by A P Bateman
Sally-Anne Thorpe looked back at the sliver of moonlight and said, “Alright, I’d be glad to help.”
“Thank you,” Caroline replied sincerely. She eased herself out of the chair and picked up the empty cup. “I’m going to my room now,” she said. “It’s too cold out here to sit watching the view, beautiful as it is.” She shuffled across the veranda, taking easier steps once she loosened up. She looked back and said, “Thanks, once again, Sally-Anne…”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Barents Sea
King had woken to a thick blanket of fog outside the porthole window of his room, the outside lights from the deck creating an orange hue in the darkness. Grainger had collected him at five-AM and together with Rashid, they had taken a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs, with toast and bacon and some strong tea in the refectory, where food seemed to be served around the clock. They had then taken a medium-sized rib to one of the salvage ships moored to a buoy a mile from the rigs. Grainger had explained that when the conditions were calm enough to moor, they always did so with a one-mile safety buffer. It made sense, given that so many people remained on the rigs. In rougher weather, the boats pulled clear and headed back to Longyearbyen port, and the seven rigs would be self-sufficient until the conditions were once again favourable. It was a world, an existence King had never given a thought to. Naturally, he had seen footage or pictures of the rough seas lashing at the oil rigs of the North Sea but had never thought any more about it. He had heard of Aurora before the meeting with Mereweather and the man’s eccentric father but did not know the scale of the green energy company’s research.
“Here, drink this…” Grainger placed two cups of coffee down in front of King and Rashid. “We’ll be at the site soon.” He sat down beside them at the fixed table. Everything was fixed. The tables, the chairs and the cupboard doors all had thick rubber bands and hooks holding them closed.
King nodded thanks, although he wasn’t a coffee drinker. Rashid sipped from his gratefully. “So, how do we work this?” King asked.
“I’ve told them that I intend on testing the submersible while the rest of the salvage teams get assembled and organised back at the rigs. It’s my company’s submersible, and it cost ten-million quid, so they’ll have to accept my terms because the next useable submersible is still a week away. We have to return with some data… film, confirmation of depth, water temperature etc. Technically we’re a reconnaissance party.”
“Your company?” Rashid asked.
“Yes. I work for a company called Total Marine Solutions based in Southampton, but we have been subcontracted by Aurora and that’s why I’m here. I’m actually one of four partners in the company, but I’m in the habit of saying I work for them, it’s far simpler really.”
“And embedded by the Security Service…” King added quietly, although they were on their own in the small galley. “You’re a rather busy bloke.”
Grainger smiled. “It’s nice to be in demand.” He paused. “I’m helping Simon, keeping my ear to the ground, or the sea that is. Some people in government are not taken in by all of Aurora’s green energy claims, and then of course, there is the question of start-up capital. As in, there’s no trail…”
King nodded. “Okay, so what about today? How far can we take this?”
Grainger leaned forwards conspiratorially. “We can use today as a recce if you like. But that puts the emphasis on tomorrow. It has got to be done then. If it all looks good when we get down there, and you have time, I would suggest getting on with it. How long will it take you?”
King shrugged. “There’s a lot of weight, so it will mean multiple trips between the two vessels. I’m not entirely sure what I’ll find, either. Simon told you about the circumstances in which the submarine lost contact, didn’t he?”
“Simon is Simon. In that he says little, infers less and admits to nothing.”
King nodded. He felt it only fair to put the man in the picture. “Alright. There was a person put on board, and we suspect she was infected with a virus.”
“Well, that changes a few things…”
“Just wait,” King interrupted. “The experts down at Porton Down…”
“Hold on, Porton Down?” Grainger interrupted. “So, this isn’t like Covid or Flu, this is a biological weapon of some sort…”
King shrugged. “All I can say is the experts at Porton Down assure us that the virus is not airborne. It certainly is an airborne pathogen, but only from a live source. Outside of test conditions and without a live host, the virus dies quickly.” King paused. “It won’t be pleasant, though. There will be signs of gruesome deaths.”
“Well, I have to remain on the controls of the submersible, so it’s all down to you.” Grainger nodded. “But tell me. Did these experts ever consider that without communication and with a system failure, the submarine could still have survivors?”
“Survivors?” Rashid commented.
“Yes,” said Grainger turning to him. “This is a nuclear submarine. If it rested on the bottom of the ocean, with the reactor still functioning, then water, air and power systems for the lights, heating and air-conditioning would still be functioning. The scrubbers may clog with mud on the seabed, but it’s a possibility…”
“Shit…” King shook his head. “No, the Royal Navy will have considered all of that, surely?”
“Yes, but the Royal Navy think their submarine is going to be salvaged by hippy marine engineers and towed to the Faroe Islands.” Rashid paused. “What if the crew are still alive?”
King shook his head. “The virus would mean that they did not survive,” he said emphatically. “We saw the footage from the facility, saw what the effects were on the test subjects.”
“Test subjects?” Grainger asked.
“Better you don’t know,” replied King curtly. “Shit, I thought this was a demolition mission, I hadn’t given the thought to the possibility of there being survivors…”
“We can tap on the hull when we get down there using the retractable hands,” said Grainger. “It’s proof positive. If we hear anything back, then you’ll know.”
