Not Thinking of Death

by Not Thinking of Death (retail) (epub)

  The hatch would then have been left open – one of the submarine’s two escape chambers thus put out of action. Chalk had read Pargeter’s thinking: only a few hours in which to get everyone out tomorrow, even with two chambers in operation – that slow procedure of flooding up, then draining down, time after time…

  By then, you’d be suffocating.

  Pargeter told him, low-voiced outside the chamber, ‘We’ve two rather formidable handicaps here. One’s obvious – far too many men on board. The other – keep this under your hat – is that about half the DSEA sets we embarked are in there.’ A jerk of his head indicated the flooded TSC.

  A silence, while that sank in. And of course, a lot of the sets would have been in there. Pargeter muttered, ‘Best to keep it to ourselves. Cox’n knows, of course, and the TI.’

  ‘If you’d let me get in there, sir – shut the rear door, then—’

  ‘No. Definitely not.’

  He was probably right, at that. But it left practically no alternatives.

  Following him aft… ‘Try the idea of getting air in through the whistle, will you?’

  A grunt: ‘Nothing else for it, is there.’

  Meaning – effectively – Last straw…

  The whistle – operated by high-pressure air and used for sound-signals when manoeuvring in harbour – was above the bridge, fixed to the for’ard periscope standard. The air would only go one way, normally – upward – and modifying it, turning it into an inlet for HP air supplied from the surface, would have to be the engineers’ task tonight.

  Pargeter said quietly, turning back to him. ‘Have to face it, could take ’em hours to set it up, up there. Getting the gear together and so on.’ Peering into the Chiefs’ and PO’s mess: ‘All right, Cox’n?’

  Meaning, was the TI going to be all right. CPO West nodded towards a blanket-covered shape: ‘Be back on his feet soon, sir.’

  ‘Good. But let him have as much rest as he needs.’

  ‘Sir – I’d have a go meself, if—’

  ‘No, we’re not trying that again. Thanks all the same, Cox’n.’

  Moving on: and back to the subject of getting air from the surface… ‘On the other hand, you see, by first light they may have a salvage ship up there – divers, compressors, hoses, all we need. If that was the case and we weren’t ready for them, didn’t at least try this – uh?’

  ‘Yes.’ It was a chance – of sorts. He suggested – following Pargeter towards the wardroom – ‘No chance of getting her up under her own power, I suppose?’

  ‘Hardly. With about enough air in the bottles to blow out the candles on a birthday cake?’

  ‘I hadn’t realized…’ They’d both stopped, short of the wardroom – opposite the ERAs’ mess. ‘So – with surfacing a doubtful prospect, sir – and nothing like enough DSEA sets—’

  ‘Free ascents. Best men we’ve got – volunteers, obviously – hold ’em to the last, get all the untrained men out first. Assisted, of course.’

  Christ…

  ‘Free ascent’ meant getting out through the chamber without a DSEA set. Holding your breath – as far as that was possible. In each group you’d include one man whom you’d pick as likely to be able to hold it longer than most.

  Like Rufus Chalk, for instance. He nodded. ‘Count me in, sir.’

  ‘Thank you. Must say, I’d rather expected…’

  They were back at the wardroom, then.

  ‘What we have to think about now—’ his tone was brighter and more purposeful, addressing the men around the table – ‘since as you’ll have heard we’ve had to give up that notion—’

  ‘Rotten luck.’ McAllister, frowning. ‘Rotten.’ Watching Dymock being helped into Pargeter’s cupboard-sized cabin by Eason and Hervey. ‘Are you sure you’re right not to have one more go?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Pargeter sat down. ‘I am. Incidence of failure’s too high. Two – three – just in the chamber. Imagine how much chance they’d have when they got out of it, burning up energy… Anyone – including Chalk here, who’s been volunteering every few minutes—’

  ‘Good for you, Chalk.’

