by John Day
Ellen pushed past the door and hugged him as she cried uncontrollably. Nice though it was to feel her so close, he wanted to comfort her, but there was no time. They had to go topside before it was too late.
“Come on Ellen, we need to get outside.”
“Is Walter here?” She cried.
“I am sure he is on his way by now, but the sub is sinking.”
The submarine gave another lurch and a series of loud scraping twangs of steel cable along the rear of the hull told him they were too late.
Water washed down the conning tower walls, gushing through the gap at the hatch. Alan heaved up with all his might, but the weight of water above was too much for him. Unfortunately, there was no room for Ellen to get up alongside him and help push.
Just then, the lights dimmed and went out. Now all they had left was the torchlight.
A feeling of utter dread swept over them both.
“Ellen, we can’t get out and water is pouring in.” She didn’t need to be told the obvious.
“The only chance we have is to seal the hatch to keep the sea out. When Walter and Sarah get here, I hope they can lift from the outside as I push from here. The hatch is just below the surface so there is a lot of weight from the water holding it down.” She had realised that too, she had seen the movies and knew the science.
Shouting above the noise of cascading water, he told her what he needed. “Pass me the hammer and chisel, I have to cut through the electric cable to seal the hatch.”
Ellen ran back with the torch leaving him in the total darkness, gasping for breath, deluged on all sides by the powerful stream of suffocating, cold seawater. A minute later, she returned, clambered up below him and passed the tools up. It only took two swift blows to sever the wire and poke it outside, clear of the hatch.
“Look out below, I am dropping the tools.” Ellen moved away and the tools fell to the steel deck with a deafening clang. Alan turned the locking wheel and suddenly the hatch snapped shut, stopping the cascade of seawater instantly.
***
Soaked through, they huddled together on the floor, shivering from shock, fear, and bone chilling cold.
It was the question everyone asks when trapped inside a sinking submarine, with no way out. “How long will the air in here, last?”
She assumed Alan would have the faintest idea, or perhaps she was looking for reassurance. He could only make a rough guess.
“The air quality is very poor to start with. We have a large volume, and if it was normal air I would say a couple of days, if you moved to different parts of the boat. There is no air circulation, you see. In its polluted state, it is only good for half a day at best.”
Her face tensed, there were a lot of things she had planned to do with her life, but it was moot now.
“Sugar coat it, why don’t you?” Then she grinned. Well, being all cried out, under the circumstances, what else could she do.
“I did Ellen. The torch will give out in about an hour, so we will be left in the dark.”
“That makes me feel so much better now, so I won’t need to ask you any more questions.” He could see the dark bothered her, not just because it was unpleasant, but because of something deep and disturbing in her psyche.
“Well, I’m in the same boat, so what should we talk about?” She forced a smile at his pun. She thought for a moment before replying.
“How about going all MacGyver and rigging up some lighting?”
Alan thought for a while and smiled. “I might have the perfect answer. It will probably prolong our lives as well. You will have to come with me, I’ll need the torch.”
***
Together they headed towards the engine room. The water had drained down to the back and increased the angle even more.
Alan searched for a small length of asbestos fibre string, used for binding around hot pipes. There was some on the exhaust manifold so he tore off a length and headed back. He wrapped the white ball that was Kaltman’s head, in a blanket, carried the heavy lump into the control room and left it jammed between valve wheels, to stop it rolling around. Now he headed to the captain’s cabin for the matches. There was a slim chance they were dry enough to strike.
Using a pencil from the desk, Alan forced the asbestos string into the waxy substance of the head, forming several wicks, and lit them. It took a moment for the wax like flesh of the face to melt into the fibres of the string and sustain combustion. The light was vaguely similar to a few smoky nightlights, but it was all they needed so the torch could be switched off.
“Alan, that is so gross, but quite effective, in a macabre sort of way. What happened to the body to turn it into this soap-like substance?”
“It is called adipocer. The fat and moisture combine and the substance swells up. It is a different form of decomposition to rotting. You see it when a corpse is exposed for a long time in damp, oxygen starved conditions.”
“I am also curious about how this might extend our short lives, Alan, after all it is burning oxygen.”
“When we notice the flame dimming, we can be sure there is little oxygen left. After that, we would become ever drowsier and fall unconscious. By moving to another section of the sub, we can breathe fresher air and stay alive.” She seemed content with this and snuggled closer into him.
“Are you still cold Ellen?”
“I am actually, probably because we haven’t eaten since breakfast, and we’re wearing wet clothing. Fear and the fact the cold water has cooled the sub down, I am not surprised.”
“Would you like me to get you a blanket?”
She shuddered. “No, I just couldn’t bear the thought of some filthy thing like that wrapped around me. The men hot bedded you know, seldom washed and all that has festered for over 70 years. No, just wrap your arms around and cuddle me. Shared bodily warmth, and all that.” Alan was surprised at the blatant suggestion, but it made good sense.
“Shove over in front of me, Ellen. Sit between my legs with your back against my chest. I can wrap my arms around you and keep you warm.”
Smiling, she shifted position. Ellen still had a pleasant fragrance and Alan eased her head back and placed his cheek next to hers. She hugged his arms and spoke in a soft, dreamy voice.
