Taking the Heat

by Paul McDermott

  “Understood, Brigadier.”

  “Accepted. Wolf Pack Two, reduce speed to eighteen knots. If you continue at your present speed, you may be too early arriving on station. Wolf Pack One needs the biggest possible window of opportunity to swing west and steam away. You will be performing a similar manoeuvre once you have released your weapons, and we don’t want any collisions.”

  ***

  “Who is this guy? And when did the rank brigadier get included in the senior ranks of movers and shakers?”

  The connection with Bidston Hill was still open, but Groth had curtailed the transmission outlining the revised orders in his usual abrupt manner. The CO at the ops centre in Adelaide wasn’t prepared for this, and he certainly wasn’t amused.

  Sergeant Jackson took pity on him. Hoping that Groth wasn’t listening, he offered an explanation.

  “What can I say? The brigadier is old school. My understanding is, he has opted to retain the rank brigadier for personal reasons. It ought to be obvious to anyone that his real authority is considerably higher. And I never said that. Just thinking it is probably a breach of the Official Secrets Act.”

  “Understood.”

  “Wolf Pack Two, I’m closing this link. Wolf Pack One are in position. Follow amended orders and stand by for updates.”

  Sergeant Jackson’s sign-off technique was less abrupt than Brigadier Groth’s but just as effective.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Something that’s been bothering me…”

  Eddie was sitting with his assigned squaddie, glued to their allocated screen. The young man’s military sweater lacked a nametag, either embroidered or pinned to his chest, nor had he offered a name, but Eddie decided it was best not to enquire.

  “Go ahead.” His accent placed him immediately as a non-Scouser, but he seemed friendly.

  “We’re getting all this information from all over the world, but as far as I’m aware, nothing’s being reported on the BBC, CNN, Sky or any of the other news agencies. I thought we were living in a world of instant communications.”

  “You should ask the sarge. He’ll know where the need-to-know line’s been drawn.”

  Perhaps Sergeant Jackson had sensed his presence was required. As the squaddie finished speaking, he stood at Eddie’s elbow.

  “Good question, Eddie. I’ll tell you as much as the brigadier has given me permission to say.” He paused a moment before adding, “Ever heard of a ‘D’ notice, issued in times of national emergency?”

  “Some sort of censorship? I don’t mean to sound negative, but…”

  “It comes under that broad definition, I suppose. But it’s done for the best interests of the country. All the media channels—perhaps I should say, all the responsible media channels—have been asked to refrain from publicising certain items of news until further notice. It’s preventing mass panic, but it’s not going to last forever.”

  Eddie glanced at his watch. “In less than two hours, that time frame’s going to become an academic question, isn’t it?”

  “Which is the main reason we’ve got to make sure we get this right. If you look back at the screens, you’ll see how close we are to the drop zone. Can I get you a coffee or something? We’re going to get busy pretty soon.”

  ***

  HMS Liverpool had maintained position as lead ship, fronting the ruler-straight right-hand column of the flotilla. Her wake would become the guide for every vessel turning west after releasing their deadly cargo.

  A marker buoy filled with red dye was tossed over the stern to mark the approximate beginning of the trench. The release of Liverpool’s contribution to the total payload was achieved swiftly and efficiently, and she was soon on her way, waiting only for her partner from the head of the left-hand column to make the slightly longer turn on the outside lane before firing up her diesels to full speed ahead. Side by side, a mile or so apart, the two ships leapt forward like greyhounds from a trap, setting the pace for the remainder of the fleet.

  With constant advice and assistance from Bidston Hill, each pair of ships in Wolf Pack One sailed slightly further south than their predecessor before depositing their payload and turning as tightly as possible westward. As darkness fell, the natural phosphorescence of the previous vessel’s wake became a reliable guide for the lengthy tail wagging behind the sea dog.

