Hunter Killer

by Geoffrey Jenkins

  Adele was waiting in the wheelhouse when I returned with

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  my hastily-packed case. Trevor-Davis was as economical as

  ever with his words when I said goodbye. I resisted the temptation to call the anonymous sub's name on the loudhailer in the traditional manner of the sea. Ready! Standing by for your boat.'

  As we watched a topside handling party debouched on to

  the sub's casing deck. A rubber dinghy pulled clear of her

  side. I noticed that Devastation lay deep and air hissed round the hull like a hippo surfacing.

  I helped Adele to the dinghy as it came alongside and willing hands assisted her. The gunner's mate in charge looked up at me and winked from a dead-pan face. We pulled across to Devastation. A rating waited on her deck for us. Round his waist he wore a monkey-tail' safety-belt

  with a chain and traveller running on rails along the deck. Here indeed was a far cry from the days when submarines

  risked their lives unprotected on the casing in foul weather!

  The Officer-of-the-Deck—the ood—looked down from his

  high perch . He sang out. ' Control—Bridge here—blow forward grow for one second.'

  Air burped and the deck lifted—a Raleigh-like space-age

  courtesy 'which kept Adele's plimsolled feet dry as she held out her 'hand to the monkey-tail rating. The gunner's mate lifted her under the arms and snicked a quick-release safetybelt about her. I could imagine the way this story would be told in the mess.

  Follow the tramrails, miss,' he grinned. Can't go wrong. First stage fare, fourpence. Mind the step.'

  Our arrival crowded the tiny bridge. Its lack of instruments surprised me—merely a 7 Mc set to communicate with the Control Centre in the sub's heart, a gyro repeater, a loudhailer mike, collision and diving alarms and rudder-angle indicator, all heavily waterproofed. Behind, the radar, radio

  mast and twin periscopes were snugged down alongside an

  upward-seeing television-camera ' eye '. Control—Bridge—

  Bellatrix range three hundred yards,

  and steady.' The OOD listened. Aye aye, sir. Stand by to dive.' He leaned over the bridge handrail. ' At the double —

  boat party below.' He glanced round the horizon and pressed the diving alarm. Clear the bridge! Clear the bridge!' The two look-outs stood back and raced past below as the raucous sound came up—here at least was something familiar from my submarine days—the old-fashioned ahooga ' of the alarm klaxon.

  I gripped Adêle's arm and ducked through the hatch. The OOD followed, snapping it shut with a length of steel cable.

  ;0

  The quartermaster flattened himself to allow us to edge by. Then he spun a wheel and secured the hatch.

  The compartment into which we emerged was shadowed,

  unreal. Infra-red light muted the faces of the eight or so men who stood about in the glow of the luminous instruments. My eyes automatically went to the nerve-centre—the periscope stand. Caught by the strange light, drops of water from a faulty packing gland seeped down the barrel. Peace stood there, his mouth tight, his whole being alert. A black sweater and matching Dacron trousers gave him the same sort of swaggering, deadly look as the great U-boat aces ; it was a silhouette I would remember all my life.

  The tight compactness of the Control Centre was a newold world for me—the intricacy of valves, cables, lights and electronics. Two planesmen sat in deep red leather chairs before what might have been an aircraft's instrument panel, their hands gripping half-wheel joystick columns to dive and steer the sub. Behind them was the diving officer, one arm draped carelessly over the sail planesman's chair. The soft red glow of the compass repeater lit their faces. Its red merged into the green fluorescence of the radar a few feet away. On the ballast-control panel glowed a series of straight little red bars—submariners call it the Christmas tree. The red bars indicated, I was to learn, a ' straight board ' which meant that all the openings in the sub's hull were closed. Beyond the diving-stand to starboard was the sonar-room and aft the radio-room, abutting on to the navigator's chart desk, the inertial guidance system, the fathometers and the television ' eye

  '.

  The agglomeration of sounds in the Control Centre was new to me, intriguing: the discreet burr of the hydraulics, generators and turbines in place of the thumping diesels, fumes and stink of the old subs ; a high-pitched whine from the fathometer, a lion-like purr from the sonar. Most unfamiliar was the warm, wax-like smell instead of the doggy odour of the old boats. The bright colours, too—the floor was inset with bright red vinyl blocks among discreet greys and greens. So far I had not heard a command ; this was the stillness of automation.

