Coldly he raised the glasses again and levelled them on the submarine. For a long moment he stared at the hump below her conning tower which housed the missile launcher. The weapon which had killed and maimed so many, here today, and at the village. As he watched, the steel doors started to close, and when he looked at Dalziel he saw his realization stamped on his face, too.
‘She’s got ’em shut!’ He looked round the bridge and said quietly, ‘But she’s too damn late this time.’
Frantically the submarine’s commander tried to turn back on his original escape route, the slender hull rocking in the wash of power and rudders while he used everything to swing her away from those buckled, looming bows.
Men were clambering back into the conning tower, and as spray spouted above her tanks Standish knew they were going to dive. Above the din of fans and engines, of groaning metal and yelling men, he heard a klaxon, saw the submarine’s bows begin to dip, the water creaming and sluicing back over the casing as she started to go under.
Standish watched her fixedly. ‘Starboard ten.’ No, too much. ‘Midships! Steady now!’ He blinked the sweat from his eyes to watch as the submarine swam across the bows like a giant whale.
The last fifty yards seemed to go in a flash. One second she was there lying diagonally across the Terrapin’s battered stem, her hull all but covered and the sea bursting around her tilting conning tower. The very next instant she was here, right here, the conning tower suddenly higher than the stemhead, the sea-slime bright green in the sunlight.
Standish wrapped his arms around the gyro repeater, his eyes fixed on the onrushing shape as Dalziel yelled, ‘Stop both engines! Prepare to ram!’
Even so the shock was as sharp as it was agonizing. He felt the steel pressing into his chest even as the engines churned astern, the crashing, grinding embrace which seemed to go on and on until he could no longer record time or sounds. He watched, dulled and fascinated as the conning tower lifted until it was right above the port side of the forecastle, the casing beyond it twisting and reeling as the maddened frigate drove on across her hull, slicing it open, smashing it down so that even through the terrible noise Standish heard the triumphant inrush of water, the scream of tearing metal as victim and vanquisher changed roles for the last time.
Then it was over, with the Terrapin swaying drunkenly above her own shadow, the sea’s sudden turbulence momentarily eased by a great widening spread of oil which seemed to reach out as far as the reefs and beyond that.
Dalziel slumped in his chair, his voice very tired as he said, ‘Go and check the damage, Number One. We’d better get ready to leave her.’
Once more Standish left the bridge, past those same faces and familiar figures. When he returned shortly afterwards he could feel the unreality gripping him like some intoxicating drug.
When he saw a seaman adjusting his orange lifejacket he stopped and said thickly, ‘You can forget that. There’ll be no swimming just yet!’
It was incredible. With her stem smashed in and her hull battered almost beyond recognition, the Terrapin was refusing to die. The forward bulkhead was not even weeping, in spite of the fact it was the only solid thing between the sea and the rest of the forecastle. Perhaps the loss of both anchors had made just that much difference? But as one of the pumps started up again and Quarrie peered from his engine room hatch to give him a dazed thumbs-up, he began to think otherwise.
When he reached the bridge he saw Rideout standing beside the captain’s chair, his face pale as he looked blankly at the others. Standish reached him in three strides. Dalziel was watching him, his expression one of curiosity and tired satisfaction.
Standish asked quietly, ‘How do you feel, sir?’ He did not have to see the great dressing which Rideout had placed above Dalziel’s thigh to know the answer. It was already sodden with blood.
And when he glanced at Rideout the doctor dropped his eyes, his lips ashen as he whispered, ‘All this time. Just sitting there. It’s not possible!’
Dalziel reached out and gripped Standish’s sleeve. ‘You were just going to tell me, eh? That she’s all right?’
He peered at Standish’s mouth as he replied, ‘She is, sir. God knows how or why, but we’ll get her home. Just as you always wanted.’
Dalziel nodded. ‘You understood, eh?’ He grimaced and then said, ‘Make ’em all sit up.’ He shifted his head stiffly as Quarrie clattered on to the bridge. ‘Sorry about the mess, Chief.’
