A Twist Of Sand

"Not only from Werner's little goings-on, but a lot else which I won't burden you with, I believe that the Germans have solved the problem of propulsion — whether by sea or in the air — by what I call, if I may coin the phrase, nuclear propulsion. I suppose only a handful of men in this or any other country have heard of using the energy generated in splitting atoms for propulsion. It is enormous. And Werner has designed an engine using steam and nuclear power. He shoved it into a U-boat, a huge U-boat of about three thousand tons. The atomic radiation needs a lot of shielding. It's so revolutionary and so in advance of anything we or anyone else have ever thought, that the German High Command simply doesn't believe it. But don't think Blohm and Voss don't. To prove their point, they have built — a lot of it at their own expense — an experimental U-boat with these fantastic abilities. The High Command still thought it a crackpot idea, fraught with all kinds of difficulties and dangers — as well it might. But Blohm and Voss prevailed to the extent that they persuaded the High Command to let NP I — nuclear propulsion Number I — go operational on the longest route in the world, with Hans Tutte" — he smiled

"you'll have heard of him — in command. NP I has all the answers, as our American friends would say."

The fear and foreboding which those grim words sent down my spine grew when the man behind the desk got up and crossed to a huge wall map.

He jabbed his finger at a spot in the South Atlantic; "On 29th November the Dunedin Star, carrying tanks and war supplies to the Middle East, reported a mysterious underwater occurrence. Her captain beached her here on the coast of South West Africa. Total loss. Hell of a to-do about the passengers. The South African Air Force did some fine, if damn foolhardy things to try and get them out. Overland expeditions, drama in the desert and all that. But all I am interested in is — was it NP I which sank her? I have the details of the attack here. Nothing — except a muffled crash which tore a huge hole in her. No sign of an attacker. I think NP I sank the Dunedin Star. That was over three months ago."

The D.N.I, interrupted. "I might add that this voyage of NP is a proving voyage. If she comes home with a bag as full as I think she will get, the Germans will concentrate everything on building scores of her type for the North Atlantic. Their virtues — on paper at least — are innumerable — high operational speed for indefinite periods; no need to surface; stealth of attack…"

"There is nothing she doesn't have!" I broke in. The futility of British submarines, their wearisome little technical faults and the simple problem of operating them without straining their conventional machinery — it seemed to me like comparing a turbine with a lawn-mower.

"No," said the schoolmasterly voice. "There you are wrong. There is one thing they certainly do not have. That is, radar anything like as good as ours. Their FuMB counter-radar really isn't up to much. Our V.H.F. is years ahead of theirs. So is our underwater radio reception and asdic. When our ships in the Western Approaches have these installed…"

He trailed off at the stern eye of my senior and shrugged. "In for a penny, in for a pound. He knows more now than anyone else; it won't harm him to know about the radar also. Besides, we'll install it in Trout in order to give him the best chance."

His matter-of-fact words struck a new chord of fear in me. Trout? What had she to do with it? Were they going to send me out against this futuristic submarine in poor little Trout? I still remember the prolonging of the minutes; somewhere down below there was a slight screech of rubber on the road as a driver braked carelessly; from the Thames came the mournful siren of a tug. The Flag Officer (S) stood with his face half turned to the great wall map. He and the Director of Naval Intelligence both realised that the cat was out of the bag.

"Surely…" I gasped.

The cold eyes never looked colder, and his voice sounded like backwash on sharp shingle.

"Your orders are to take H.M.S. Trout and sink NP I."

I looked from one to the other hopelessly. The Trout I A piddling little "T "class submarine against a 3,000 ton non-surfacing, super-efficient U-boat which was so good that even its creator could not believe it was true! Here was the straight, unswerving road to suicide!

I said flippantly, for after all they had signed my death warrant as certainly as they stood before me:

"Just tell me where to find her, sir."

The note in my voice certainly jarred on both of them. The icy eyes flickered only for a moment. His next words dumfounded me, even if I was capable of feeling little else but bitter, hurt anger.

"I don't know. You will have absolute discretion. The whole South Atlantic is yours."

I turned hopelessly to the Intelligence man.