by Shaun Lewis
‘And why in heaven’s name would anyone land these sets, Captain?’ Macneish asked.
‘As I said, nobody has carried out a successful escape so there is no proof the apparatus works. The sets are as bulky as a man so they take up valuable storage space, and it’s just another piece of kit that has to be accounted for.’ Keyes folded his arms emphatically. Colville wondered if Keyes thought that he had made the point so convincingly that there was no further need for debate. Certainly, nobody seemed keen to follow him in airing his thoughts.
Colville could see that all eyes were on him to make the next move, but felt under no pressure to say anything immediately. Only when he had made up his mind did he break the silence that seemed so awkward to his advisers.
‘Thank you, Keyes. At least we know the men have the means to attempt an escape. Dr Macneish, earlier you explained that there is a high probability that the survivors who make it to the surface will suffer from the “bends”. Do we have adequate facilities on hand for everyone?’
‘I regret not, sir. Of course, I have a good medical team on hand, but we need recompression chambers to be available to re-pressurise the afflicted. We have a couple on hand here, but otherwise we’re going to have to send casualties to London and Portsmouth. But it’s not just the risk of the ‘bends’ that worries me. At that depth, the air in the men’s lungs will be four times that on the surface. Unless they expel that air, it will expand as they ascend, to the point where their lungs burst. They’re unlikely to be aware of this. Our only experience of success in submarine escape so far has been in the shallow waters of a harbour. We would minimise the risks to the men if we could educate them to breathe out all the way to the surface, but it will go against their instinct. They’ll think they need to hold their breath. Perhaps Lieutenant Davies’s divers could pass a message to warn the men of this.’
Davies did not have the opportunity to respond as the meeting was interrupted by Colville’s Flag Lieutenant with a message. Colville read the message, grunted in a meaningless manner and addressed the expectant faces.
‘Gentlemen, it appears that whoever is in charge down there is taking matters into his own hands. I have just been informed that we are to expect three messengers from the deep within the next thirty minutes.’
Chapter 5
‘All set then?’ Richard asked of the three men assembled in the control room of D2.
Under less tragic circumstances Richard might have thought they looked comical. Each man was wearing a dome-shaped helmet from which he peered through a single pane of glass, like a modern-day Cyclops. Beneath the helmet the men were dressed in a watertight smock, tightened at the waist by a canvas belt, and sea boots. This was the Hall-Rees submarine escape breathing apparatus. Inside the helmet the men breathed oxygen through one of the double canisters secured within the smock. As they exhaled, the other canister absorbed their carbon dioxide and released the oxygen for further use. After just a few minutes of wearing the apparatus, the men had started to feel fitter and better prepared for their next ordeal.
Richard had selected Waterfield, Goddard and Leading Stoker Lucas to be the first to make the escape attempt. Lucas was in a bad way and Richard feared for his chances. Both Waterfield and Goddard would do their best to set him up for the ascent, but once through the conning tower hatch it would have to be each man for himself. He had chosen Waterfield because he would be the most capable of giving a technical report on the state of the submarine and Goddard for his strength. Richard was concerned that the external seawater pressure on the upper hatch of the conning tower might cause difficulties in opening it. As well as briefing Waterfield and Goddard on the messages to be given to the commander above, he had written three sets of detailed notes and these were contained in oilskin bags within each man’s smock. He had taken into account that neither man might survive the ascent and, gruesomely, their corpses might have to serve as messengers.
Two of the strange figures before him answered his question with a thumbs-up sign as it was not possible to speak with the rebreather mouthpiece in place at the same time. The third figure seemed oblivious to anything. It was time to issue his final instructions.
‘Remember to tap on the lower lid if you cannot open the upper hatch and I’ll let you back in. Otherwise, breathe out all the way. Good luck.’
He patted each man on the shoulder and watched them climb into the conning tower. First to go was Goddard, carrying a crowbar in his belt and half dragging the second figure up with his free hand. The last to go up was Waterfield, shoving the pitiable Lucas up as he climbed. Richard stood at the bottom of the tower, watching their progress up the ladder. He watched Goddard slowly unclip the upper lid and give it a shove. Nothing happened. Goddard then pushed the whole weight of his body against the hatch and it gave slightly. As the seal was broken, a steady trickle of seawater started to flow down the tower.
