beat like tiny engines in his skull.

  This was the most dangerous escapade that they had attempted, and the most useless.

  Before, it had been a mad, hit-and-run game, with no time to think, and the wild ecstasy of success to follow. But now, a floating dock in the middle of a hostile coastline, with little chance of survival however the attack turned out, and in addition, he was afraid. Desperately afraid-from his shaking hands, to the dry, bitter taste in his throat. He would refuse to go, and tell himself it was for the others’ sakes and not for his own.

  His father appeared again, mocking him with his smooth, shining face and well-clipped moustache. He knew what he would say all right. He remembered how he had fought desperately against the steady succession of planned moves which his father had called “your future with the company”. The good school, mixing with boys whose only right to any future had been their birth, while he had had his bought in hardearned money. Boys like Jervis, he thought suddenly, quiet, confident, decent chaps, who never spoke of money or business.

  The war had been a blessing for Curtis, and he had fled from the factory and the board meetings, and the hard, probing tongue of his father, with something like relief.

  It was that compelling urge to escape from his past of frustration and lack of purpose which had made him volunteer for midget submarines, and which had led him eventually to his own command.

  He had a.:,1ked then to his father for some small sign of faith, if not actual pride, but he had only written to complain of thee time Curtis was wasting in the Service, time which the factory could not forgive or overlook.

  When he had been awarded the D.S.C. after the Norwegian operations his father merely observed, `Well, it might look all right on the company’s notepaper, I suppose!’

  That had been the last straw. Curtis had driven himself unmercifully, taking each operation with cold, calculated calm, and drawing closer to Duncan and the others for the comfort which had been denied him elsewhere.

  Then it had happened, without warning, and like a stab in the heart. At Taranto, whilst attempting to lay the deadly charges beneath an Italian supply ship, they had become

  entangled in an anti-submarine net of a new, unknown pattern, which wrapped itself around the little submarine like a shroud.

  Roberts, the diver, had given them a’ shaky grin and slithered into the Wet and Dry compartment and out through i the hastily flooded hatch, and within seconds he was hard at work with the cutters, sawing his way through the slime- I covered mesh of the net. Curtis watched him through the periscope, and saw his dim shape, with the pale blob for a face, twisting and turning, back and forth across the hull, barely visible in the dark gloom of forty feet of water. The patrol boat had found them just as the last strand was cut, and they heard the sharp ping of the submarine-detector echo against the hull as the invisible boat moved into the attack.

  They had done this thing many times before, in many parts of the enemy’s waters, but this time the diver was practically lI exhausted and had -hardly the strength to pull himself back to the safety of the hatch.

  Nearer and nearer thundered the racing engine of the attacking boat, and his scalp had tingled with the agony of suspense as he imagined the depth charges waiting to plummet down on to a trapped, unmoving target.

  It was then’ that his last reserve had snapped and he gave Duncan the order to go ahead.

  The midget submarine moved reluctantly from the pile of severed mesh, the ragged, knife-like ends clawing scratchily along the hull, screeching and moaning. Or perhaps it was Roberts crying out as the strands of wire ripped open his suit and carried his writhing body down to the bottom of the harbour.

  The submarine had escaped, the supply ship blew up, and Curtis and the others were commended.

  But somewhere at the bottom of that far-off-harbour, between the twisted metal of the sunken supply ship and the tattered diving suit, Curtis’s courage and confidence lay as surely as dead men.

  There was a dull, metallic thud overhead, as the deck party prepared to lever the rubber dinghy out of the opened hatch, and Curtis heard the muffled bark of orders, and knew that at any second he would be required to show himself to the others.

  As if in answer to his racing thoughts the curtain twitched to one side, and Jervis, his pink face gleaming with excitement, looked over the side of the bunk.

  `All ready to go, sir,’ his voice shook breathlessly. `The captain says he’s ready to put us across to our midget!’

  Curtis swallowed hard and pressed his lips into a thin line in an effort to remove the loose feeling from his mouth. He tried not to stare at the boy’s eager face, and instead began to fumble with his clothing and boots.

  `Very good. I … I’ll come at once.’