  “It’s working,” Brenda breathed, watching the computer screen over her husband’s shoulder. The screen showed the last three pairs of ships heading south. The rest of Wolf Pack One was already on its westerly escape route, apart from two pairs of ships still in the process of turning away from ground zero.

  Wolf Pack Two was clearly visible at the southern edge of the screen.

  Sergeant Jackson’s hand strayed towards the red direct line, but it rang before he touched it.

  “Sitrep please, Sergeant.”

  “Wolf Pack One is finishing its run as we speak, Brigadier. Wolf Pack Two has reached the southern marker and has been cruising significantly below full speed for over an hour to allow Wolf Pack One optimum conditions to alter course.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant. Can you confirm the lead pair are already above the trench proper?”

  “Affirmative, Sir.”

  “For now, the timing is working in our favour. However, if any unexpected complications arise or if you spot any inconsistencies on your screens, I’ll be here waiting for your call.”

  “Roger that, Sir. We won’t let you down.”

  “I wouldn’t have left you and your team running the ops room if I didn’t have full confidence in your ability, Sergeant. Once all the weaponry is in place, it will be up to me to detonate the largest explosion in history. I can only suggest you pray to whatever god you acknowledge. We’re going to need all the help we can get, wherever it comes from.”

  “With you on that, Sir. This is Bidston Hill, listening out.”

  There was a brief hiss of clear line static, then silence.

  Sergeant Jackson looked around the room.

  “Did I just get the last word in on a call from the brig? That has to be a world first.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Hard a-port.”

  “Hard a-port. Aye, Sir.”

  Mirroring the actions of its opposite number, the lead ship of the left-hand column in Wolf Pack Two peeled away westwards after releasing its payload close to the mid-point of the Mariana Trench. There was a full moon, which made the phosphorescent wake of Wolf Pack One’s tail-end Charlie easy to pick out.

  ***

  Barely five minutes later, the red phone on Joey’s desk trilled.

  “Doctor Hart, is there a way we can tell how accurate the northern fleet’s deposits have been? I realise this is probably a long way outside your particular field of expertise.”

  “The radar screens are showing the relative positions of the ships in the region, Sir. They aren’t showing what’s happening beneath the surface.”

  “Surely all we need is a camera?” Brenda seemed unaware of having spoken her thoughts aloud. Immediately, she flushed a deep crimson, but it was too late to recall her words.

  Errol was first to react. “It’s something I’d want if I was in charge of an explorative offshore drilling project. Can we get someone from Wolf Pack Two to drop something over the side? They must have some sort of surveillance equipment on board.”

  “That’s easy enough to check.” There was an edge of enthusiasm in Groth’s voice which had been either absent or extremely well hidden in every phone conversation to date. When he continued a few seconds later, he had regained control.

  “Stand by.”

  There was a faint hiss, suggesting that the direct line had been left open. Nobody dared speak. The three squaddies on duty continued to scrutinise the radar screens for any hint of problems involving Wolf Pack Two. An expectant silence settled on the ops centre as they waited for Groth to complete his enquiries. They weren’t kept waiting long.

  “The next pair of
vessels to deposit their payload will also release several submersible cameras. They won’t survive the blast, of course, and very few of them will function at that depth. In truth, I’m not expecting them to transmit anything useful once they get beyond six thousand feet, but they should give us some idea of how accurate our aim has been.”

  ***

  “All of them, Captain? Every camera?”

  “Yes, Number Two. All of them.”

  “Some are prototypes, state of the art. They cost millions to develop. Who is this Limey officer?”

  “The security codes are correct, that’s all that matters. I doubt even the Admiral of the Royal Australian Navy has a need-to-know clearance for the CO’s identity. My guess, for what it’s worth—a large percentage of the cameras will fail before they reach target depth, but the information must be crucial to the success of the operation. It’s up to us to get it for them, by hook or by crook.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” Number Two replaced his cap and snapped a formal salute. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements.” He wheeled and marched off the bridge. His body language displayed his unmistakable disapproval, but years of navy discipline won the day.

