“Unless you need a hand getting onto New England.”
“Not likely. We expect to be completely self-sufficient. We have practised procedures.”
“I’m sure.”
“In the meantime, I want to get to the Fastnet at what do you call it? Flank speed?”
Richard raised his walkie-talkie to his mouth. “Full ahead, please, Andrew. Back onto the course as marked.”
Hero sprang to life and slid into motion with surprising rapidity. As she did so, the curtains over the doorway of the area twitched and a huge man, dressed identically to Merrideth and carrying a massive case of equipment, skipped down the stairs.
“Set up the scaley kit here, boss?”
Scaley kit? Richard dredged his knowledge of military slang.
“On the table, Op,” said Merrideth, and the case crashed down onto it with cringe-making force.
The name “Op” answered Richard’s question for him. The scaley kit was the communications equipment.
Another massive man came in and slammed to attention as the first tore the case apart. “Area secure, boss. Guards out.”
“Fine, Mac. O Group when ops is up. This area is out of bounds. Except to Captain Mariner.”
“Right.” The man slipped out of sight.
Merrideth turned. “Comms, Op?”
“Coming on line now, boss. Sat com in. Everything green.”
Merrideth pulled out of one of his flak jacket pockets what Richard at first took to be a bulky little personal radio. But instead of listening to it, Merrideth started pushing buttons and a small screen lit up. Richard looked up, surprised, and found Merrideth’s cold grey eyes watching him. “High-tech,” said the officer cryptically. “She’s moved again but she hasn’t come to speed. We’ve still got time to catch her. Can I have an ETA for Fastnet?”
Richard had been expecting the question and was quick with his reply. “Four hours. But you’re in business after two. As long as they don’t run north we can catch New England anywhere after the Lizard.”
“Good enough. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some plans to make with my men which you need not concern yourself with.”
Richard pushed the curtain aside and climbed the three steps up. At the top stood the second big man. The one Merrideth had called Mac. Over his shoulder Richard could see that the accommodation area had been transformed into squadron lines. Black boxes of anonymous kit were stacked everywhere, arranged into little areas so that the men could have some privacy. Mac had sergeant written all over him, so Richard wasn’t surprised to hear Merrideth call, “Teams in now, please, Mac. The rest to stand down.”
“Teams move,” ordered Mac. “Stand down the rest of you.” His voice had hardly risen above the conversational but everyone moved on his word. Two teams of four broke ranks and began to make their way towards the briefing room. The other men settled into their selected areas and starting to sort out personal kit.
Mac fell in beside Richard as he crossed the area. “We have a fully stocked galley, Sergeant,” he said. “The equivalent of a pretty good cafe and bar. Please tell Mr Merrideth that the men are welcome to use it.”
“They’ll brew up in their bashas if they feel the need. And they won’t be getting much time to relax. After briefing there’ll be kit to check for when we go out on the ground.”
“I see. But tell Mr — ”
“The major will contact you on the bridge if there’s anything else he wants, sir.”
This quiet speech brought the pair of them to the foot of the companionway. Richard climbed up to the bridge and crossed to the watchkeeper’s chair where he sat, lost in thought.
“They’re a funny bunch, by all accounts,” said Andrew Fawley.
“You can say that again,” said Richard. “This lot certainly are.”
Twenty minutes later, Richard’s personal radio buzzed. “Yes?”
“I was wondering, Captain, if you would like to join us for a section of our briefing now,” said Merrideth.
*
Little or nothing seemed to have changed as Mac led Richard back towards the conference area. There were no brew-ups going on in the bashas after all. Instead, the men who did not need to attend the briefing were exercising, silently but intensively. As Richard watched, one of the men doing fierce sit-ups, his face vivid under a completely white pate, pulled out a watch and took his own pulse, then silently sprang to his feet and started checking on the others like a doctor making his rounds. Mac made no comment as the pair of them passed the panting men and the crouching, bald doctor. Neither did Richard. Not aloud, at least.