  Then the radar operator's voice came over the loudspeaker. Contact now bears three-zero-zero true, range opening.'

  Peace drew to his mouth a microphone on a flexible cable.

  His orders were clipped and tight. His dark clothes merged into the shadows ; he seemed disembodied.

  ' Shut the induction,' he ordered. His eyes rested imper61

  sonally on me for a moment and then went round the Control

  Centre.

  All clear topside,' called the 00D.

  ' Open the vents.'

  The petty officer's fingers played on the toggle switches of the ballast-control panel like an electric organ. I noticed Peace incline his body slightly as if by reflex as the 'water poured into the tanks. Adele looked at me, awed by the complexity of the intricate fighting machine. From that moment, too, I think she gained a new respect for Peace. His eyes were everywhere. Right full rudder, ahead full,

  four hundred feet smartly,' he ordered. ' Steady on course zeronine-zero. One planesman reached up and turned the handle of the engine-room annunciators—in my day we called them engineroom telegraphs—to ahead full '. A red pointer responded. Answers ahead full, sir.'

  Another voice said,. ` Course steady on zero-nine-zero, sir.'

  The sonar operator came through. Contact now bears twoseven-two degrees true.'

  _ Peace nodded, satisfied. The Exec was looking across at

  him from his station. Okay, Number One?'

  I grinned to myself at the familiar term—nowadays it is Exec.

  The Exec replied, Four hundred feet, sir. Speed sixteen

  knots. Steady on zero-nine-zero.'

  Take over, Number One, will you?'

  Aye aye, sir'

  How much water under her?'

  The fathometer operator replied, without waiting for the

  direct question via the diving officer. Eighteen hundred and seventy-five fathoms, sir'

  Eleven thousand feet! Certainly Devastation was not yet over the ancient landmass of Limuria. Peace gave a quick

  glance at the rigged-for-dive panel and nodded to Adele and me to follow him into the dark passageway. He strode quickly down to his cabin door and flung it open, not waiting for us. We stepped into a small, compact room, L-shaped, with a pull-down bunk littered with papers. There was also a small folding desk, a safe, steel locker, cocktail-bar type stools, a fold-up washbasin snugged into the wall and no fewer than three telephones and two intercoms. By the foot

  of the bunk in the steel wall were a gyro repeater, fathometer repeater and speed indicator. I saw that this section of the wall was, in fact, a door leading to a pint-sized shower 62

  and toilet cubicle. Here indeed was luxury for a submariner! I found myself blinding in the cheerful white light reflecting off the eau-de-nil colour scheme, red floor, green shellbacked rubber matting and blue ceiling, pale as a Limuria dawn.

  Pansy, isn't it?' said Peace abruptly, scrabbling among the papers on the bunk. Psycho boffins say it's good for morale, but give me battleship grey any time.'

  As he spoke, Peace's eyes strayed to the gyro compass repeater. Mine followed. Only then did the significance of the new course he had given in the Control Centre strike me. Zero-nine-zero—a ninety-degree turn away from Bellatrix! We had turned away from the r
endezvous at St Brandon.

  I gestured at the compass. Geoffrey—what the devil! This submarine is heading away from its course to meet MKG. It's heading for Saya de Malha '

  A glance at Adele was enough to show that she was

  equally puzzled.

  The bleak, trouble-erupting look was in Peace's hard face. Yes,'

  he said curtly. I'm heading for Saya de Malha.'

  ' Why?' I demanded. I'd sailed with Peace long enough to respect his sea-foxiness, but his intended break-in into thousands of square miles of shoals, coral-heads, innumerable seadeeps and unmapped islets seemed madness. There was a pause for a moment. The only sound-in the tiny cabin was the distant hum of turbines. Adele made a tiny gesture of helplessness with one hand.

  Then Peace said, Your intruder—he was back.'

  The cottage?'

  Peace nodded in grudging admiration. Yes. He got past the guard, which was pretty smart. But he hadn't reckoned

  with the DNI. Every room was wired with its own independent alarm-system working off a separate circuit. The CIA man craftily immobilized the first one, which worked off the mains. That in itself must have taken some doing. But he walked into the second like a fly into a spider's web.'