  Quarry, that had been. Adding: ‘Look here – Jacko – if Chalk and I were to have a shot at it together—’

  ‘No.’ Head back against the edge of the bunk behind him, with his eyes shut for a moment… ‘No, forget all that. Better to concentrate on getting an air supply via the whistle – so we can then blow and keep blowing until we shift her. Rig new air-lines during the night—’ he glanced at Fairley – ‘put your fitters to work? – and pump out every tank we’ve got, including fuel and fresh water. Then – we thought three men, didn’t we?’ He was looking at Random, the commander from Blockhouse. Adding, ‘With our proposals in writing, attached to them.’

  So that a body could surface dead, Chalk realized, and the message would still be delivered.

  Random was saying, ‘– make three copies – to be enclosed in French letters and worn—’ using a forefinger to draw the outlines of a necklace – ‘as decoratively as only an FL can be.’

  McAllister observed, staring at him, ‘You’ve been giving it a great deal of thought, Random.’

  Nodding slowly, straight-faced: ‘A certain amount, sir.’

  ‘We were thinking earlier on—’ Pargeter explained, mostly to Buchanan – ‘that Commander Random should take charge of this. He’s as fit as any of us, more experienced than most, and his rank should carry weight—’ a forefinger pointed at the deckhead – ‘up there.’ He glanced at McAllister. ‘You agree, sir?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ The flotilla captain’s large hands, clasped together on the table, separated and then closed again. ‘Mind you, if I was a few years younger and a stone or two lighter – and hadn’t left my FLs at home—’

  Laughter. Not from Hughes, frowning at his own clasped hands, or from Joe Fairley, who forced a smile but looked embarrassed. Pargeter began – talking to Random – ‘Next thing to decide is who goes with you. Essential qualifications – you’ll all agree, I’m sure – fitness, and proficiency in DSEA. Object of the exercise—’ He glanced up to his left, into the companionway: ‘What is it, Cox’n?’

  ‘Serve supper, sir? Leftovers from the lunch – caterers say not a lot, but—’

  ‘Go ahead.’ He turned back to the group around the table, his sad eyes drifting particularly to Hughes and Fairley… ‘I was saying – object of the exercise being much less to send three individuals out than to get this submarine up there, save all our lives.’

  Chapter 12

  Awake again: or he thought he was. Yes – definitely: physical discomfort was evidence of it. Straightening from the flopped position he’d been in – at the end of the padded bench, leaning sideways against the tier of bunks, each of which had two men on it lying head to toe like sardines – aware of a cricked neck as well as difficulty in drawing breath. Other men’s short, hard breathing – more gasps, than breaths – and sporadic snoring, occasionally a whimper or a mutter from a dream.

  Trumpeter was standing on her nose again. It was why one had a problem sitting upright, and why the bodies in the bunks rested either against bulkheads or the lee-boards.

  He checked the time. Five-ten. 0510. It would be light, up there. On shore, cocks crowing.

  Zero hour was to be 0700. Unless there were identifiable sounds – better still, signals – from the surface before that. Pargeter’s salvage vessel, for instance. Probably about as many of them within steaming-distance as there were Flying Dutchmen. But – try anything. At some point Chalk himself had come up with an alternative – in which nobody had shown much interest, for some reason. As for timing – originally the assumption had been that they’d make a start at first light, but Pargeter had revised this, decided that to make absolutely sure there was someone up there to receive them, and that it was fully light so they’d be spotted – one knew nothing of weather conditions, there might be a rough sea and a heavy overcast for instance – he’d wait until 070
0.

  Thinking about that – trying to. It wasn’t easy to stay awake, at least to keep the brain properly awake. Tendency to drift off-course… Head sideways on his hands on the table-top. Gleeson, the little engineer captain, was leaning against him on the high side. Beyond him, two Admiralty civilians. He was supporting most of their weight too. Surprising that Gleeson hadn’t been squashed flat by this time. McAllister was in Pargeter’s cubby-hole just abaft the wardroom heads: he’d been invited to move in there – when Dymock had emerged from it looking like death itself – by virtue less of his rank than the fact he took up so much room. He was on the bunk and Bellamy, the Admiralty Constructor, was on the deck. They’d all been told – everyone on board had – to rest, lie still, sleep if they could, expend no energy that would make them use up more air.

  Except for the Barlows’ workmen, of course, who’d been at it half the night. The air hadn’t been as bad then as it was now, of course.