Richard called up, ‘You might need to flood the tower completely to equalise the pressure before opening the hatch. Don’t forget to breathe out. God be with you.’
He shut and clipped the lower hatch and waited. The wait seemed interminable. The air in the control room was even worse than that of the motor room and each breath took a huge effort. He could feel his heart pounding and the joints of his elbows, shoulders and knees screamed with pain. Notwithstanding the extreme discomfort, he willed himself to wait. If Goddard could not open the upper lid, then without his help, they would be entombed in a cylindrical coffin. Whenever his patience wore out he turned on his flashlight to cast a light over the control room clock. The longer I delay, he told himself, then the more likely it is that the men have escaped. After eight minutes his heart and lungs could take no more. He recognised that if he did not move soon, he would pass out. He now regretted not wearing a rebreather himself, but he had not wanted to waste a set. Slowly and painfully he crawled on his hands and knees up the twenty-degree slope back to the motor room.
*
Stoker Petty Officer Collins and five of the remaining hands on board D2 were aware of the First Lieutenant’s plans to escape and waited anxiously for news of their colleagues. Collins thought that the other three no longer cared and, in their fleetingly conscious moments, probably merely wished death would take them more quickly. The healthier had been drilled in the use of the rebreather and had rigged guide ropes around the motor room and two flashlights at head height by the after-ends hatch to enable them to find it in darkness. Sadly, the First Lieutenant had collapsed unconscious immediately after his return from the control room, so Collins had no idea how their three colleagues had fared. Signalman Davies and Collins were tending to him. Altogether the crew had been able to scrape together fourteen Hall-Rees rebreather sets, one more than required. However, Collins knew that three were not working correctly and so the two Siebe Gorman Salvus sets CERA Waterfield had purloined would be lifesavers.
Collins was not just the oldest man in HMS D2’s ship’s company, but now the senior rate onboard and he was concerned. If the First Lieutenant did not regain consciousness, then his would be the responsibility to organise the escape attempt. Although an experienced submarine senior rating, Collins knew he was not a natural leader. He was an extremely skilled mechanic and had earned the respect of the stokers through his hard work and technical competence. In appearance, he was tall, but thin and gangly with a slight stoop. Almost completely bald and very short-sighted, Collins’s benign and diffident nature resembled more that of a school teacher or vicar than a mechanic. Collins’s concern was not just for his First Lieutenant; he was also worried about the three unconscious men. He had an idea, but decided to share the decision with the next most senior rating onboard, Leading Telegraphist Clarke.
‘Nobby, I’ve had an idea, but would appreciate your opinion. How long would you reckon it will take us to escape once we get going?’
‘What d’you mean, how long?’ Clarke replied confusedly.
‘I mean, once we open that hatch, how long do
you think it will take for us all to get out and to the surface? Ten minutes? Twenty minutes?’
‘Oh, right, I get your drift. Well, it depends on where you are in the queue, dunnit? Perhaps five minutes for the lucky ones and mebbe twenty minutes for the poor bastards left to the end. What of it, PO? Are you worried about being left behind?’
‘Just hear me out. These rebreather sets should last about thirty to forty minutes, right?’
‘Yeah. I believe so.’
‘Right, so if we used each of our ten rebreather sets for, say, ten minutes on each unconscious man, including the First Lieutenant here, then that’s a hundred minutes’ worth between four men. That gives each twenty-five minutes’ worth and still leaves a reserve of twenty to thirty minutes left on each set. It might not be enough if there’s a delay in us leaving, but it might just save their lives. What do you think?’
Clarke took his time in replying. Collins wondered if it was because he could not understand the logic or was contemplating how far he was prepared to risk his life for the sake of his shipmates.
‘Alright, PO, I can see the sense in your idea. But the plan is to wait an hour before we make our escape. Twenty-five minutes isn’t going to be enough, is it?’
