Submarine

Woolf-Gault had shaken the morale of the boat more than the cox'n had at first realized. Turle, the disrated leading hand in the JRS' mess was stirring it in the fore-ends. Bowles had even been to see Jimmy about the trouble, but Prout was as powerless as the captain. 'Windy-Gault', as the ship's company referred to him, now talked in monosyllables and only when addressed. It was that hunted look in the poor sod's eyes which pricked Bill Bowies' conscience. Windy-Gault must be going through hell, unable to escape the contemptuous glances of everyone on board, including the snide, just-audible comments from the JRS. Once a sailor had lost trust in someone he could be brutal without saying much — what the army called 'dumb insolence'. The officer was rapidly developing into a pathetic wreck: he should never have been allowed to come on this trip. Fear is only the unknown; it can strike anyone, and when you can't control it, trouble begins. With the appalling manning situation during the recession, the service couldn't be blamed for officers like Windy-Gault, but it's tough, Bill Bowles thought, when your life is the price.

It was 1530 when Farge began to worry seriously about stranding on the lee shore: by SINS, Orcus' position had shifted imperceptibly to the westward and, judging by the external wave noises and the reverberations from the seas walloping into the Pushka cliffs, the gale was continuing to rage up top-as the met. had forecast.

The sonar team had been closed up since dawn listening to the inward and outward traffic trundling overhead. It was paradoxical, but Orcus was too close to the roundabout for Joker Paine, the sonar chief, and his boys to sort out the constant stream of traffic. Analysing the mass of data was proving too much, even for the whole attack team. Of one thing Farge was certain: the sonar picture indicated clearly that the submarines of the enemy's Northern Fleet were using the easterly lane, both inward and outward. This discovery, and the knowledge that Orcus was being shifted bodily towards the rocks in spite of the total flooding of Q, prompted Farge to have another scrutiny of the chart. By being driven inshore Orcus was wooded by the cliffs from the radar dish on Set' Navolok. The sailing directions also warned that a north-easterly caused an, onshore set of the tidal stream. The sooner he was out of the bay the better. Trim would be the hazard, after flooding Ms and Q But, even if he was forced to speed up to prevent a suicidal break-surface, his periscope was unlikely to be spotted in the windswept seas. He could risk waiting until 1945 and could begin coming up at 1930.

At 1830 he summoned Murray from the fitful sleep he was snatching between depth recordings. 'Let's move, pilot, to our second waiting position, WP2, three miles from the roundabout Work out a course, but get your sums right, because we'll be creeping across at four knots. We're on neaps but, with this north-easterly, the westerly tidal stream is bound to be running faster.'

Murray nodded. 'The set's always northerly out of the northern reach of the inlet, sir. That can help us too, quite a bit.'

'It's in the right direction — away from this rotten hole. But apart from our own safety, in WP2 we should be able to monitor where the action apparently is.' Farge paused, watching the navigating officer drawing out his course, as a loud rumble from the caves reverberated through the submarine. 'And there's one other thing…'

'Sir?'

'I've a nasty feeling we've been detected.'

Murray turned his grey face to meet his captain's eyes:

'Can't have been.'

'Just a hunch. Sonar insists there's distant, active pinging north of Set' Navolok.'

'Those sweepers?'

'Could be… but keep it to yourself. Let me know when you're ready and I'll talk to the troops. You can brief me at supper in the wardroom.'

Farge made his broadcast, concealing nothing except his suspicions of detection:

'We'll be coming to periscope depth soon after supper. Enjoy your meal because it could be our last peaceful one for some time.' He paused, then added, 'We may be able to snort for a bit, if the cliffs screen us from the radar station. We're doing all right, so far: at least we know that their warships are using the other lane. Don't forget, we've got a date for midnight, the sixteenth. That's all. We'll shift to red lighting now. An extra can of beer all round, please, cox'n.'

He registered the murmur behind him, then moved into the wardroom where the officers were changing the light bulbs. The place was always snug, almost homely, in red lighting.

'Sherry, Number One? Reckon we've earned it.'

The exception to his drinking rule added a warmth to the gathering, a comradeship which even Woolf-Gault, sitting apart at the end, could not lessen. Riley entered with the supper. With the aplomb of a head waiter, he placed the dish in the centre of the table cloth.