Submarine

With Farquharson beside him, Coombes went over the day's events, taking the good news first: the uninterrupted communications with Northwood came at the top of the list. There had been no break in the VLF communications: COMSUBEASTLANT had monitored Safari for the past twelve hours towards the prime target. Admittedly, having to come up for the half-hour routines had tried Coombes' limited patience, but that exercise was in the past, since Safari had picked up the Typhoon.

The sinking of the Alfa by STRIGRUFOR'S aircraft had altered things. From then onwards, as Safari batted northwards at thirty knots, their hopes had risen. At 1730 the Typhoon altered to the north-west and, spurred on by the wiles of the aircraft astern of her, converged with Safari. But elation in the British boat soon evaporated when it was confirmed that, still steaming faster than Safari, the Typhoon would pass ahead. This, the bad news, was only rectified by the 2130 flash. Since then, the enemy had reduced to twenty knots to feel her way through the Victorian Island — Alexandra Land gap — perhaps also sensitive to possible SOSUS detection?

The culmination of Safari's hopes occurred at 2035 when, slowed for her routine, she picked up the Typhoon at thirty-seven miles. But once again their elation was dashed: at 2100 the plotting team confirmed that Typhoon was outpacing Safari at the rate of five knots, the range having increased to thirty-nine miles. Despair was only dispelled by the sitrep from Carl Vinson, since when Safari had been overtaking. Now, at 2310, the enemy was only seventeen miles ahead, and presumably still unaware that she was being tailed, was continuing at twenty knots. Safari's navigating officer, his SINS working impeccably, had taken her through the gap at three hundred feet, fifteen miles to the west of Cape Mary Harmsworth, without reducing speed. The passage had been one during which they talked little: there wasn't much sea room at this speed.

'How far to the edge of the ice?' Coombes asked his navigator for the umpteenth time.

'Now, sir? Thirty-seven miles.'

'And the target?'

'Twenty-one. She must ease down soon.'

'And go deep,' Coombes muttered. 'We're sixteen miles astern and overhauling at ten knots. But how long dare we go on without being detected? She must hear us soon.'

'Will you be reducing, sir?' Farquharson asked. 'For the ice?'

'I'll have to,' Coombes snapped. 'Bloody fool question, pilot.'

'I want to set up SINS, sir.'

'We'll wait and see.'

Coombes stretched, then lumbered into the centre of his control-room. He nodded at his first lieutenant:

'Go to action stations, Number One,' he ordered. 'Remain at Ultra Quiet State.'

Chapter 28

HM Submarine Safari, 18 May.

The fore-endies, CPO Scanes thought, certainly have the advantage of variety. Back-endies were a different breed — the sheer repetition of the propulsion department's routine needed men of stoical stuff because, whatever happened in the control-room and the fore-ends, life back-aft ground on day after day: the inexhaustible nuclear kettle was an insatiable mistress. He was paying his daily visit to the control-room to keep abreast of things and to see how Hank Botham was getting on — they'd only managed to have a few words together because the Old Man decided to go to action stations half an hour ago. With nothing to do off-watch, Scanes tucked himself into his favourite corner by the starboard side of the mast cage.

The tension could be felt in the control-room. The captain stood behind the attack co-ordinator, their unflappable Jimmy, Stuart Hamilton, who, hands in pockets, was overseeing the fire control and action information consoles. His team had been closed up for two hours already but, judging by their brisk reports, the climax of the chase could not be far off. Grenville, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other, stood glaring over the heads of the two operators at his fire control console, waiting to start the attack. To his right, the ops officer, Kenneth Whalley, was murmuring to his three men at their action information displays. The navigator, Farquharson, was the only officer raising his voice, as he supervised the harassed plotters on the CEP: upon them and the sonar people Safari's survival and the success of her mission now depended. Who would fire first, the Typhoon or Safari? If their lives did not depend on the outcome, Scanes would have enjoyed this final drama. The impending battle would be a test of nerve between the captains Of the two submarines: a trial of cunning, of stealth, the prize survival, and perhaps peace.

'The Typhoon's easing down, sir.' Stuart Hamilton turned his craggy, lined face towards the captain. 'She may be going deep.'

'What's her range?' Coombes asked.

'Sixteen thousand yards.'