  He watched Jervis’s retreating back, and heavily lowered his body on to the deck. His legs shook, and he put his hand on the littered table to steady himself.

  Fool, fool! He cursed desperately and silently, the hidden words welling up within him like a bursting flood. Go ahead and tell them you can’t go! You’re washed up-finished!

  He looked round wildly and unseeing at the deserted wardroom with its abandoned belongings, garish pin-ups, and dirty crockery. Even that place seemed like a sanctuary.

  The towing submarine’s commander peered round the door, his eyes watching Curtis bleakly.

  `All set? Anything I can do to help?’ His tired voice was friendly, and Curtis pulled himself together with a tremendous effort.

  `Thank you, I’m ready,’ he heard himself answer. `I’ll leave now.’

  As he followed the other officer across the gleaming control-room, he caught vague and disjointed glimpses of the silent seamen at their stations, the First Lieutenant beside the coxswain, and friendly, unspoken messages which were passed by their sleep-starved eyes.

  He glanced round blankly. `Where’s my Number One and the others?’

  ‘Already on deck by the dinghy.’ The submarine commander’s answer was short, and Curtis detected the urgency in his tone.

  Wants to get rid of us, he thought bitterly. It was no joke

  for the other man to have his ship lying on the surface, with its main hatch open and unable to dive. He wanted to get down again, and sneak away from the coast.

  Curtis lifted one foot to the bottom rung of the long brass ladder, which snaked straight up the tunnel of the dark conning-tower. His legs felt like lead, and the knuckles of his hands gleamed pale as he gripped the ladder with sudden desperation.

  He lifted his head and stared up at the tiny oval sky and the few stars which swam back and forth across. the gently rolling conning-tower. He wanted to cry out, to die-anything; but instead he just ‘stared at the faint stars, realizing at that instant that everything had suddenly become hopeless.

  `Are you all right, old man?’ The voice was practically in his ear.

  Curtis didn’t turn his head. He dare not meet the other man’s eyes. He nodded dumbly and began to climb.

  The stench of diesel fumes faded, and the salt air bit across his face as he hauled himself on to the bridge.

  He began to climb down the side of the salt-caked conningtower on to the casing, where a huddled group of figures wrestled with the rubber dinghy.

  `See you at the rendezvous! Good hunting!’ The submarine commander’s voice was distant and already belonged to another world.

  Duncan’s teeth gleamed in the darkness. `Well, here we go again, Ralph! Four against the flamin’ world!’

  `Our gear has been sent across in the dinghy, Skipper.’ Jervis was already slithering into the little rubber boat. `I’m really bucked to be going back to our little midget again!’ He laughed and jumped down into the boat.

  Taylor followed him silently and with casual ease, his feet hardly touching the lapping water.

  Duncan gripped Curtis’s sleeve in the darkness. `I’ll tell you now, Ralph, I think this deal is crook! But as it’s you I’m goin’ with, well …’ he shrugged expressively, `I’m not too worried!’

  Curtis followed him over the side, his body hunched and loose in the bottom of the dinghy. He hardly noticed their short journey, hand over hand along the tow-rope, and when he stared up at the small, slime-covered hull of his command, he shuddered, his mind still unwilling to accept the fact that he was beaten.

  They scrambled up on to the tiny casing, pausing only for brief handshakes with the three members of the passage-crew who had steered the little boat behind its big sister during the crossing, and then, squeezed themselves through the circular hatch into their familiar surroundings.

  Curtis remained on deck, and waited until the dinghy had been hauled aboard the other boat, and then slipped the towing wire. He heard the hatch shut, and then the thud of feet as the gun’s crew ran below. With a roar like a sounding whale, the air hissed out of the big submarine’s tanks as the hungry water surged in.

  Curtis strained his eyes through the gloom, trying to capture the picture of the diving, black hull. A gleam of phosphorescence danced along her jumping wire and played briefly around the dripping gun muzzle, and then she was gone. Not one ripple or tremor remained to mark her passage, not even the probing periscope showed itself to ease the ache of his loneliness and fear.

