by John Winton
“I hear the Muse, sir. She’s calling to me, in accents soft and low.”
“What’s she saying?”
“The usual drivel, I expect,” said Wilfred.
“She’s saying. . . . One moment. . . . Yes, here it is. . . . It’s a poem, sir. She’s saying,
Despite the many moans you hear:
There’s one you all forget.
Though Christmas came but once last year,
The pudding’s with us yet!”
It was a bull’s-eye in one shot. Wilfred glowered, while the rest of the wardroom hooted. Nevertheless The Bodger thought it a little unfair. In spite of their difficulties in storing and cooking a variety of food in a confined space and in a hot climate, The Bodger thought that Wilfred, the Coxswain and the Chef were doing very well. In the circumstances, The Bodger was quite satisfied. The Bodger’s main concern was not what the ship’s company should eat, but what they should drink. There would soon be a shortage of fresh water on board. Seahorse's tanks did not contain enough water for a prolonged passage in the tropics. There was a distiller but it was fitted in the main passageway and the noise and heat it generated made the messes adjacent to it uninhabitable. The only solution was a compromise, to run the distiller for limited periods and to ration fresh water. Otherwise, the problem seemed insoluble without divine intervention.
Unknown to The Bodger, divine intervention was almost at hand. That evening, soon after tea, Seahorse ran into a tropical rainstorm. The Midshipman was on watch and knew exactly what to do.
“Close up radar. Tell the Captain.”
The messenger found The Bodger with Dangerous Dan in the petty officers’ mess, playing the final of the ship’s uckers tournament against the Chief Stoker and the Second Coxswain.
“From the bridge sir, he’s closing up radar, sir.”
“What for?”
“I think it’s a rain cloud, sir. . .
“Rain!”
The Midshipman pointed out the cloud to The Bodger.
“I’m closing up radar, sir, because of the likelihood of reduced visibility forrard sir. . .
“To hell with radar and to hell with the reduced vis! It’s the rain I’m after! “The cloud was only four or five miles ahead of the ship. A curtain of rain was lashing the sea over a front of several miles. Seahorse was heading directly for the centre of the storm. The Bodger moistened parched lips and rubbed the stubble on his chin.
“It’s like an answer to prayer,” he whispered. He bent to the voice-pipe. “Pass the message to all compartments, all ratings not on watch muster on the casing with soap for showers.”
“Say again, sir! “ yelled Ripper, who was on the wheel.
“Clear lower deck! Muster on the casing! Provide Soap!”
“Clear lower deck, muster on the casing, provide soap, aye aye, sir!” shouted Ripper. “The Captain’s gone off his rocker,” he added to the Radio Electrician, who was petty officer of the watch. The Radio Electrician nodded sombrely.
In a short time over sixty naked men, clutching soap and sponges expectantly, mustered on the casing and gazed at the approaching storm.
Wearing only his soap-bag in one hand, The Bodger conned the ship towards the centre of the storm.
“Starboard five. . . . Steady. . . . Steer that. . . . That should do it. . . .”
With a booming roar of wind the storm was upon them. The rain drummed on the casing and bounced off the sailors’ naked bodies. Seahorse was enveloped in a grey wall of water. The sailors pounded their chests and shouted songs as they leisurely soaped themselves for their first real wash since the ship left England.
Dangerous Dan joined the crowd on the casing and began to wash himself like a man demented. He scrubbed and rubbed himself as though every second were priceless. His energy amused the sailors who were covering themselves in lather and allowing the blessed rain to wash it off.
But there was method in Dangerous Dan’s frenzied washing. The rain storm passed away as quickly as it had come. The rain stopped abruptly. The uncovered sun began to harden the outer layers of lather. The Bodger seized the voice-pipe in a desperate, slippery hand.
”After that cloud! Hard a starboard! Foil ahead together!”
Seahorse heeled in a tight turn towards the retreating storm. Her half-lathered officers and ship’s company watched her progress anxiously. The artificer on watch in the engine room was advised of the emergency. The engines thundered as they had never thundered before.