  Gleeson croaked, opening an eye, ‘A canary would drop dead in this putrid atmosphere.’ Then he went back to sleep.

  Now concentrate, he told himself…

  About the proposal for supply of air from the surface. Odds against it achieving its purpose being – well, not favourable.

  You’d get up there, all right. From the after escape chamber, with the boat’s 270-foot length slanted at this angle, there wouldn’t be more than twenty or thirty feet of water to float up through. Depending on the state of the tide, might be even less. Although one didn’t much like this angle on the boat as it might affect the operation of the chamber, which was designed to be used when she was on an even keel.

  Random had decided to have Chalk and the Outside ERA – Crowley – with him. He’d given as his reasons that they were both strong, fit men who’d been through DSEA training, had long submarine experience and were probably as level-headed as you’d find. Near enough the same qualifications that Pargeter would be looking for in the men who’d be asked to volunteer to try free ascents. Chalk’s relief at Random’s having rescued him from that had been hard to disguise. Shamingly so, as he and Pargeter had exchanged glances.

  At some stage – memory stirring, as he worked at it – Buchanan had broken a period of silence to ask Pargeter, ‘Jacko – didn’t someone say the escape chamber would take four men at a time?’

  There’d been some discussion, then. The conclusion being affirmative, that four should be perfectly all right. (Limiting it to three in this instance had been because the primary objective was to get some men out with the HP air proposal, and giving them a bit of elbow-room in the chamber might improve their chances.)

  ‘But after this first one—’ Buchanan again – ‘I think you said you’d send the rest out in fours. Are you implying now that it’s more dangerous than in threes?’

  Pargeter’s eyes resting on him with the sad look which anyone who didn’t know him might have taken for regret that a former golfing opponent – or partner – should have thought it appropriate to raise such an issue.

  He’d told him no, four was as safe as three.

  ‘So why not send four this time?’

  Pargeter had glanced interrogatively at Random, who’d asked Buchanan, ‘You want to join us?’

  ‘Oh, no. For one thing. I’ve a dicky heart.’ A glance at Chalk. ‘Told you, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes.’ He’d nodded to Pargeter. ‘He did.’

  ‘Andrew – I’m sorry to hear this, but we won’t accept it as an impediment to—’

  ‘Certainly won’t.’ Random had interrupted, at the same time looking round at the others. ‘Someone nominate a fourth man, please?’

  ‘Ballantyne. The pilot.’

  It was John Hervey’s suggestion, and nobody had raised any objection until it was put to Ballantyne himself, who’d been clearly astonished that they should have picked on him.

  ‘Grateful, for the offer. But – sooner take m’ chances – that ye’ll get her up, that is… Wouldn’t ye do better havin’ one o’ the youngsters go along?’

  They’d settled on a Barlows’ electrician, name of Cox, whom Chalk had recognized as the one who’d stopped him in the Control Room with the question, ‘Anything doin’, sir?’

  Checking the time again. 0526.

  Either he’d dreamt it, or Buchanan had told Dymock he was a four-letter man. Putting the mind to this now. Dream?

  No. No dream – fact. He had. Chalk remembered also that his own inclination had been to laugh, ask him, ‘Aren’t we all, a lot of the time?’

  Dymock more so than most, certainly. Nothing funny about it, either. When one thought of Guy.

  As one did…

  The confrontation between Buchanan and Dymock must have been fairly recent. The air had already been thin, both of them getting their words out in the spasmodic manner of speech which came from needing to take a breath between every few words. Another piece of evidence was that moment of light-headedness which had affected him… Recalling now, though, that Buchanan had opened with ‘Got to hand it to you. You’ve got guts, all right.’

  ‘Oh.’ Weak smile. ‘Come off it, Andrew…’

  ‘Don’t you agree, Rufus? Got guts?’

  ‘One might certainly hope he had.’

  ‘Going in that chamber twice. Twice.’

  ‘Oh, that…’

  ‘Still a swine, but – going in there twice. To me – defies the imagination.’

  ‘I’m trained for it. All my adult life—’

  ‘When not chasing other men’s wives?’