  He staggered as a roller lifted the little boat under his feet, and he groped his way towards the after hatch. As he lowered himself down he allowed his gaze to fasten on the forward hatch. The diver’s entrance and exit. In his mind’s eye he saw again the twisting figure and the distorted face which he had watched through his periscope. It was the same hatch, and this is the same boat, he told himself. Only I am different.

  The hatch thudded over his head. They had started.

  2

  D U N C A N whistled softly to himself as he groped his way with practised caution through the maze of equipment of the midget submarine’s tiny control-room and ducked his head

  tightly into his shoulders to avoid the low, curving deckhead, which was already streaming with condensation, the rough paintwork glistening with a thousand tiny rivers. Once aboard, some of his gnawing irritation and pessimism had dropped away, and for a few moments he busied himself checking the pumping system and hydroplane controls, his movements and observations automatic and thorough. He eased his powerful frame into his seat at the rear of the control-room, and allowed his eyes to wander for a while over the small boat’s nerve-centre, pondering on the fates and the perversity of his own nature which had made him take such bitter discomfort in exchange for the rolling freedom of his father’s farm.

  Taylor was already seated forward, his hands resting lightly on the shining wheel, apparently studying the smooth dial of the gyro compass. Heaven alone knew what he was thinking about. Duncan could only see the back of his small head, but he could well imagine the man’s quiet, secret smile and dark eyes, as he sat waiting to steer the submarine on its mission.

  Jervis was grim-faced, his unformed features set in a determined stamp as he leaned uncomfortably across the chart table, dealing with his additional duty of navigator.

  Behind his back, Duncan sensed, rather than heard, the soft purr of the main motor as it sent little pulse-beats throbbing through the toughened plating.

  Forward of the control-room, and separated by a watertight door, was the tiny, cramped compartment known as the “Wet and Dry”, in which and from where, the diver left and entered the hull.

  Duncan watched Jervis’s tight lips musingly, and wondered how he would measure up to the job under actual working conditions. It would be a bit different from the training depot.

  Beyond the “W and D” compartment there was one further space, where the batteries were housed, and where one man could sleep in comparative comfort. Not much of a ship, he thought, but with two-ton amatol charges which were slung on either side of the hull, like saddlebags on a mule, she was a match for the biggest units of any navy, as the Tirpitz had discovered to her cost.

  The hatch clanged shut as Curtis slithered down on to the deck and rammed home the clips.

  Duncan watched him through narrowed eyes as he leafed quickly through the rough log left behind by the passage crew.

  Thank God old Ralph’s aboard anyway, he mused. He smiled inwardly as Curtis ducked under the small periscope dome in the deckhead, the only place in the boat where a man could stand practically upright. The familiar, automatic motions took some of the edge from his mind, and made even the present risk seem almost commonplace.

  Curtis caught his eye and smiled quickly, the corners of his mouth flicking upwards in a tight grimace. He’s edgy, too, then. Or was that other business still worrying him? Duncan eyed his captain coolly.

  `Here we go again,’ he drawled. `Another flamin’ lesson in tactics!’

  `Everything checked?’ Curtis stared at him for several seconds as if weighing up his First Lieutenant’s words to find some hidden meaning.

  `Sure, Ralph, everything’s all set. Let’s go an’ hunt for that little floating dock!’

  Jervis twisted round at the chart table. `Do you think it’s all a waste of time, Skipper? I mean about our going after the dock and everything. Steve says it’s too late in the campaign to matter!’

  Curtis spun round suddenly, his eyes blazing. `For God’s sake keep your crazy ideas to yourself, Number One! There’ll be enough for all of us to do as it is, without you preaching about how the damned war should be won!’

  The sudden flare of rage seemed to drag the energy from his taut body, and he staggered slightly to the boat’s uneasy roll.

  Duncan shrugged and stared woodenly at the deckhead. `Sorry, Ralph. I didn’t know you felt so strongly about it. Forget it!’ He grinned, but inwardly the nagging feeling that Curtis had changed came back more strongly than before. So he was jittery. I’ll have to keep an eye on him for a bit, he thought.