“And that presents a whole new set of problems…” said King.
Rashid shrugged. “Not really. The mission to destroy the submarine can’t go ahead. Simple as that.” He stared at King. “Can it?” he asked edgily.
“Of course not,” King replied. “But if that virus spread…”
“From what I saw of it, if the virus took hold, there being survivors would not be an issue.” Rashid paused. “It either spread and everybody died, or the submarine sank because of another issue. That scenario means there could still be survivors. In theory.”
“I suppose,” King sat back in the chair and frowned. “What a crappy mission,” he announced. “Blowing one of our own submarines to kingdom come and destroying all chances of families getting their loved one’s bodies back because MI5 and MI6 need to cover their tracks. Because the world, fresh off a pandemic doesn’t need to hear that a far worse one could have been released, or still could be in the future.”
“It’s a bit late now for a crisis of morality,” said Rashid.
Grainger smiled. “Sir Galahad once told us that when you work in the shadows and lie to the public for a living, the lies only ever get larger and the shadows only ever get darker…”
“I’m beginning to think Sir Galahad is a very wise man,” said King.
Grainger looked up as the boat’s engines reversed and cut out. Anchor chains rattled forward and aft. “Anyway, we’re here now. So, in a few hours, you’re going to find out what the hell happened to that submarine, and the poor souls onboard.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Lake Como, Italy
“Any problems?”
“No,” Sally-Ann Thorpe replied. “Why, should there have been?”
Caroline went to get out of the chair but winced. She looked up at Thorpe somewhat dejectedly. “You wouldn’t unwrap it, would you?”
&nb
sp; Thorpe looked at her for a moment. She could see that Caroline was suffering and looked thoroughly exhausted. She shook her head somewhat unsympathetically and said, “No, I’ll do it in a moment.” She rummaged through her tote handbag and said, “Here, take two of these.” She passed Caroline a box of tablets, then fetched her a glass of water. “They’re the strongest they would do over the counter. Paracetamol and Codeine, take two every four hours.”
Caroline took the box and opened it, taking out two of the capsules and swallowing them down with the glass of water. “Thanks,” she said quietly.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Thorpe said, taking hold of the large box and using her thumbnail to break the tape seal. “I understand why you’re doing this, but just look at you. You can barely get out of a chair, now.”
“I’ll be better with the second crutch.”
Thorpe shook her head. “I’ll meet with Fortez.” She ran her thumbnail down the seal and placed the box back down on the table.
“No offence, but you don’t talk the talk. Not in this game, at least.” Caroline shook her head. “Fortez thinks he’s meeting with an ex-soldier who runs a team of ex-special forces mercenaries.”
“You’re taking Dave with you. He can talk the talk for me.”
Caroline watched Thorpe undo the box. She worked at the joins of tape with her thumbnail. She must have caught under the nail with a sharp piece of tape or card because she sucked on her thumb, before using her nail again on the join. “I have a pair of nail scissors in my bag,” she offered.
“No, I’m fine,” Thorpe replied irritably. She finally got the lid of the box open and reached inside for the crutch. “Gosh, it’s heavier than I expected.”
“That’s why I don’t like using them…” Caroline shrugged. “That and the fact I have always been so active. I guess it’s just vanity, really.”
“It’s necessary! Just use them, and you will heal more quickly. Christ, you’re like my nan! When she broke her hip, she just kept rushing her recovery, you’re no different,” she beamed a rare smile and Caroline could see that she was in fact quite pretty, underneath her normal, if somewhat austere façade.
“Are you calling me an old lady?” Caroline grinned. “I suppose I have rushed it a bit, I’m just fed up with how slow the process has been, that’s all,” she said, then added, “And thanks for doing this.”
“Don’t mention it.” Sally-Ann pulled the crutch out of the box with both hands and placed it beside Caroline’s chair.
Caroline yawned, then looked up as Ramsay entered the living room.
“Finally getting along, then?”
Caroline smiled. “It’s these painkillers she got me. I think she substituted them with horse tranquilisers…”
“Hah!” Sally-Ann laughed. “Now there’s a thought!”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
200 miles south of the Polar Icecap,
Barents Sea
“Sir, she’s back,” the sonar operator announced. “Due east, two-thousand metres and turning towards us.”
Commander McClure nodded. They had just retrieved the communication buoy and the Virginia class submarine’s cutting-edge ‘periscope-less’ camera. Instead of the classic periscope and fold-down double handles associated with military submarines, the Virginia had a retractable camera that used 3-D imaging, infrared and laser-distancing. The picture was both crisp and clear and could be viewed on various monitors. The sea ice was still abundant but becoming thinner with every mile further south they travelled. The captain had contacted Washington on the direct link made possible by the communications buoy and reported the confrontation. His orders were not to use torpedoes unless fired upon. The standard ‘do not fire unless fired upon’ protocol that had dogged every soldier, sailor and airman in the theatre of operation for the past sixty years.
“Sir, this is a direct act of aggression!” Lieutenant-Commander Jacobs protested, albeit quietly a foot away from the man’s ear.