  ' Who was he?' asked Adele.

  My one and only glimpse of him was sprinting across the lawn. Tall, well-built, plenty of muscle—'

  That's him.'

  ' I kept out of the way,' added Peace. It was a hell of a

  temptation to go out and mix it with him, but in that case he would have got what he came for, a sight of me. I had to

  content myself with a long shot as he ran.'

  Any luck?'

  He shrugged. ' Maybe, maybe not. He stumbled, but it

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  could have been a blind. But one thing it told him: for a house to be protected like that meant it had a big secret somewhere. The DNI and I decided to change the plan then and there. That's why I intercepted Bellatrix. I couldn't signal you because of your radio silence. Moreover, it might have given the show away.'

  I jerked my head upwards. ' Identification numbers painted

  • out.

  That's the least of it,' he said.

  And you're still going ahead with Little Bear?'

  His determined look answered me. My first duty is to this mission. It means more to me even than it will mean in terms of balance of power between West and East. SNAP is mine ; Little Bear is supreme power at sea for whoever has it.' No wonder he had jibbed when the DNI had pressed him to agree that mica's first duty was to the American nation!

  Assume,' he went on slowly, that the CIA only suspected Devastation was on her way—what then? All the nuclear subs based in the Seychelles take the milk-run route through deep water to St Brandon. At any time experts could pinpoint Devastation down-range within A few miles. But—' he added grimly-4 not in the Saya de Malha.'

  What about the rendezvous?' interrupted Adele, drawing

  closer to me.

  I intend to keep the rendezvous,' he replied. Red

  Indians used to cut branches and brush out their trail ; I'm brushing out Devastation's trail, just in case. Once in the Saya de Malha, the tracking stations in the Seychelles and Chagos will never find this sub.'

  He let the words fall dead, and then said sombrely, This

  is a top-secret mission and I intend it to remain so. I think I know a new nuclear highway through the drowned land of Limuria.'

  I gave an involuntary shudder. On the map Saya de Malha.

  looks like a Disney elephant's head with a sawn-off trunk blowing bubble-gum. The bubble is the small northern sector. The head is the south. Between is a gap of fifteen to twenty miles—no one knows exactly—and through this Peace would have to dive. The depths were vague. But the overall picture was clear: as cruel a collection of shoals, as any sailor could hope to miss.

  And after Saya de Malha?' I asked.

  A deep dive between the Saya de Malha and the Nazareth Bank. Then St Brandon.'

  I shook my head. Peace was laying his ship open to the

  gravest risk, making a 50-mile corkscrew through shoal

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  waters which have a traditionally evil reputation among sailors rather than following a straight course to the rendezvous. I started to object, but he shrugged off my words and said

  to Adele, ' You'll take this cabin.' He opened the door which led into the shower, decorated with gay, flame-proof curtains. `

  Toilet. Shower. John and I will shack down on the other side, in Bob Peters's cabin. We share the facilities. He'll have to hot-bunk somewhere.' He swept the coverlet from the

  bunk as he gathered up some papers. Looks like a damn'

  geisha's kimono,' he snapped.

  There was a knock at the door and a rating handed Peace a

  signal. He read it through quickly and dismissed the man, who looked grey with fatigue. Adele glanced at me and said. `

  Commander Peace, that signalman looked dead on his

  f e e t — '

  This is a secret mission,' he replied curtly. ` Twenty-four hour shifts. Too bad if he can't stand up to it.'

  It's my field, code and communications,' she went on

  impulsively. ' I'll gladly take a shift—'

  Peace's reaction astounded me. You'll stay right here,'

  he snapped. ` Don't fiddle with the phones—you might cause a crisis. You'll be quite comfortable. You may not go beyond the Control Centre without my express permission.'

  The colour flushed her face and she turned to me, hurt, puzzled, wanting my support. Peace turned away and picked up a phone, dialling 0'. I reached out and touched her arm. Despite my anger at his harshness, I almost blessed Peace for that momentary unmasking of her heart.

  ood?' asked Peace. Commander here. All calls to me in

  future to be directed to the Exec's cabin.' He laughed shortly. ` Yes, your cabin, Bob—John and I are taking it over. What's the score'

  I heard Peter's formal reply, distorted through the instrument. Very deep, sir. We've crossed the eighteen-hundredfathom curve. Sounding is now nineteen-hundred-fifty fathoms corrected.'