  ***

  “Cameras offloaded, each dressed with ballast to sink them quickly, perhaps keep them upright. We managed to muster about a hundred cameras. I can confirm that my running mate has delivered a similar number a mile east of my position.”

  “Acknowledged, Captain. Make speed to regain your position in the convoy. It’s vital you get as far as possible from ground zero before detonation. I cannot promise you more than about two hours after the last vessel has dropped its load.”

  “Understood, Sir.”

  “Good luck, Captain. I only wish I could promise you a wider safety margin.”

  “We’ll do our best, Sir. Over and out.”

  Bidston Hill had eavesdropped on the exchange between Groth and the unidentified Wolf Pack Two captain. It wasn’t intentional on their part, but Groth had apparently decided to keep them in the loop for reasons of his own.

  “Sergeant, Doctor Hart, is the whole team present in the ops room?”

  Sergeant Jackson glanced at Joey, silently begging permission before opening the mic. Joey nodded, grateful to allow the NCO to speak for them all.

  “Affirmative, Brigadier. Awaiting instructions.”

  “While we have a few moments, I’d like to thank you all for everything you’ve already achieved—and particularly the groundwork carried out by the civilians before the military personnel arrived.

  “I have to remind you that now, more than ever, you are the eyes and ears of the whole operation. I will be completely dependent on the quality of the information you gather, and the speed at which you relay it. I have no doubt you can do it. I only wish I could be there with you in person. When this is over, I look forward to shaking you all by the hand.

  “Reactivate your link with the Zodiac satellite programme on Screens Two and Three. Monitor the radar scan on Screen One. Expect images from one or more underwater cameras very soon.”

  The briefest of nods from Sergeant Jackson, and the relevant screens dissolved before reforming. Screen Two cleared to display open sea. Halfway to the horizon, two warships were steaming towards the camera. Screen Three remained blank, apart from an occasional flash suggesting it was still live but temporarily inactive.

  Joey guessed Screen Three would be the first to display any images from the submerged cameras and congratulated himself a few moments later when he was proved right.

  Every eye in the ops room had been glued to the three screens while these adjustments were made. Not a word was spoken, but there was a frisson of anticipation in the air, rather than fear, dread or any other negative emotion.

  The image on Screen Three resolved into a submarine scene, but Joey couldn’t force his eyes into focus to interpret the blurred, water-softened images he was seeing as the camera sank and tumbled end over end.

  The first reaction came from Groth, whose sharp intake of breath was clearly heard, magnified by the powerful speakers of the PA system.

  “Sergeant, is there any way of adjusting the ballast on the cameras, stabilise the images we’re receiving?”

  “I suggest you put the question to one of the captains on the ships, Sir. It’s not something I’ve ever dealt with.”

  “They both have enough on their plates, getting a safe distance from the detonation. We can assume they’re both listening in. Contact me directly as soon as possible if you have any suggestions. For the moment, we’ll watch and hope the images improve.”

  The screen darkened as the camera sank deeper and the last remnants of the dawn’s early light failed to penetrate the fathoms of the deepest sector of the South Pacific. The wild, frantic oscillations of the camera slowed; an inbuilt lighting system activated. Both factors produced a significant improvement, and it became possible to read the text on the images being relayed by the lens.

  “Tell me the depth of these images, Sergeant.”

  “On-screen data says this camera has just passed five thousand feet, Sir.”

  “Close to half target depth and still functioning. I could really use images from some of the other cameras, especially if any of them are deeper, closer to the trench.”

  “This is the CO of 256, Wolf Pack Two. Permission to speak?”

  “Go ahead, 256.”

  “I have someone seconded to my crew for this trip solely for the purpose of testing the cameras we’ve deposited over the target. That’s all I’m allowed to say about him or the equipment, but I trust you’ll understand that the cameras themselves are not standard issue and the data they record and transmit will be more than adequate.”

