Submarine

The lamp began clacking, the pencil beam cleaving the dusk. The umbilical cord was severed: no further contact with anyone until Orcus returned home… but Coombes knew now that Orcus' final bottoming drills were satisfactory; that she could dive immediately and be on her way. The success of Operation sow depended upon both submarines being scrupulously punctual and exact in the execution of their allotted commitments. The MOD'S deception plans were thorough — and not only were the diversionary ploys taking place at sea. Labelled crates of white tropical clothing had been dispatched to Orcus in Barrow; chart folios of the Indian Ocean had arrived, and curiously coded mail-bags had been delivered via British Rail and the Fleet Mail Office- this unnecessary junk, taken on board unopened, was taking up every inch of space; Farge's orders authorized him to ditch the weighted stuff as soon as Orcus was north of Rona. A variation of the same theme had been adopted for Safari, as Farge had learned from Coombes yesterday, when together they sifted through their secret sailing orders. Corrupt signals had even been dispatched — there was no end to the DGI'S skulduggery.

'Message passed, sir.'

In spite of modern electronics, signals were still being passed by eyeball methods. This paradox of modern warfare had developed because of the ability of both sides to pick up Through their EW apparatus the faintest transmission pushed out over the ether. The satellite had transformed communications, and the Soviet navy, with its centralized Moscow control, was more vulnerable than Nato's. This weakness had been recently demonstrated when Rosy Boyd, at the critical moment, forced the Soviet Northern Fleet to break off action when it had the Canadian convoy, HX-OS I, at its mercy: Boyd had knocked out their command ship — and from that instant the enemy's thrust had disintegrated.

The sailing orders, waiting below for Farge to digest, emphasized, as FOSM had done, the vital importance of Safari's and Orcus' communications. Safari would be counting upon Orcus' enemy report on the Typhoon: the MOD (and the Prime Minister and the President of the United States) would be waiting for Safari's signal of her Typhoon sinking, the signal upon which, exclusive of other kills the West might score, so much depended…. Safari was merging into the gloom, vanishing. Farge picked up the mike:

'Steer 230°. Diving in five minutes' time. Clear the bridge.'

He glanced at the silent, broad-shouldered figure standing behind him. Woolf-Gault, remarkably, had said nothing since surfacing. He now leaned across and yanked out the mike connection. He waited for the lookout and signalman to disappear through the upper lid before following them himself.

Farge peered carefully around the horizon: vis. was two miles but he could see only the lights of a couple of fishing-boats to the westward. With his nav. lights showing, he had been deliberately pointing in their direction, for almost an hour, hoping that Onus' course might be registered.

'Switch off navigation lights,' he ordered. 'Diving stations.'

Only the search periscope was raised, the control OOW and the navigating officer being down below and sharing it for their final fix. Farge felt the knotting in his guts, the instinctive urge to prolong these last few minutes on the surface. He shoved back the hood of his anorak in order to feel the breeze.

Yesterday's meeting with Coombes in Safari had been invaluable. Farge had gone straight to the point, so that they could then concentrate for the rest of the day upon their sailing orders — and Coombes had been as frank about his stepsister as Farge was of the woman he intended to marry. The latent jealousy which Farge harboured against Coombes evaporated as they talked of Lorna. Coombes apologized for his secrecy in the affair. It was evident to Farge that Janner and Lorna had always been very fond of one another; and this made Janner's approval of his future brother-in-law all the more satisfying-Farge even felt able to ask Janner to give Lorna the note he had hurriedly scrawled, should anything go wrong.

The remainder of the day, until Farge had to return to Orcus, had been spent wrapping up the operation. Each now understood to the smallest detail the other's intentions…. Drawing in to the depths of his lungs a last draught of this clean, soft air of the Hebrides, Farge crossed to the voice-pipe: he was tired, not only because of a leave spent with Lorna but also, since his second Northwood meeting, he had not wasted a second in briefing himself, and in planning how he was to achieve the objective expected of him. He'd dive Orcus now, turn to the north, ditch the weighted gear off Sule, then spend the next four days on passage to North Cape resting and planning for every eventuality.