Hunter Killer

5 NUCLEAR HIGHWAY

The black whale-backed sail rose sinisterly out of the sea half a cable's length, to port. Her identification numbers had been newly painted out and above the fairwater-I still thought of it as a conning-tower-rose periscope masts, radar and radio antenna. The long shape of the nuclear sub swung and held station on Bellatrix.

It was our second morning at sea, two days after the meeting in the DNI's cottage. I was in the wheelhouse after breakfast. It was a perfect day. Bellatrix, under my command, had cleared the Seychelles Bank and \was making a breathtaking eighteen knots. I could almost hear Mac singing along with the twin Rolls-Royce diesels. Captain Trevor-Davis, the Royal Navy missile expert, was checking the fuel levels below. I had taken an immediate liking to this tall, flaxen-haired Englishman when he had come aboard Bellatrix in Port Victoria the night before we sailed. He said little, yet there was a sense of strong competence about him. I saw why the

DNI had chosen him for the job.

Out to starboard, a white line of foam announced La Perle

Reef. When we had first sighted, Mam'zelle Adele and I, from the weather-deck dinette during breakfast, she had asked me to take her up on the coachroof to see. My heart missed a beat at her unusual loveliness as the north-westerly wind blew her hair into her eyes, and I slipped my arm round her shoulders. For a thousand miles to every point of the compass, Limuria stretched away. From the submerged continent under our keel life had first sprung millions of years ago and now, from its deeps again, a man would try to make a strange, imperishable and wonderful new journey in a vehicle named after the stars. I found myself sharing my thoughts with Adele, but when she looked gravely up into my eyes, the DNI's words hit us both-somewhere was the Jesus factor. Somehow her own presence on board threw that warning into sharper relief. Despite the mild morning, she shuddered with a sense of foreboding. Without a word, she turned and went to her luxury cabin below-decks. I occupied Peace's own weather-deck cabin, which commanded an unimpaired view of the ocean.

I switched Bellatrix's helm over to the Sperry auto and kept the telegraphs at full ahead. The sub kept pace effortlessly. Three figures appeared on the black bridge, minute by comparison with the rest of the structure. I focused my glasses on them. An officer picked up a microphone from its waterproof housing and looked across the stretch of sea between the two craft. The closeness of the metallic voice of the loud-hailer took me by surprise. It brought Adele and Trevor-Davis to the wheelhouse at a run.

`Bellatrix! Keep course and heave to! Understood?'

It was an English voice at least.

I clicked on Bellatrix's own loud-hailer.

' Who are you?'

The other voice came back, imperative. Do you understand?'

Trevor-Davis said quietly. Devastation class. Look at the flared bow.

Yes,' I replied. Understood'

Adele stood next to me. John, this isn't part of the plan

Trevor-Davis said reflectively, The plan's only two or three days old, too.'

The metallic voice from across the water said, Bellatrix! Is that Mr. Garland?'

Yes.'

Captain's compliments. We are sending a boat for you and-' there was the slightest pause-' Mam'zelle Adele.'

What was Peace up to, I asked myself angrily. The DNI had ordered him explicitly to take Devastation to St Brandon and here he was hundreds of miles out of his way. Had Peace, after I had sailed, prevailed on the DNI to change plans again, in the light of the CIA'S snoopings? I had kept rigid radio silence in Bellatrix, as the DNI had instructed, and had cut down the use of the electrics to the minimum.

I used the engine-room voicepipe. Mac-there's a big sub alongside-numbers painted out. I think it must be Devasta- tion. Stop, will you?'

There was something suspiciously like a chuckle at the other end. I would never forget the moment when I told Mac that Peace was still alive. It had been worth all the glory of Limuria. Mac's allegiance to Peace, right or wrong, had never known any bounds, and since setting out in the knowledge that his beloved skipper was indeed still alive he had been less dour than I had ever known him.

Commander Peace requests that you and the lady bring some clothes. Give you ten minutes.'

I shrugged at Adele. No point in arguing-O. K?' O.K.

– but what about me?'

What about you?'

A woman aboard a nuclear submarine!'

Trevor-Davis smiled slightly. These new subs have every creature comfort, Mam'zelle Adexle: hot baths, washing machines, the lot.'

She still seemed very uneasy. John, I thought Commander

Peace would have stuck to orders..

Her tension communicated itself to me. She was putting into words what I had felt from the moment the long shape had surfaced. Mac joined us before I could reply.

' What the bluidy hell is the skipper playing at?' he grumbled good-naturedly. I thought..

