Submarine

In the hours which followed Bowles gradually came to his decision: the two younger men would tackle the first ascent, Hicks lashed to Buchanan, while the MEM opened the valves and the upper hatch. Their escape suits would take them up safely, provided they could discipline themselves to breathe normally. As for himself, he'd flood up on his own, the last man out. It had been done before.

The time to go could not be far off… it was quiet up top — and silent down here, save for their breathing. He leaned towards Buchanan and signalled that it was time for him and Hicks to prepare for escape. The MEM'S grotesque head wagged atop the orange suit and, lashing the diver to him, he clambered up into the chamber. It was a long time before Buchanan signalled that he was ready: then, the MEM heaving and Bowles shoving with the last of his failing strength, they somehow managed to slide Hicks through the lower hatch and into the chamber.

They paused again to recover and then Buchanan was levering the diver up to a sitting position, his knees to his chest. Hicks was responding to Buchanan's efforts. The MEM held up his fist, nodded and shipped the lower lid. Then Bowles was on his own, the two men locked above in the escape-tower. Through the sighting port, Bowles could see Buchanan opening up the flood, and then the water-level climbing up their legs.

Bowles felt the thud above him when Buchanan opened the upper lid. Then through the port, he saw the lower part of the MEM'S legs floating upwards: Bowles held his breath, waiting for the cramped bundle that was Hicks to follow upwards. But the man was stuck, Buchanan's legs threshing. The lashing joining the two men jerked, whipped — and then Hicks was slowly rolling upwards, suddenly vanishing. Thank God… and Bowles slumped backwards, leaning against the heads door. The two men must be on their way to the surface, or they would have dropped back into the chamber. The upper hatch would be left open, so it was his turn now. He'd shut the upper lid, give 'em a few minutes, then follow… Orcus' company were certainly contributing with the most precious commodity of all. -He supposed their deaths could be justified, but only if the sacrifice helped to prevent the appalling alternative with which England was threatened by the Soviets.

Bill Bowles and his Hilda were simple people; they had found support in their faith…

Hilda'd always been true to their marriage, he knew that, despite his long absences, and the spate of separations and desertions which decimated the lives of so many of their service friends and acquaintances. He could see Hilda still, as she was at eighteen, twenty years ago. For him, though twice he had been tempted, she was now more attractive, even more desirable than during those first passionate months. Hilda, his Hilda… he wasn't going to give up now-but if he didn't make it, well, the kids would look after her… Flood up and get on with it, Cox'n Bowles: the chamber was drained down.

He reached up and twisted the upper hatch control handle to 'idle'. He checked that he had his vent cap. Then he climbed into the dripping tower and, using the lanyards, lifted the lower lid into place. For an instant he paused, alone in the dark tower; this depth produced a pressure of three hundred pounds per square inch — thank God, these modern suits were designed to compensate automatically. Breathe naturally: the gas bottle in the suit did the rest. Here goes… and deliberately he zipped up his suit. He opened the flooding valve and then the water was licking around his feet, swirling and frothing. In seconds, the sea was up to his navel, icy cold, shrivelling him — and he shivered inside his suit when the water reached the top of the vent. He smacked the vent cap over the top of it and then felt the water deluge starting to ease. The swirling surface was up to his chin, over his mouth, then his head was under water, his world pitch black as the pressure equalized. Panic now, Bowles, and you're done for: drill, drill, remember what they taught you, lad…

He felt the cold circumference above him, traced the circular hatch, stood beneath it, breathing regularly, hearing the clicking of his exhaust valve… save me God. With a swift movement he reached upwards and opened the lid, pushing it with all his strength.

He felt the surge, the pain in his ears: heard the roaring above him as the air bubble lifted him crashing through the hole. He ignored the pain on his shoulders, as he scraped upwards in the darkness and sensed the sudden leap upwards. Breathe normally, that's what they said: in… out… there was enough air in his suit to last the ascent. Thirty seconds for a five-hundred-foot escape; how long to go now? He tugged at his apron to control his attitude. He clamped his feet together, trying to halt the somersaulting, felt the water rushing past him as he threshed up towards the life-giving surface.