The scaley kit had been moved onto one of the smaller tables under the vibrating porthole through which the dawn could be seen fighting to outstrip Hero’s wild dash westward. Neat little screens glowed dully, like a small sibling of Harry Newbold’s system.
Chairs had been arranged in classroom style in front of the large table which was pushed up against the bulkhead. A large schematic of New England was Blu-Tacked to the wall above, surrounded by photographs, diagrams and cut-aways. Some of the photographs Richard recognised from the meeting at the Army and Navy Club, while others were familiar from press coverage and publicity material. There were also meteorological print-outs from the fax on the bridge and a chart of the North Atlantic.
“Thank you, Mac, I think we’re all here now.” Mac took his cue and vanished through the curtains silently. But the fabric hung at an odd angle, disturbed by the solidity of his shoulders as he stood guard immediately outside.
Merrideth was standing in front, facing his audience. Under the light his face was pale and strained, slightly puffy around the eyes. In front of him sat the two team leaders, slightly separated from their men. Each had a green military Filofax open on his lap. Richard noted a new formality and tension.
“Captain Mariner,” began Merrideth. “You are the only man aboard who has been on New England. I would be very grateful if you could comment on those parts of the briefing which your experience makes relevant.”
“Certainly. Do you want me to offer observations or wait until you ask?”
“If you could let me set the scene. See if my intelligence squares with yours. Now, orders for a hostage rescue involving two moving vessels at sea.
“First, the ground — inappropriate as that might sound.” He leaned over and switched on a little laser pointer. Everyone concentrated on the progress of the red dot. “This is a chart of the North Atlantic. We are here, marked by this blue pin. The red pin is the vessel New England. This is the Irish coast and this is the coast of North America. These marks show territorial limits. They will be of particular importance when we discuss the time frame for this mission. Both vessels are in this area of high pressure with good visibility, clear skies and low winds. Seas are moderate. Met will be updated hourly.”
Merrideth moved so that his audience could see the large schematic. “New England is a currently unclassified vessel capable of speeds between sixty and ninety knots, in excess of one hundred miles an hour. I want you to pay particular attention to the sections marked in yellow highlighter. These are the storage and engineering areas.
“As you all know, New England was stopped in mid-Atlantic…”
Richard listened to Merrideth covering the gist of their meeting at the Army and Navy Club while his mind fleshed out the schematic of New England and tried to visualise the jet-ship and Hero speeding at one hundred miles an hour across the ocean. This would not be a boarding in the traditional sense at all. It would be like leaping from a jumbo jet onto Concorde in midflight…
“Mission.” Merrideth had deliberately changed his tone to ensure complete attention. “To take New England, neutralise the men holding her and release the hostages.” He crossed to stand between the chart of the North Atlantic and a black Nobo pad in the corner. “Clearly, with a vessel capable of New England’s, speed, the time frame is a major consideration. At full speed, the ship can cross the Atlantic in thirty-six hours. If w
e can retake the ship immediately, in Irish territorial waters, we will return her to her port of destination, Southampton. If not, and we retake her within the first twenty-four hours, we will find ourselves in international waters and may consult the captain, the owner and the relevant authorities as to whether to bring her back to Southampton or take her to her home port, Philadelphia. If we do not take New England within the first twenty-four hours, we should count ourselves as being under American jurisdiction and we should prepare to facilitate further action from the American authorities themselves.”
Merrideth turned to the North Atlantic chart. “American jurisdiction in this case will be effective between Cape Race and Cape Horn. Neither the Canadians nor any of the authorities in the various South American states, apparently, wish to become involved. It seems unlikely to our lords and masters that New England is bound south and east, round Good Hope, though she certainly has the range if she chooses to use it. We have supplies to last us for forty-eight hours, therefore. Any American reinforcements can be expected to re-supply us. New England cannot be expected to sail at full speed for more than four days, so that is the outer edge of our time frame.”