‘I know that, Nobby, but it might be enough to stabilise the sick men’s condition and keep them alive. If we need to give them more time on a rebreather, we can limit it to just a few sets that we allocate to the first ones to go through the hatch. If we don’t do something, then I’m sure somebody’s going to die. Are you up for it? Will you help me rotate the sets?’
Clarke hesitated before nodding, perhaps a little reluctantly, and then going to fetch the first four rebreathers.
*
To the relief of both men, after only five or so minutes of breathing unpoisoned air, Richard recovered consciousness. He congratulated Collins on his marvellous idea. However, he shared Clarke’s misgivings that the early use of the emergency breathing apparatus was reducing their margins of safety. Nevertheless, he had little time to dwell on the decision and what actions he might have to take before there was further knocking on the hull. This time it was Clarke who translated the coded message.
‘2-S-A-F-E-L-Y-R-E-C-O-V-E-R-E-D-STOP-I-N-S-T-R-U-C-T-I-O-N-S-U-N-D-E-R-S-T-O-O-D-STOP-A-L-L-W-I-L-L-B-E-R-E-A-D-Y-A-T-1-6-0-0-END.’
The relief amongst the men was obvious. Richard checked his watch. They had another forty minutes to wait. He briefly wondered who had not survived the ascent to the surface. He assumed it must have been Lucas but, no matter, two had arrived safely and that showed it could be done. It was now time for him to decide on the running order for the mass escape. He first checked the condition of the three unconscious men. There was no question that they had to be in the first group to go. He pondered leaving them until last, on the grounds that they were least likely to survive, but they would need to be helped out of the submarine, and for that he needed others to help. He selected Stoker Scott, a huge Irishman, to help him evacuate these men. That left just five men and he arranged for them to draw lots for the first places. To his satisfaction, Collins and Clarke had decided to leave last in view of their relative seniority.
With ten minutes to go, the men prepared to don their escape gear, the first three men due to go receiving the rebreathers with the shortest remaining life. Richard and Scott dressed two of the unconscious men in the experimental Siebe Gorman Salvus sets. Waterfield had explained that these sets provided fresh oxygen continuously, whereas the Hall-Rees apparatus relied on the wearer to draw the fresh oxygen with his own lungs. With five minutes to go, Richard flooded the empty stern torpedo tube and the men took up their positions ready for the escape. He addressed them for the final time.
‘Remember that once we start flooding the compartment it will be more difficult to move around and more than likely it will be dark. Use the guide ropes to avoid getting lost and don’t panic. You all have more than enough reserves of oxygen, so take your time in making your escape. There is no need to rush. Once you are through the hatch, you will find divers on hand to direct you to the guide ropes. Take your time to head for the surface and breathe out all the way. The calmer you do this, the better shape you will be in when you arrive. Once you reach the surface, there will be plenty of help on hand to retrieve you from the water, so just enjoy the ride. And think of your fourteen days’ survivors’ leave.’ The men chuckled at the thought.
At precisely four o’clock they all heard two successive loud underwater explosions, the signal Richard had requested in his message to the surface commander to be the indication that all was ready and Richard’s instructions implemented. He took one last look around the anxious faces in the motor room.
‘Right then. Everybody ready to go? Helmets on. God speed to you all. Chief, start flooding the compartment.’
Richard left them to make their final preparations and headed for the after torpedo compartment with Scott. He operated the lever to open the bow cap of the stern torpedo tube and waited for the indicator to show that it had opened correctly. He and Scott then cracked open the rear door of the flooded tube. Cold seawater immediately started to seep into the after torpedo compartment, too. Within a few seconds the two men had the door completely open and the green water gushed into the compartment in an angry torrent. We’ve crossed the Rubicon now, Richard thought. We’re beyond the point of no return. We’ll never be able to shut the door to the tube against the pressure of this gushing waterfall.
Richard and Scott returned to the motor room and Richard indicated to the two men standing by the hatch to unclip it. A series of steady drips of water started to leak into the compartment but, as Richard had suspected, the external sea pressure bearing down on the hatch was too great to allow the men to lift it. They would have to wait for the flooding seawater to raise the pressure within the compartment sufficiently to equalise it with that outside.