Directed by a wild-eyed Bodger, Seahorse dodged all over the ocean but the storm eddied this way and that, steadily gaining distance from the pursuing submarine. At last The Bodger was forced to abandon the chase.
Dangerous Dan was conspicuous amongst the throng on the casing. He was as sleek and shining as a seal.
“I must say I admire your soap,” he said to Dagwood, whose body and hair were still partly covered in encrusted lather. “What sort is it?”
Dangerous Dan had his own version of the Needle Game.
Dangerous Dan began his survey when Seahorse was sixty miles from the Equator. Dangerous Dan working was quite a different man from Dangerous Dan amusing himself with party games on passage. He was up every morning at five o’clock to calibrate his instruments and he did not finish his last calculations on the day’s data until after midnight. He had placed the black box on the chart-table but the main part of his equipment including the echo-sounder had been installed in a space between the Coxswain’s store and the oilskin locker. Dangerous Dan’s working day was spent bobbing and ducking between the control room and the store.
Seahorse dived twice a day for Dangerous Dan’s readings, while the Black Box in the control room gave an instantaneous three-dimensional picture of the sea bottom, computed from the echo-sounder transmissions.
The Black Box was the most fascinating side-show anyone in Seahorse had ever seen. The ship’s company queued up to look at it.
“Roll up, roll up. What The Butler Saw Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea,” Leading Seaman Gorbles said.
“Is that the bottom of the sea?” exclaimed the Chef. “Blimey, I thought it was flat!”
The Chef spoke for most of the ship's company. If anyone in Seahorse had ever thought about the sea bottom at all, they had imagined it sloping downwards from the continents to a flat plain until it sloped upwards again for the next continent--with the odd uncharted pinnacle regularly rammed by submarines off Londonderry. Dangerous Dan’s Black Box showed that the sea had a geography of its own. Seahorse swam suspended over submarine mountain ranges which would have dwarfed the Alps and over deeps which could easily have contained the Grand Canyon. The Black Box showed a panorama of drowned rivers winding through ancient courses on the sea floor, islands which had been cut off in their growth towards the light, plains as wide as the steppes and foothills which stretched like the folds of a giant’s blanket for hundreds of miles. The instrument was also sensitive enough to record objects between Seahorse and the sea floor. Strange vast shadows like clouds moved over the screen, marking the passage of a shoal of an unimaginable number of fish. Sometimes the screen picked up speeding images with spiked tails which looked as though sea-dragons on a titanic scale were flying over the landscape below them.
As Dangerous Dan’s experiments progressed, every man in Seahorse began to have an inkling of the immensity of the ocean. The sea was not a homogeneous mass of water but had currents, like veins, and layers, like muscles. It was always in a state of stress, a shifting, restless, hostile entity. Seahorse was an intruder, creeping about on the fringe of a colossal mystery and peering, from an impertinent distance, at the supreme wonder of the earth.
The Bodger maintained the normal sonar listening watch while Seahorse was dived for the experimental runs. Although Seahorse was so far off the main shipping routes that there was never any ships’ hydrophone effect, the sea itself provided a miscellany of sounds which descended through the whole range of human hearing. There was often a hollow resonant booming, lik
e the pounding of mammoth breakers a thousand miles away, coupled with clicks, thumps, metallic knocking and shrill cat calls. Porpoise wailed near the surface and at every depth there came suddenly a deafening staccato chatter, like the applause of a myriad scaly claws.
“Whoever said this was the silent world needs his head examined,” said Leading Seaman Gorbles. “More like Marble Arch on a Sunday.”
One morning Leading Seaman Gorbles picked up a new sound. It was a slow eerie beat, accompanied by regular high-pitched squeals. He pointed it out to Rusty, who was officer of the watch. Rusty called The Bodger, who listened himself.
“What do you make of it, Gorbles?”
“Couldn’t say, sir. Could be transmissions, though they’re nothing like anything I’ve ever heard before. Sounds like someone having a cheap thrill, sir.”