“You read the transcript just like I did,” McClure replied somewhat tersely. “We have a job to do, and we need to do it. So, we need to get out of here…” He paused. “Maintain course, silent running, dive to two hundred feet, speed to four knots.” The nerve-wracking and inconvenient truth was that to run silent, speed had to be greatly reduced, thus inhibiting their ability to change course quickly and potentially make themselves a sitting duck to the enemy. He waited for the quiet confirmations and realised he was subconsciously rubbing the St. Christopher medallion which hung around his neck next to his dog tags. He stopped at once, checking that the buttons of his shirt were secure. He glanced at his second in command, but the man hadn’t appeared to notice. “With any luck, we’ll pass directly beneath her. Ready anti-ship missiles.”
“Anti-ship? Will they detonate under water? I didn’t think they would, I haven’t seen any data for such an action.”
The submarine was equipped with an array of weapons from ground assault cruise missiles to anti-ship missiles and torpedoes. Torpedoes were launched in the water and travelled through the water to their target, while anti-ship missiles were fired either underwater or on the surface and travelled through the air to their target.
“Let’s see, shall we? The transcript said not to fire our torpedoes unless fired upon.” He paused. “And anti-ship missiles, and I’m sure you’ll agree with this XO, are not torpedoes. This boat isn’t going away. The Russian skipper is belligerent, and I have one-hundred and twenty-eight lives to consider.”
“But if the missiles don’t detonate…”
“Then they’ll give the bloody Russians something to think about, won’t they?”
They still had two torpedoes loaded in opposite tubes, and the countermeasures had been replenished. The crew were maintaining their silent running orders, but everyone was wearing an expression of worry and anticipation. The tension was high, and the atmosphere seemed like a touchable, pliable entity. The men were perspiring, for although the submarine was operating in waters of around -1.8ºc (seawater freezing at -2ºc), the heat from the crew’s bodies, the electrical devices, and operating systems, as well as the kitchen galley meant that air-conditioning would normally be in use, but with the silent running orders this was not a possibility. Sweat was visible at the men’s armpits and the small of their backs, and the temperature added to the tension.
“One-thousand metres, coming right at us. She should clear us by one hundred feet,” the sonar operator said quietly.
“If she fires, I want both Barracuda torpedoes launched, then a hard to starboard, full-speed and dive to three hundred.” McClure paused. “Confirm intent.”
“Roger, hard to port, vent and dive, full-speed,” replied the helmsman.
“Two barracuda, check,” replied the WEPS.
“Ease speed to eight knots,” McClure said, and the submarine noticeably slowed.
“So, this is it,” Jacobs murmured. “Our Virginia class against Russia’s newest hunter-killer. So far, I think we’re winning…”
“How so, XO?”
“Well, they’re still heading for us, no change in speed. Our equipment is obviously superior to theirs.”
“XO, there are half the crew members on that Russian boat. Sixty-eight to our one-hundred and twenty-eight. Which tells me they have equipment and tech we don’t yet have, nor understand…”
“Torpedo! Torpedo! Torpedo!” the WEPS exclaimed. “Eight hundred metres!”
“Evasive action!” the commander shouted.
“Torpedoes away!” the WEPS confirmed.
“Enemy sub breaking hard to our starboard!” the sonar operator shouted.
“Helmsman, new orders! Hard to starboard! Dive one hundred! Full power!”
“They were assuming we didn’t have torpedoes already in the tubes and are taking evasive action themselves…”
“And now we’ll go right underneath her…” Commander McClure gripped the rail tightly as the vessel dived, turned, and accelerated hard. There was an
almighty explosion and the submarine buffeted as the shockwave engulfed them.
“Direct hit! Enemy torpedo destroyed!” the sonar operator exclaimed.
“Where’s the sub?” McClure shouted.
“Same course, passing over us in five seconds!”
“Self-destruct the second torpedo and ready three ship attack missiles. Fire in… three… two… one… away!”
There was a hissing sound and all at once, all three vertical tubes sent waterborne air attack missiles directly above them. The sound they made impacting on the enemy submarine’s hull sounded like cannon fire and every man felt the vibration in their chest as the Virginia class shook with the impacts.
“Three hits, Commander!” the sonar operator said triumphantly. “Multiple alarms sounding, and they are surfacing rapidly.
“Maintain course, level at three hundred, bring speed back to twenty knots,” Commander McClure ordered. “Monitor for an SOS…”
“Aye, aye, skipper.”
The ship attack missiles were designed to be fired and home in on either pre-entered coordinates, or laser guided by air support or ground troops, who would ‘paint’ the target with a laser for the missile to lock onto. The missiles could be controlled via the communication links, which were sent to the surface with the communication buoy, but in this case, the missiles were launched without targeting, meaning that they would not arm the warheads, and would have self-destructed after a two-thousand-foot vertical climb. The system had been designed for emergency ice breaking, should the submarine not have enough power and momentum to break through polar ice in the event of mechanical failure. The Russian submarine would have undoubtedly suffered damaged in the triple attack, the seams rupturing from the impact creating serious flooding inside and would likely have to be evacuated if a support vessel could not be reached in time and moored to.