Quarrie’s eyes widened slightly, then he replied, ‘I can raise about five knots for you sir. The pumps have got control now.’ He looked away, unable to watch Dalziel’s face. ‘Always said she’s a good ’un!’
Standish put his arm round Dalziel’s shoulder, seeing the life going from his deepset eyes even as he said, ‘It’s getting damn dark. You know, Number One, I can’t abide …’ His head dropped forward and the oak-leaved cap rolled against Quarrie’s feet.
Quarrie picked it up and said fiercely, ‘Say what you like.’ He handed it to Standish. ‘By God, he was a man!’
Standish placed it below the shattered screen. There was so much to do, and a long way to go.
He looked at Quarrie and the others. ‘We will take it in easy stages. See how she answers.’ He half turned, almost expecting Dalziel to interrupt him. For a long moment he stood looking at him, his head moving gently to the ship’s motion, one hand still on the glasses around his neck as if he was about to use them.
What was it Rideout had said? He tried to clear his mind from the ache and the sense of loss.
‘His trouble is that he was born two hundred years too late.’
He looked sadly at the splinter holes and dark stains, at the men around him, and the small, battered ship around them.
Maybe he was. But for him none of this might have happened. But for him also, none of them would have survived.
He said quietly, ‘Carry on, gentlemen. We will get under way in ten minutes.’
But they still stood there, their faces strained and suddenly aged as they accepted that they had survived.
Standish added, ‘Well, let’s get on with it. We haven’t got all bloody night!’
Behind him he could almost imagine Dalziel laughing.
Epilogue
ONE WEEK TO a day after Dalziel’s death, in a long, austere room above Singapore’s great naval anchorage, a court of enquiry was convened to hear the circumstances and to pass judgment on the loss of Her Majesty’s frigate Terrapin.
While Standish had stood before the baize-covered table with its grave-faced senior officers in their white drill and glittering decorations he had listened to his own level voice with something like disbelief, as if still unable to accept that in spite of all their efforts the Terrapin had actually gone down. As if by turning his head slightly he would be able to see her lying at her buoy, battered and pitted with splinter holes, with all that jaunty defiance he had come to love.
If he had chosen the exact time and position for the final moment he could have done no better. Twenty-four hours after they had smashed through the submarine’s hull they had sighted an American destroyer, and for the Terrapin it seemed that the slow, lonely journey was ended. The destroyer had swept towards them, her signal light flashing, then Quarrie had reported that the engine room was flooding. The pumps, unable or unwilling to stem the sudden inrush of water, stopped altogether, and while the other ship edged carefully alongside, the Terrapin started to settle down.
As he spoke Standish had been aware of the complete silence in the long room, like the tension he had sensed when the commander of that same American destroyer had given his own account of what he had witnessed during the old frigate’s last moments. How she had looked, and the damage which he had seen perhaps better than anyone.
On the face of it there had been no reason, no one true cause for the Terrapin’s behaviour. The sea had been flat calm, without even a breeze to ruffle its surface. There had been sufficient time to take off every man, and only wh
en Standish had followed the rest aboard the destroyer did Terrapin decide to make the final gesture.
With something like tired dignity she had started to lean on to her side, exposing for just a while longer the great gaping holes left by the rockets, the weed and dents on her bilge keel. Then, almost eagerly, she had gone, taking with her her own dead to the untroubled depths. She was in good company.
All the way to Singapore Standish had thought of those last minutes, and as he had described them to the silent court he had been reminded again and again of so many small events, once familiar faces and voices, as if he was speaking for them, and not of them.
The enquiry lasted all day, with evidence from technical advisers as well as witnesses from amongst the Terrapin’s survivors.
As he completed his summary of events Standish glanced slowly at the others who had gone before him, wondering how they were feeling behind their various masks, how they would suffer or benefit after today.
Captain Jerram had spoken of Dalziel at some length, his tone grave and unhurried as he had outlined his past record before assuming command. It was hard to know what Jerram was really thinking. Perhaps in his own way he was glad that both ship and captain were beyond human reach. Relieved to be spared the embarrassment of Dalziel here facing him in the courtroom.