“Put it over the control room broadcast. And don’t be facetious.”
The control room was filled with the treble squeaks, underlined by the same slow steady beat. The sound had an artificial regularity, without the haphazardness of a sound emitted by a living organism.
Dangerous Dan paused on his way down to the store to listen. Wilfred and Dagwood came out of the wardroom.
“Very slow revs, sir. Not more than twenty a minute. Sometimes not even that, sir.”
The Bodger made up his mind.
“Action Stations! Attack team close up!”
11
The Admiralty’s orders on the action to be taken by a captain on gaining an unidentified and possibly hostile submarine contact were contained in a Top Secret file in the Captain’s safe. But The Bodger did not need to consult them. He already knew their general gist almost by heart. Behind the veiled diplomatic language and the ambiguous official wording, they were quite explicit; they could be summed up in the traditional phrase “Engage the enemy more closely”.
Although the ship’s company had been told nothing of the position, the attack team closed up as quickly as though the Admiral himself were watching them. In Seahorse, as in all operational submarines, the step from peace to war was a short one. Leading Seaman Gorbles’ reports began to come over the action broadcast with a decisive snap which he had never achieved in fleet exercises.
“Target three two three . . . Moving left. . .”
The Chef stuck his head out of the galley as the rest of the attack team tumbled by to their action stations.
“Where’s the fire?”
“Haven’t you heard, Whacker,” said the Steward. “We’re at war with the whales.”
“Less noise,” said The Bodger. “Assume quiet state.”
It was as though The Bodger had given Seahorse the order to die. In a few minutes all inessential fans and motors had been stopped, the telegraph order bells had been muffled, Derek stopped one shaft and the submarine glided on at slow speed. Seahorse became as quiet as a hunting cat, ears cocked for the least sound.
Suddenly, with the violence of a thunder-clap, there was a loud clang and an oath from the direction of the engine room. The Bodger jumped in spite of himself.
“Tell that rating to come here! “
A shame-faced stoker appeared in the control room.
“What was that noise?”
“I dropped a spanner, sir.”
“You and your chums back in your ivory tower don’t seem to realize that there is someone out there,” The Bodger pointed dramatically at the bulkhead, “just listening for crumbs like you. Now get out! And take your shoes off!”
“.. .Target faded, sir.”
“Hah, he’s heard us. I’m not surprised. I expect they can hear us back in Pompey with all the noise we’re making. Bring all after tubes to the action state.”
The Bodger regretted his outburst almost as soon as he had finished it. He remembered that the ship’s company had not been told anything yet. He picked up the broadcast microphone and pressed the button. There was no hum from the system. Just as The Bodger was gathering breath to vent his irritation, Dagwood said: “The broadcast system is switched off for quiet state, sir.”
The Bodger let out his breath again in a long sigh. “Switch it on again while I talk to the ship’s company.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Main broadcast switched on, sir.”
“D’you hear there. This is the Captain speaking. We have a visitor. About ten minutes ago we got an unidentified contact on sonar. I don’t know what it is yet but I will let you know as soon as I do. The attack team will remain closed up in the meantime. That’s all.”
“All after tubes in the action state, sir.”
“Very good.”
“Visitor regained, sir, one five seven. . . .”
“One five seven! “ The target had gone round nearly a hundred and eighty degrees, unheard by sonar. The Bodger gritted his teeth, feeling the temper rising in him.
“One five eight, moving right, faint ecstatic transmissions. . . “
“What do you mean ‘ecstatic’?”
“Can’t describe it any other way, sir,” replied Leading Seaman Gorbles apologetically. “Sounds like someone enjoying himself, sir. Can’t get a transmission interval or nothing on him, sir.”
It was the strangest attack The Bodger had ever carried out. The Visitor appeared to track steadily right, then stop, track back, and shoot suddenly forward again.
“What speed does the plot give?”
“Last speed five knots, sir, mean speed forty knots, sir! “
“Impossible!”