The sub circled Bellatrix, which was now stopped.

Bellatrix!' came the loud-hailer. Captain Trevor-Davis to assume command. MacFadden to remain. You are to steer a course of one-six-zero true, repeat, one-six-zero true. Bellatrix will proceed on that course at twelve knots-repeat twelve knots-until again intercepted. Is that clear?'

I turned questioningly to Trevor-Davis. He nodded.

Not to worry,' I said. There's no land in any direction for six hundred miles. I marked our position on the chart not an hour ago.'

No other ships,' he asked laconically.

This is a prohibited area-missile range, don't forget'

Adele said, I'll get my things together.'

Slacks,' I replied. Don't try to be glamorous aboard a submarine. Pants are woman's best friend for the modest negotiation of ladders, hatches, and watertight bulkheads.'

She smiled, but she was worried. Thanks.'

Bellatrix!' called the sub. Have you briefed Captain Trevor-Davis and your engineer? Any problems?'

Briefing complete,' I replied. What about the weather?'

Seems good enough,' came the curt reply. Nothing exciting from Chagos.'

In the Chagos Archipelago south of Ceylon the Limuria Squadron maintained a big weather station. Chagos is where cyclones are born. This was the cyclone season in the Sea of Limuria.

Adele was waiting in the wheelhouse when I returned with 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 Adele'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 OOD.

' 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 rendezvous 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 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 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.' Aye aye, sir.'

` What's NAVDAC?' I queried.

' 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 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 Semittante, an old tramp which has been at sea for God knows how long out of New Orleans. Shoot off the bastard in super-missile, practically untried, untested. Mission accomplished.'

It's already out of gear,' I observed dryly.

The sea, John, the sea! That's the great imponderable!'

The Jesus factor,' I added.

He nodded. We haven't allowed for the safety margin of the sea. You know it, I know it. The Dm-he doesn't know what it is to love a hunk of metal filled with machines. computers and other electrical wonders, something that takes you and brings you out on the other side. He's cold. For him, Devastation, Willow track, Little Bear are all expendable.'

Us, too.'

Us, too,' he echoed sombrely. He swung on his toes and started to pull the sweater over his head, the muscles apparent in his chest and arms. Like to see the ship?' he asked. ' Get a dosimeter from the hospital orderly to check your exposure to radio-activity – but I can tell you now, there's less aboard Devastation than you get every day in London or New York.'

I'd like to see the missiles,' I ventured.

He held up a small key which hung on a gold chain round his neck. I could start a nuclear war with this. It unlocks 67

Devastation's Polaris A-4's. You're free to go into Sherwood Forest.' He made an expressive loop with his arms. ' Big sevenfoot steel tubes from keel to deck, like trees-Polaris silos. Our Little Bear is experimental, but these Polaris missiles are operational. Better get Bob to take you round. Only officers and operating ratings are allowed in Sherwood Forest.'

Sherwood Forest itself was a disappointment. I felt my heart quicken as Bob Peters-a short, cheerful, sandy-haired man with quiet, shrewd eyes-unlocked the main door. The compartment consisted merely of double columns of circular tubes wrapped in canvas, painted an artistic green. There was nothing to show that these were the deadliest missiles afloat. In the keel's ' mushroom factory' at the base of the missiles, I had the same feeling of clinicism rather than power. Under each Polaris A-4 was a big steel ball like an enclosed, outsized kaffirpot. These were the compressed-air flasks which tossed the deadly birds to the surface. The same sort of thing was built into the casing of Little Bear for the initial take-off.

Peters took me for'ard through the crew's quarters to the torpedo-compartments in the bows. Through a low steel door I saw a heavy bronze tube running out of sight into the bulkhead above. Set into it was a hatch, like an outsize oven door. Peters explained that this was an escape route for the crew if the sub should be flooded. It worked on the principle that when the air pressure inside the tube equalled that of the ocean outside, all the five or six men in the bronze tube need do was to rise to the surface…

A telephone buzzed. A rating answered and automatically jumped to attention. He handed the instrument to Peters. '

For you, sir!'

Peters listened for a moment and slammed it down. '

Quick!' he said. Control Centre!'

He raced through the ship with me at his heels and reached the Control Centre breathless.

The 00D said quickly, ' Sonar reports contact bearing zeronine-zero true, twelve miles.'

Peters took a quick glance at the fathometer, whose stylus was clicking and chuckling, as he asked: ' All round?' ' Aye aye, sir. Something massive is blocking our way.'