“I want to apologise to you for the incident outside my cabin with Sarah.”
“Ah yes, you started to say something about that earlier and got interrupted. What do you want to confess?” The way things were going, whatever she told him would die with them. The violent motion and scraping of the steel sling cables had not changed. Walter and Sarah had not made contact yet, either.
She continued. “It was wrong of me to spoil your relationship with her. She is a wonderful girl and I can see you being the perfect couple. I admit I tried to entice her to my room, I was feeling, well, you know?
“I thought she felt the same, so I put my arms around her and kissed her. That is when you showed up. She was obviously shocked at what I had done and was pulling away. I expect you saw it as a guilty, caught-in-the-act reaction.
I could see it in your face that you thought she was a lesbian, like me. I can understand why you wouldn’t want an intimate relationship with her if she was like that. Well, she is straight and you should face the fact, you won’t find better.”
“Wow! I never saw that coming. I thought you and Walter were somehow involved but decided to sleep separately for some reason. I suspected he was a restless sleeper who snored. He is obviously deeply in love with you.
“And for the record, I never gave any thought that you were, how should I put it, into girls. I thought Sarah had come on to you outside your room. Yes, that did kill my desire to ask her to marry me. My love for her as a person hasn’t changed, but I couldn’t spend my life with her, not with that disposition.”
“Well now you know the truth. It is a pity you should find out here and now. Sarah might hate me for the rest of her life, knowing you died believing the worst of her.”
“I
doubt she would think like that, she knew I would always go on loving her like I always had. I doubt she would have wanted to marry me, anyway.”
“You are so wrong there Alan, I am certain she wants to marry you.”
“There is another good side to your confession Ellen.”
“Oh, what is that?”
“I don’t have to feel guilty about cuddling you.”
Ellen chuckled. She needed warmth, nothing else. She pulled his strong arms harder to her chest as a sign she liked it.
Alan had other questions now. “Tell me all about yourself, you are a most intriguing woman. I can keep a secret you know.” He chuckled at his stupid joke.
The smoky flame of his improvised candle went unnoticed, it was warning their lives were going to be short.
Ellen started her tale. “I suppose you are wondering if I came from a wealthy family or a poor one?”
Alan smiled to himself. It never occurred to him she might have been born into money. “Forgive me for assuming you came from a deprived childhood.”
He felt her stiffen, she was about to snap back with some caustic remark but thought better of it. Ellen believed she had perfected her persona and could fool anyone that she was naturally high born, but apparently not. “You are right Alan, I was an unwanted child, an orphan in a children’s home in Manchester. Rather an ugly duckling you might say. No cute looks and an attitude that would frighten a Rottweiler, it certainly repulsed even the most desperate person wanting a child.
“It didn’t take me long to develop a thick hide and the ability to manipulate people to my will. Just as I was getting the upper hand, puberty reared its ugly head. Men lusted after me, but I discovered I needed the touch of a girl. They are amazingly more sensual than any man. Eventually, I was adopted, and abused, the old story. Anyway, I used the information I uncovered about my abusers to make them pay.
“With a nice income from them to sustain me, I thought I was set for life, or the lifetime of those who took advantage of me.” She paused to let Alan think on the connotations of the sentence.
She continued, her voice holding a tinge of irony. “Blackmail can make a pathetic victim take desperate measures to break the hold over them. I was 18 and suddenly found myself on the wrong end of a gun.”
Alan stiffened with surprise and wondered how she managed to dodge a bullet. It might be a useful tip, but then again, he was beyond the reach of Mendez.
Ellen felt his tension and with time on her hands, resumed with the full story. “It was a wet winter night, I had been away from my flat in Manchester, for the weekend. I parked my car and had a fair way to walk. Parking in the city is a nightmare, as you probably know.
“I was soaked by the time I reached the entrance door and as I tried to find my key I happened to look around, as you do, and spotted a person in the shadows of the opposite doorway. I wondered why they were there, the rain had been pelting down for hours, so if he was seeking shelter, he was in the wrong place.
“I went in, drew the bedroom curtains and dried off. An early night was planned, so I just wore my dressing gown. I poured a glass of wine and made a sandwich, then went through to the lounge.
“Before switching on the light, I partly opened the curtains and looked down. The man was still there. He was using his phone and the glow from the screen lit his face. He must have spotted me, because he ducked back into the shadows.
“I was scared, I can tell you. If he was after me, I didn’t intend to lay in bed and wait for him to break in while I slept. So, I dressed and phoned for a taxi. Don’t forget, my car was way up the street.
“As soon as the taxi arrived, I ran and got in. The man ran towards me, he had something in his right hand - I have been to the movies, it was a pistol with a silencer. As we drove off I saw the man run to a waiting car. I told the taxi driver to drive fast around the block and drop me next to my car. He must have thought I was mad.
“Safe in my car and heading out of the city, I decided to book into a hotel for the night and see how things were in the morning.
“I had to wait at traffic lights when a black car drew up alongside. I looked at the driver and saw his window was down and the passenger, the man in the doorway, was aiming his silenced pistol at me.