Very soon Richard detected the peculiar smell of chlorine gas being given off by the batteries and he realised it was time he donned his own escape gear. It was a relief to be breathing clean air again, but the helmet limited his visibility and he could no longer speak to his men. The earlier eerie silence on board was now totally shattered by the steady roar of the incoming water. The water level was already above the men’s knees and, on his signal, a pair of the survivors helped him and Scott drag two of the unconscious men back to the after torpedo compartment.
They had just completed the task when the lights failed, plunging them into almost complete darkness. Looking forward, Richard could see the distant glow of the two flashlights secured beneath the after-ends hatch and he switched on his own, before wedging it between two pipes so that it illuminated the open torpedo tube. He had left Collins to supervise the escape from the motor room and there was no more he could do for his men right now. His priority was to rescue the unconscious.
By now the water had already risen to above waist height so he and Scott tethered their charges to avoid them floating away. A shaft of bright light shone through the torpedo tube and Richard peered as best he could back up the tube. Scott steadied him against the inflow of water and then Richard saw that which he was seeking. What appeared to be a dark underwater snake was sinewing down the tube. He reached up and grabbed it. Pulling it down into the compartment, he nodded to Scott to prepare the first escapee. The line was thick manila cord that the divers had sent down as a rescue line for the unconscious, and Richard was grateful that some proactive soul had had the sense to prepare a loop in the line, to spare him having to tie a bowline knot. His hands were already starting to become numb through the cold. Gently, he and Scott untethered the first of the unconscious men and fitted the loop of the rope beneath his armpits. The water level had risen to chest height so they had little difficulty in floating him towards the tube opening. Richard yanked the line with three sharp tugs and slowly the slack was taken up before the patient was hauled up through the tube by unseen hands.
After a few long minutes, a
nother line was sent down the tube and somebody rapped on the hull to indicate they were ready to take the next man. By now both Richard and Scott were completely underwater and Richard’s flashlight had shorted. Except for the loom of the light outside, the compartment was in darkness. It reminded Richard of one of those cloudy days at his home in Lancashire, when the sun briefly broke through the clouds to cast a wide beam of light over the Irish Sea.
The absence of proper illumination made it very difficult for him to secure the lifeline to the second unconscious man. He started to fear that he and Scott may have left it too late to save themselves. It was too dark to see his watch, but he estimated that it perhaps took a further three vital minutes before he had his second charge ready to be hauled through the tube to safety. As soon as he had positioned the man inside the tube, he pushed Scott towards the motor room and signalled to the divers to start hauling away. As the unfortunate sailor was dragged upwards, Richard pondered making his own escape through the torpedo tube, too, but he quickly dismissed the temptation. The bulkiness of his Hall-Rees smock made it impossible to pass through the eighteen-inch, narrow bore of the tube, and in any case he had a duty to ensure all the men had made their escape through the after-ends hatch. It was only then that he realised his mistake. He had not thought to rig a guide rope between the torpedo tube and motor room. He and Scott now had to find their way forward in complete darkness.
Richard was suddenly grateful for his submarine experience. As part of the training to qualify as a submariner, every member of the crew, no matter how junior or senior, was required to learn every system on board and literally know his way round each compartment blindfolded. Scott should be able to find his way, he thought. He felt with his left hand for the port torpedo rack and, keeping contact with it, he carefully paced his way down the slope forward. As his hand came into contact with the propeller blades of a torpedo, he knew he was only about six feet from the bulkhead separating the after torpedo compartment from the motor room. Two paces later he stumbled upon Scott who, notwithstanding his training, must have become disorientated in the corner of the compartment. Guiding Scott with a none-too-gentle shove, Richard continued his passage by feel alone and soon found the open bulkhead door. The two men ducked through the doorway and spotted with relief one of the flashlights still shining by the entrance to the now-open after-ends hatch. It was too dark to signal to Scott, so Richard just grabbed him by the shoulder and steered him towards the hatch. Scott needed no second invitation and clambered upwards and through the hatch on his way to safety.