“That’s what the plot says, sir,” said the Signalman aggrievedly.
“Check that, Number One.”
Wilfred measured the Signalman’s angles and made a rough calculation.
“It certainly seems like that, sir.”
“It can’t be! “
“. . . Visitor faded, last bearing two one one. . .“
“Now we’ll have to wait, I suppose,” The Bodger said. “And see where he pops up again next time.”
Dangerous Dan was watching the attack from the tactful safety of the wardroom door. The science of submarine versus submarine attacking had been in its infancy when he left submarines just after the war and he was enthralled by his first privileged view of it. Dangerous Dan knew enough of submarine tactics to appreciate that the procedure he was now watching was as far removed from the normal submarine attack on a surface vessel as higher mathematics was from mental arithmetic. As a submariner himself, Dangerous Dan could guess at the ordeal The Bodger was undergoing. Engaging an unknown submarine was difficult enough; engaging one which behaved so unpredictably was like going out to catch a criminal who was not only waving a meat-axe but fighting drunk.
“... Visitor regained. Zero zero eight....”
“Gone through a hundred and eighty degrees again,” said The Bodger.
“... Visitor bearing steady. . .“
“Plot suggests target turned towards, sir!” cried Wilfred.
“Full ahead together! Hard a port! “
“All round H.E., sir... Very loud. . .“
They all felt the enemy passing very close down the starboard side. There was rushing, sluicing sound and Seahorse rocked crazily from side to side.
“Great God Almighty,” The Bodger whispered. “The man’s mad! Absolutely Harry starkers! “
“... Visitor lost in our own. . .“
“Slow ahead together. Midships.”
“... Visitor faded. ..”
There was a profound and thoughtful silence in the control room after the last sonar report. The Bodger became aware that the passageways on either side of the control room were crowded. He noticed the press of faces, all straining to see and hear what was happening.
The last exchange set the pattern for the next two hours. The Visitor circled Seahorse at a cautious distance before lunging inwards on a suicidal collision course. Again and again the ship’s company clutched at pipes and brackets as the submarine rocked under the assaults. The Bodger was more than ever convinced
that he was dealing with a submarine captain who had had a touch of the sun. However, crazy or not, the Visitor possessed a staggering underwater speed and manoeuvreability.
“He’s making rings round us,” The Bodger said. “But that’s just about all he is doing. How long has the attack team been closed up?”
“Just under three hours, sir,” said Wilfred.
“Fall out the attack team. Keep the plot manned. The rest can fall out. Arrange the attack team in two watches.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Let me know whenever sonar picks him up again.”
As the hours passed, the Visitor’s behaviour began to appear less unpredictable. His movements followed a definite sequence. He disappeared for one hour, circled for an hour and attacked at the end of the hour, only to disappear again. Just as The Bodger was hoping that he had gone for good, he came back. The Bodger came to anticipate the attacks and stood by the officer of the watch as the Visitor hurtled past. The rest of the time The Bodger sat in the wardroom and waited, like a billiard player sweating it out while his opponent ran up a huge break.
At supper time, Dangerous Dan was sitting in the wardroom looking very thoughtful.
“I wonder if I might make a suggestion, Bodger?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve been thinking about that black box of mine. I believe I can fix it to read up to about a thousand feet below us. I can cut out the response from the sea bottom by altering the scale. It won’t be very accurate but it might give you a line on him...”
“What a splendid idea, Dan! “
“It’ll only be any use while he’s below us, of course. . .”
“That doesn’t matter. It’s better than nothing. Can you start it now?”
“Surely.”
“He’s not due back for another half an hour. Will that give you time?”
“Ample. It’s all calibrated and warmed up anyway.”
“Splendid! What a brilliant idea, Dan! “
Dangerous Dan shrugged modestly. “All done by kindness,” he said.
Dangerous Dan climbed down again to his apparatus. Soon, it was clear that something was wrong with the black box. Dangerous Dan passed to and fro, a worried frown on his face.