Richard’s hand went up.
“Yes, Captain Mariner?”
“The pictures you showed me of New England in Heaven’s Gate did not include any of her being refuelled.”
“That is correct. She was not refuelled.”
“Then sixty hours is your maximum time frame. Sixty hours at most. That’s all the fuel she’ll have left aboard after one crossing.”
Merrideth stood silent, his mind clearly busy.
“So you have your time frame and your theatre of operations, Major. They might technically get six thousand miles in sixty hours but it’s unlikely. That means, no matter where they run, south or west, they’re trapped. They can’t realistically expect to get out of the Atlantic.”
“Thank you for that point, Captain. Hopefully we’ll get it all sorted before we get to the limit either of the time or the ocean. Now, execution.” Merrideth cleared his throat. “This is a three-phase operation. Phase one, board New England. Phase two, locate and neutralise the enemy. Phase three, re-organise, treat any casualties and arrange for New England to return to Southampton or Philadelphia, whichever is nearer at that time.
“Phase one. Hero can close with New England but we obviously cannot go straight aboard for the reasons of design and speed we have discussed.” He began to draw on the Nobo pad. “This is New England and this is Hero. At night we can approach and overtake her.” He drew another Hero at the two o’clock position ahead of New England. “We can then depart Hero in our Geminis into the path of New England. As she closes with us we make ready to secure the Geminis with magnetic anchors to her hull here, just where you see this access marked “Lifeboat Port”. Once aboard, we clear these areas and begin to work our way up…”
Richard let the rest of Merrideth’s simple plan wash over him as he focused fiercely on the crucial opening section. It wasn’t going to work in a month of Sundays. Merrideth had got almost every detail back to front. These men were as good as dead.
As Richard sat lost in thought, Merrideth completed the briefing. “Any questions? Right. Team leaders will de-brief back here in ninety minutes. We’ll zero weapons in thirty. We’ll have a splash target rigged and fire over the stern, if we can at this speed. Sigs brief after brief-back, then we eat.” His cold grey eyes found Richard. “Captain Mariner. Have you anything to add?”
Richard cleared his throat, then spoke slowly, feeling very isolated here. “I think you have a problem,” he began. “In fact you have several. You can’t put inflatables into the water at that speed. You can’t get across to New England because once you come in front of her she’ll see you and take avoiding action. You won’t be able to anchor onto her side, and if by a miracle you could, then you’d just find a plain surface with “Lifeboat” stencilled on it. All the access holes are automatically covered as the ship comes to speed. I’m damned if I can see any way aboard at all if you let her come up to speed.”
“One thing at a time,” said Merrideth calmly. “We could blow the lifeboat ports open.”
“No. The hull’s far too strong. And in any case, you’ll never be able to hang on. You’ve got to get on deck before she comes to full speed. The access points you need are the aft hold hatches of the main deck but they’re only a possibility if you can get up there before she comes to speed.”
“The openings above the jets,” mused Merrideth. “Yes, we could do that. Hold on tight with the magnetic anchors and…” Richard was shaking his head again. Then he was on his feet and moving to stand beside Merrideth. “No. The hull is carbon-fibre and composite. Non-metallic. Non-magnetic. You’ve got to get aboard another way.” He turned to the schematic of New England. “You might be able to hook on here and there, then climb up and break in. There’s a narrow well where the railings can be footed. Hooks should hold securely in that. It might be possible to bring you in astern, here, between the water jets, and give you a few moments to get your equipment and yourselves up here onto the rear of the deck. But once the main jet engines start to come up to power, you would simply be incinerated if you came anywhere near the stern of the ship. So even this plan would only work if you knew exactly when New England was going to sail and could get there in time to fall in behind her before she comes up to speed.”
“If we timed it carefully, would there be a window of opportunity to get aboard and into the hold during the acceleration sequence?” asked Merrideth.
“During the early part of the sequence, perhaps.”