  “Understood, Commander. As your Ultimate CO, I assure you, you may speak freely. There are eight people other than myself listening at this end, and I can vouch for all of them. If you have security clearance for everyone on your bridge, we can continue.”

  “Affirmative, Sir. I’m alone with my Number Two.”

  “This is Wolf Pack 322, confirming I share the bridge with my Number Two. He has the same security clearance as me.”

  “Your sitrep, 322.”

  “My special attaché has stated that some of the experimental equipment is expected to deliver ultra-high-resolution images, even in extreme environmental conditions. The disadvantage, however, is their lightweight nature. They are likely to take longer to reach target depth than cameras of a comparable size. It’s also possible they may drift off course for the same reason.”

  “Is it possible to speak to him directly?”

  The CO hesitated. “He is…reluctant to disclose his identity, Sir. He’s SBS, and technically, I don’t have the authority to issue a direct order.”

  “Hmm. Special Boat Services. Well, he certainly passes the security clearance checks, and he will have compelling reasons for keeping his identity concealed. The name he’s sailing under won’t be the one on his birth certificate, but I’m sure that won’t surprise you.”

  Sergeant Jackson’s voice spliced neatly into the exchange. “Images are arriving from beyond the nine-thousand-foot mark, Sir. They confirm that the payload is on target. I repeat, we are hitting our target.”

  “Sergeant, are you sure? How clear are the images? Can you email me copies? Not because I doubt you.” Groth hastened to add, “But this is crucial information, the most important data so far. I need to analyse them, consult with a few people before I complete the detonation. We only get one shot at this.”

  “Video already on its way, Sir. Emailing the stills as soon as I have a hand free—thank you, Corporal. Stills forwarded, Sir.”

  “Received, Sergeant. Stand by for further instructions.”

  This time, there was no hiss of static. As far as signing off was concerned, Groth was back to his old habits.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “I don’t understand how the news channels aren’t carrying even a rumour of what’s going on
out there.”

  The tension in the ops room at Bidston Hill was becoming oppressive, and Brenda was frustrated. She needed something to occupy her mind, but there was nothing to relieve the monotony of waiting and watching the three computer screens.

  “Think of it this way,” Sergeant Jackson said. “It tells us that the ‘D’ notice is still serving its purpose. The usual suspects in the news media will have worked out something major is going down, but they will also have been ordered to sit on it until further notice. The last thing we need is civilians running around like headless chickens. In fact, running around of any kind is probably the worst thing to do right now. There’s never been an explosion of this size, and we can’t begin to guess what the consequences will be, or even which parts of the world could be most affected.”

  “Never, Sarge?” Errol sounded outraged. “You mean we’re about to blow up part of the planet without knowing what could happen?”

  “I’m just following orders, Mr. Dwight. The decisions are made elsewhere.” There was no trace of emotion in Sergeant Jackson’s words, but it was clear he was relieved he was not directly responsible for the ultimate, agonising decision to unleash a power of untried size and unknowable consequences.

  Errol still wasn’t satisfied. “I’ve never drilled at that depth, but there are always problems when you go really deep. Basic physics, y’know? Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. If you cap the pressure all in one place, it’s going to seek an alternative outlet.”

  “Your maths is sound, Errol,” Joey said peaceably, “but there’s a lot more to it than that.” He was about to add a few words of explanation but was interrupted by Groth’s disembodied voice from the speakers.

  “Doctor Hart, your team may be in a secure facility, but you could be heard by anyone who happened to be listening alongside me.”

  “Sorry, Sir,” Jackson responded quickly on the team’s behalf.

  “Accepted Sergeant. Although as it happens, I’m on my own, so no harm done. But let’s keep security in mind. Pretty soon, we’ll have to lift the ‘D’ notice. While we want to avoid mass panic, we still have a duty to the public. We can’t set off an explosion of this magnitude without warning people. But you’ve also earned the right to know what we hope to achieve. This is the bottom line—if all goes according to plan.