  Peace raised his eyebrows to me. ` Very well. Plane down

  to six hundred feet. Echo range and take soundings continuously. Where do you reckon we'll cross the continental shelf?'

  Can't rightly say, sir, but NAVDAC estimates about eighteen hundred GMT.'

  Call me at sixteen hundred. Earlier, if there's anything.' Àye aye, sir.'

  ` What's NAVDAC?' I queried.

  H.K.

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  ' Navigational Data Assimilation Centre. It's a very sophisticated device to pinpoint our position—the sort of thing we would have used for finding Little Bear's blast-off position had we followed the original plan—we've got three SINS

  computers and we flood the bloody things with their readings, plus data from the radio direction finders, the star trackers and the " magic box ", which is really a radio telescope in m i n i a t u r e . ' H e s m i l e d . I b r o u g h t y o u a l o n g t o m a t c h a l l that with your skill.'

  I relaxed slightly. He picked up, the blue-bound u.s. Navy

  Code, and said: Ultra-top-secret. The DNI's parting gift.'

  Adele was about to speak, then bit her lip and turned away. I w o n d e r e d w h e t h e r P e a c e e v e n n o t i c e d . I ' m s a c k i n g down,' he said. Been up all night. Come on.'

  He led the way to Peters's cabin on the other side of the bathroom without a look at Adele. The cabin was a replica of his own, except that it had two bunks. I remained silent. Away from Adele, the hurt to her seemed magnified in my mind.

  Peace lit a cigarette. He seemed eager to talk. Smoke? The carbon dioxide scrubbers and gas analyser take care of all that here. We make our own fresh air from sea-water:

  I took one and, lit up, not replying.

  Peace paced three steps each way. He stopped in front of

  me. What's eating you, John?
'

  I met his eyes. Was the brush-off to Adele really necessary, Geoffrey? She's a code and cipher expert—you have the DNI's word for it.'

  He blew a smoke-ring with careful deliberation. She was

  just too keen, that's all.'

  What in hell do you mean?'

  Nice girl, very affectionate.'

  I felt slightly embarrassed.

  At dinner that night at the DNA,' he went on. Remember what she said about guns?'

  ' Y e s , ' I r e p l i e d . I r e m e m b e r c l e a r l y . S h e s a i d a C o l t Python was better than a .38 Detective Special.'

  H e l o o k e d h a r d a t m e . H a n d - g u n s , n o t g u n s , s h e s a i d . Colt Python. Cadillac among guns. No one but an American speaks of hand-guns. In England they're pistols, revolvers, small arms, but never hand-guns. Her entire metaphor was—

  American.'

  The implication of what Peace said knocked me back.

  You're suggesting she's a double agent?' I said slowly.

  don't know,' he replied carefully. ' I'm just careful,

  with so much CIA around. And then—so soon after finding

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  out that I intend making for the Saya de Malha she volunteers for radio duty. Radio—whom?'

  I don't believe it,' I retorted emphatically. I don't

  believe Adele is tied up with the CIA intruder!'

  He came and clapped me gently on the shoulder. I hope

  for your sake not. But there's such a thing as softening up the opposition, you know.' He grinned lop-sidedly. You're a man who takes some softening up, too. Adele is another good reason for the Saya de Malha.'

  He did not give me time to reply, but started pacing up and down the tiny cabin again.

  His uneasiness communicated itself to me. What's up,

  Geoffrey?'

  This ship is an electronic marvel,' he said, choosing his

  words carefully. Every marvel aboard her has a back-up marvel—in other words, there are two of everything, in case one goes wrong. There are not, on our assignment.' He crushed out his cigarette impatiently. It is—was—all too bloody tailor-made: take one nuclear sub and meet another

  eight hundred miles away, one that's been practically out of touch with everything for over a month under the sea. Cruise down a well-charted ocean highway. Pick up the VicePresident of the United States. Rendezvous with Semittantê, an old tramp which has been at sea for God knows how long