“Not too early, however, not if we want to maintain surprise. For, correct me if I’m wrong, doesn’t the radar system have a special function which alters its range as the ship accelerates?”
“Yes, I take your point. At lower speeds, the radar has a very broad range, and a clear view aft as well as forward. But as the ship gathers speed, the focus is automatically narrowed and thrown exclusively forward.”
“So there are perhaps ten minutes when we could close and board unobserved by the ship’s instruments,” said Merrideth.
“By the radar at least. But it’s an awfully small window of opportunity in a very large game plan, Major.”
When Richard used his rank Merrideth looked straight at him and Richard was struck anew by the utter coldness of those steel-grey eyes. “Not necessarily,” said Merrideth quietly.
Richard’s jaw sagged as the penny suddenly dropped. “You know,” he said. “You know where and when they plan to go.”
“Not where, but what course they’re likely to follow at first. And, yes, we know when. So phase one looks as though it will work at least.”
“But how do you know?”
“Does the phrase “green slime in the head shed” mean anything?”
“No, Major. Not a damn thing.”
Merrideth’s eyes crinkled, though it could not be said that he smiled. “Intelligence from headquarters,” he explained. “Apparently a gentleman called Seamus O’Boyle, recently arrived from south of the border and currently in a private cell in Lisburn Barracks, has indicated that the people who currently hold New England have ordered the last of their armament deliveries to be on board no later than the end of the morning watch.”
Richard automatically looked at his watch. The second officer handed the watch to the third officer when the morning watch became the forenoon watch at 8 a.m. “That’s cutting it very fine,” he remarked.
“Can’t be helped,” said Merrideth shortly. “To sum up then. By 08:00 today, we expect Hero to be in position to settle in on New England’s tail. As soon as New England starts getting anywhere near speed, we slip in under her radar, come very close, right between the water jets, and deploy hooks and ropes onto the main deck. Our kit will be on Hero’s foredeck and our ropes will go directly up the middle of the jet section and hook into the railing well on the aft of New England’s deck. We go up as fast a
s we can and then down the hatches into the hold while Hero falls away and returns home with our thanks. Captain Mariner, are you aware of any alarm systems in the hold which we might need to take particular note of?”
“Heat sensors.”
“No one will be smoking. Are they powerful enough to detect body heat?”
“No.”
“The only other heat will come from activities designed to set off all the other alarms as well. Anything else?”
“You could find yourselves on video. All the holds have closed circuit — though it’s only likely to be switched on if someone on the bridge thinks something’s up.
“Right. If we take the cameras out, will that automatically ring alarm bells?”
“Shouldn’t think so. Those sorts of systems are always going on the fritz.”
“Fair enough. Anything else?”
Richard shook his head.
“OK. Gentlemen, have any of you got any questions for Captain Mariner?” None had.
The teams dispersed to work out the details of their tasks, each team being given responsibility for part of the mission. Richard had seen the system work before and it impressed him, both as an efficient way of making the most of the men’s ability and experience, and as a testimony to the quality of these rank and file members of the Special Forces. At the brief-back, he knew, each team leader would present his plan to Merrideth and the other troops, and expect no-holds-barred criticism, accepting it the way Merrideth himself had accepted having to rethink the first phase. The result would be a plan that everyone had had a part in making and that each man understood perfectly.
Richard was conscious that his own contribution to that process could be significant, although Merrideth had given no indication that he would be included in the brief-back. Yet it was obvious that the men’s knowledge of New England was hopelessly inadequate. Only he himself could supply the intimate detail that the teams needed and he cudgelled his brains to remember how doors opened, how lights, alarms and a thousand other features of New England worked — details he had not given a moment’s thought to on his guided tour with Bob and Harry. Once aboard — if they got aboard — the SAS men were going to find themselves in a bewildering and dangerous technological jungle. What they really needed, in fact, was a native guide.
Hell Gate (Richard Mariner Series Book 9) Page 10