  ‘All our training – not guts, second nature.’ As if he hadn’t heard that. And at a lower level now: he’d been standing, then leaning, and now he’d knelt or crouched so that only his head and eyes were visible above the level of the table. Nobody had any excess of energy. Also the angle on the boat – so this had been fairly recent, they’d already got her stern well up… He explained to Buchanan, ‘You train yourself to be ready for it. If it does happen – anything like this.’

  ‘And it has.’

  ‘Well – yes, but—’

  ‘Aren’t I lucky? Eh? First time out?’

  Chuckling: at the same time struggling for breath… Chalk put in, ‘Hard to believe, isn’t it. Wake up properly by and by, find it hasn’t?’

  Hasn’t happened, he’d meant. Even to oneself one had to make it clear, avoid confusion as far as possible. Dymock’s voice intruding again at about this point: ‘You’ll be all right anyway, Rufus. Last in, first out – how it goes, eh?’

  ‘Want to take my place?’

  ‘Christ, no! Bloody hell, man, I’m knackered!’

  ‘Dymock.’ Buchanan’s face swam back into focus. ‘I still say you’re a four-letter man.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why d’you think?’

  ‘Haven’t the least—’

  ‘Zoe told me. You going to deny it? Call her a liar – insult to damned injury?’

  ‘Deny what, old man?’

  The work had been finished by then – the hours of hammering, filing, sawing in the Control Room which they’d been using as a workshop, removing piping that wasn’t needed and adapting and fitting it elsewhere. While Dymock had been in charge of getting all the oil and fresh water out of her – aided and abetted by Nat Eason whom Pargeter had asked to substitute for Wally Bristol.

  The thought of Bristol raised again the question of who’d opened that bowcap. Mike Searle had opened the rear door, but only because he’d been certain the bowcap was shut like all the others. Both the TI and Leading Torpedoman Eddington had been positive on this. Although the TI had agreed that Searle should have made his prior check by opening the drains, not just the test-cocks, and Eddington had admitted that he hadn’t seen him use the rimers either. There’d been a debate about this last night, but neither the Barlows’ people nor the Admiralty team, who jointly had been responsible for putting the trim on, would admit the possibility of the bowcap having been opened by one of their men. But if one of Trumpeter’s torpedo
men had been misled by those indicators pointing in different directions and opened it under the impression that he’d been shutting it – well, in the first place he wouldn’t have touched it without prior reference to the TI, and in the second, if for some reason he’d thought it necessary to go ahead and do it off his own bat, so to speak, he’d most certainly have reported it right away.

  The discussion had ended when it had become dangerously overheated and McAllister had called a halt to it.

  ‘Go into it later. Much later. There’ll be a Court of Inquiry into this balls-up, it’ll come out then.’ A grin at Hughes. ‘See you in Court, eh?’

  Buchanan leant forward so he could see him past the intervening bodies. ‘Rufus?’

  He opened his eyes. ‘Huh?’

  ‘Has got guts, hasn’t he?’

  Talking about Dymock again. Dymock meanwhile having vanished. Probably only below the level of the table, but it would have been a waste of effort to have looked. He agreed with Buchanan: ‘Yes. He has.’

  ‘I ask you – why would she have made up a thing like that?’

  He shut his eyes again. ‘God knows.’

  ‘Zoe never did make things up. She’s so – straight, there’s no question… I’d trust her till kingdom come. That’s why I’m not in the least put out when she wants to go down to London, for instance. I miss her, of course, miss her terribly, but—’

  ‘You’re a lucky man.’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ He paused. Then: ‘And Dymock’s a four-letter man.’

  ‘As you told him.’

  ‘I did, didn’t I? And he asked why!’

  ‘Yes. I heard.’

  ‘I’m well aware that her manner can be – flirtatious, sometimes.’ Peering at Chalk, querying whether he might ever have noticed this. Chalk didn’t react, and he went on, ‘It’s a game to her, doesn’t mean a thing. Play-acting… God’s sake, Dymock didn’t get far, did he!’

  ‘Obviously not.’

  ‘She rang me about him… Well, I told you. But there’s your proof – if you needed any… Rufus, listen. If I don’t get out of this—’