The American admiral, Curtis, had described loosely the function of his unified command and the part played in it by the Terrapin. His evidence was short to a point of brevity. Maybe he thought it pointless to elaborate when the rest of the world had already formed its own opinions. They had been as varied as they were predictable. The British and the Americans had condemned the attack on the Terrapin as wanton aggression, and had praised the courage and determination of her company. The Russians had said very little, grateful perhaps at seeing China involved in the undeclared struggle between East and West while the world’s eyes were momentarily diverted from their own affairs in Europe.
The Chinese had denied even losing a submarine, but in Peking the British Embassy had been attacked by Red Guards and two English journalists were arrested for espionage. They would, it seemed, wait for the next round.
Lieutenant Rhodes had been present throughout the hearing but had said nothing. Standish had watched him while Curtis had been speaking, and had tried to see beyond the American’s outward calm. He more than anyone might have been able to give the full truth of that last savage encounter. With or without Admiral Curtis’s consent, he could have been the one to fix the final obsession in Dalziel’s mind, knowing that he above all would act at the least chance of success. If Curtis did know or suspect, he gave no hint to the court.
He had looked around the watching officers and had said quietly, ‘This was no ordinary sea fight, gentlemen. There were no flags, no emblems of country, and maybe in what we have heard today we will recognize our path for the future. Nor was this another Pueblo incident, but one where a small, outdated ship fought with honour and total bravery, values which still rate high in a free society.’
Occasionally a member of the court had put a question or requested that a point be made more clear. When Irvine had been giving his description of the battle a senior captain had asked, ‘Did you at any time expect, or perhaps hope that your ship would surrender to what was obviously a much superior enemy?’
Irvine had been relaxed and quite assured up to that moment, but then as he had glanced quickly at Standish his voice had faltered for the first time. Like Standish he was probably seeing himself in those last moments before the Terrapin had righted herself and had dashed madly to destroy her attacker.
Without effort Standish had recalled Irvine’s stricken features, his complete helplessness as Pigott had brushed him aside to take over his duties from him.
In a small voice he had answered, ‘No, sir. I knew the captain would think of something.’
Surprisingly, it had been Quarrie who had brought some of the tension and bitterness to the surface.
Possibly more than any of them he had felt the ship’s loss as something very personal. Something which in his simple mind he could not replace with detached evidence and vague sentiment. Or maybe he no longer cared. He was leaving the Service, and had lost the one thing he had left to care about.
When asked his opinion of Dalziel’s actions he had said slowly, ‘I never really knew him, sir. I disagreed with some of the things he did, but not with his reasons or his motives.’ He had let his eyes rest on Irvine. ‘But before you try to decide where the strength or weakness lay in that ship, you must ask yourself who stood for country, duty and personal pride.’ He had brushed his face angrily with his hand. ‘Also, whose standards would you commend to a young officer today? Commander Dalziel had those standards, while some others …’ He had been unable to continue.
In the stillness which had followed the president of the court had looked at the littered papers on the table, his face obviously moved by the engineer’s sincerity.
There had been a short interval while the court considered its findings. Standish had walked alone below the building, his eyes unseeing as he watched the anchored ships and the first lights appearing across the water.
What was Dalziel to those who debated his actions? An enigma, or an embarrassment? Hero or scapegoat? He thought too of Sarah Dalziel. She had got her freedom and had retained her honour. But in the years ahead, when she faced her new husband, what would she really find to sustain her?
The findings were announced fifteen minutes later. No blame was attached to Commander Dalziel, and his efforts were recorded as being beyond the highest praise and in accordance with the finest traditions of the Service.
As Standish walked from the room he had repeated the statement in his mind. Dalziel would have liked it, he decided.
Down the stone steps beyond the entrance doors he saw the girl waiting in an open car. Watching his face as he hurried towards her.
Terrapin was gone, but not before she had given him another chance. A chance, like her memory, which he would never waste or forget.
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Epub ISBN 9781448107209
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Published by Arrow Books 2003
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Copyright © Douglas Reeman 1970
Douglas Reeman has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in Great Britain in 1970 by Hutchinson
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The Greatest Enemy Page 35