“Well, the lights were still red, but I floored the accelerator and shot across the road. He fired and the bullet smashed through the window of the rear door. It was that close…”
***
Still clinging together, rolling in sympathy with the old rust bucket, the motion made them both feel drowsy. Ellen’s voice was slow and soft as she relived the events. The flame on the makeshift ‘Kaltman candle’ was now small, weak, and smoky. Alan was finding it hard to keep awake - he had closed his eyes long ago.
Ellen continued with her story, unaware if she was speaking or dreaming the events. “I was lucky, and I managed to get across the road without being hit. The other car gave chase.
“Somehow, I had to find out who was after me and who wanted me dead. As I mentioned, I had several people paying me off, it had to be one of them.
“I figured the man with the gun would know, the other man might only be a driver. Somehow, I had to draw the assassin out and...”
Saddam’s doors.
Down in the cramped engine well of Lady Jane, Sarah could see Walter was working as fast as he could to pump through the contaminated fuel, into the basic filter he set up. His hands ached from working the small lever on the fuel pump. It was only intended for pumping small amounts of diesel to the injector pump, not squirt litres of fuel through a filter made out of Sarah’s tights, into a large plastic container.
It was the only practical way of filtering the sludge from the tank. The lurching of the boat swilled the fuel around, to be sucked up by the pump. Most of the sludge would eventually be caught and the normal trap and filter would cope.
Sarah pitched the question that bothered her. “Why do we have this sludge in the tank?”
“Most likely, one of the small harbours we stopped at to top up our fuel has let moisture and a natural, oil-digesting bacterium pollute their tanks. It costs them money to keep them clean.
“In a way, we are lucky we are not under power, heading into large waves. To lose power then, could be fatal. The catamaran would turn side on to the waves and capsize or break up.”
“Won’t we be at risk when we go to pick up Alan and Ellen off the sub?”
Walter was anticipating the question and decided to tell her the truth. “By now the sub will have drifted a long way. It has probably sunk by now. Even in the shelter of the lagoon, the waves are large, just imagine what they are like, out to sea, closer to the storm?”
Sarah was devastated. The thought she might have lost her brother and only just realised it, stunned her into silence for a moment as she processed the news. In a fit of irrational, emotional rage, she snapped back. “We are going out to find them though, aren’t we?”
Walter’s soft voice held no conviction of success, “Of course we are, and if they are alive, we will bring them back safe to shore.
“Lots of things are against us though. We have to face the ferocity of the storm, the engine has to keep going and not fail us again, and we still have to locate the sub.
“Somehow, we must get aboard, or they have to get to us. At the moment, I don’t know how we will manage that but I am prepared to die trying.”
Walter decided to change the subject and shouted, with a dash of snarl. “Benny, get off your lazy backside and bring us some coffee, please.”
The Russian was about to protest, and insist Sarah made it, but could sense Walter was in a slapping mood. He put the kettle on and flumped down in a comfy chair, in the saloon.
Having showered and redressed, he focussed his thoughts on the facts of their situation. Even Benny knew the sub would have sunk by now. Charles Henshaw said it would by the second wave. The Lady Jane was never going to start and the priority was getting to shore, before the Tsuna
mi waves hit them. Henshaw had said that too, so it must be right.
He heard Walter telling Sarah the other two were a lost cause, and appreciated he was trying to prepare her for the bad news and let her down gently. Knowing how Walter doted on Ellen, it worried him that Mr Muscles might kill them all as he attempted a foolish rescue.
Then of course there was the issue of the missing cargo in a cave nearby. The devious little Russian shit wondered how little the local natives would accept, to search for it.
At last, his priorities were clear. First, he had to get safely to shore. Walter and Sarah could go drown if they wanted to.
Next, how could he manipulate Walter to take him straight to shore?
Finally, through the chief, he would organise the natives. The man would be easily bribed and do all the managing of his men.
The kettle was boiling now and a coffee might help with his scheming.
Cloaked up in a yellow oilskin, Benny carried the hot drinks to the open deck and peered down at the two soaked and cold amateur mechanics. The wind continued to buffet and shriek through the rigging and the torrential rain drenched them.
No, he thought, these two will willingly sail into the jaws of death and insist he comes with them. Benny was not a man of violence, but it might be the only tool he could use.
Sarah looked grateful and reached for the two mugs. “Thanks Benny, we both need a drink.” He dashed away, back to his coffee, in the comfort of the saloon.
As she tried to avoid spilling the coffee, she studied the man in front of her. It was obviously a platonic relationship between him and Ellen, and Sarah wondered about Walter’s early life, and how he had become mixed up with the enigmatic woman.
“Walter, the holiday has been huge fun, up till now. We all get on well, but really, I know nothing about you. OK, I know you are British, but were you in the armed forces?”
Bored with the pumping, he welcomed the opportunity to ease the monotony by talking as he worked. Sarah was right, they did get on well and even knowing his secrets, she was no threat to him…
“I was part of a British team of specialists assembled to bring back important artefacts from Saddam Hussain’s regime. That was 13 years ago. You’ve heard of the film ‘The Dirty Dozen, I presume?”