Marine A SBS

by Shaun Clarke

  Dalton went next, spiralling down into the darkness. He too was tossed to and fro by the wind, but he kept dropping steadily. Masters looked down as Dalton was grabbed and pulled aboard, the American releasing the straps and tugging three times to inform the loadmaster. The latter winched the harness back up, helped Pancroft into it, and lowered him down the same way. Then Masters put the harness on, sat in the wind-blown doorway, and heard the voice of his young friend Schulman.

  ‘Don’t get too wet down there!’ Schulman called out. ‘Don’t go for a swim! Give me a call if you get back in one piece and I’ll buy you a beer. Adiós and good luck!’

  Masters dropped into space. The wind howled and picked him up and threw him sideways and then the straps took control of him. He dangled high above the boat, above the black sea and white foam, aware only of pale faces staring up from the darkness, squinting against the wind and spray as they checked his position. Then he was lowered down, swinging in and out on the wind, spinning, dizzy, fighting for breath, his head tight and filled with noise: the roaring helicopter, the howling wind, the squeaking winch, the pounding, splashing waves and the bawling of many men. The descent seemed to take a long time – as if time had stood still – but eventually two pairs of hands grabbed him and pulled him down to the boat.

  He rolled across the deck, then stood shakily and released the harness. Looking up and blinking, rubbing salt water from his eyes, he saw Lieutenant-Colonel Edwards, Captain Pancroft, Dalton and a lot of soaked, grinning deck hands. The harness was winched up and pulled into the Dragonfly. The side door was slid shut. The helicopter ascended vertically, hovered shuddering for a moment, then headed back the way it had come, disappearing in darkness.

  ‘Home and dry,’ Lieutenant-Colonel Edwards said with a grin.

  ‘Hardly dry,’ Masters said.

  15

  Victory was tossing from side to side. The sea roared and smashed over it. The other submersible-carriers had stopped also and were widely spread out in a triangular formation, rising up and falling on the high waves. Masters fought to keep his balance as the icy spray showered over him. Looking around, he saw the lights of the other boats illuminating the water. The wind howled and made the sea hiss and swirl and then explode into fine white spray.

  ‘That sea’s rough,’ Dalton said.

  ‘It’s only just starting,’ Masters told him. ‘I wouldn’t like to see it in an hour. Those waves will be murder.’

  The men on deck were a combination of Royal Navy sailors, divers and SBS Marine Commandos, all wearing wet suits. Lieutenant-Colonel Edwards and Captain Pancroft were already donning wet suits while talking to the CO’s second in command, Major Laurence Lockyard, who had come from Peterhead on Victory. Six other men were on the lower deck at the stern, clambering over the four pinioned submersibles. The stern was open to the sea. A steel frame formed a bridge. The submersibles were connected to the frame, all set to be lowered. The stern rose and fell to let more waves wash over it. The men at the submersibles were in wet suits as black as the night.

  ‘Are those the maintenance men?’ Edwards asked Major Lockyard.

  ‘Yes, boss. They’ve already put their kit and explosives in the submersibles, but they’re waiting to talk to you.’

  ‘Good,’ Edwards said. He zipped up his wet suit and was starting forward when he was approached by a Royal Navy officer wearing a soaked gabardine raincoat over his uniform.

  ‘Lieutenant-Colonel Edwards?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m the captain of Victory. Lieutenant Commander William Sandison. Apart from being told to rendezvous here, I’m still a bit in the dark.’

  ‘I want us dropped off in the submersibles at a given location, then your boats can return to Peterhead. You don’t need to know any more than that. Where are we, precisely?’

  ‘Ten miles east of Charlie 2. You said five, but you arrived too early. We only stopped to let you aboard. Shall I start up again?’

  ‘Will the submersibles go that far?’

  ‘A lot farther than that if you want.’

  ‘Excellent. You can drop us off right now.’

  Victory rose and fell, then a roaring wave drenched them. The water swept noisily around their feet and then poured out through drainage holes on both sides. Masters, slipping into his wet suit, as was Dalton, looked at the other four boats in the triangular formation. The reflections of their lights were dancing in the hollows between the waves, racing to and fro like flying saucers, gliding like fireflies.

  ‘Are the men in the other boats ready?’ Edwards asked Lockyard.

  ‘They should be,’ Lockyard replied. ‘They won’t be in the submersibles right now, but that can soon be arranged.’

  ‘Weapons?’

  ‘Full kit. L34A1s and Armalites with M203s, as requested. They’re also equipped with Brownings, number 80 white-phosphorus incendiary grenades, a variety of plastic explosives, and abseiling equipment.’

  ‘Our kit and weapons?’

  ‘Already in the submersibles.’

  ‘Instructions?’

  ‘I deliberately left those vague, but told the men you would be filling them in when we left for the Beryl Field.’

  ‘What do they know about Charlie 2?’

  ‘Only that it’s been captured and that they have to get it back. They know commencement time is 0600 hours, but they don’t know much else.’

  The CO looked at his watch. It was 0530 hours. They would have to leave very soon.

  ‘Are they in contact?’ he asked.

  ‘All communications systems are open,’ Lockyard informed him. ‘Just give me the word.’

  ‘Right,’ Edwards said. ‘I want the men in the submersibles as of right now. I want the submersibles launched straight away.’

  ‘How do you do that?’ Dalton asked Masters as Edwards went off to have words with the six-man maintenance team, now waiting patiently on top of a submersible on the low stern deck.

  ‘It’s pretty simple, though easier in better weather,’ Masters told him. ‘A large lift-line picks the submersible up off the deck and lowers it to just above the water. A diver stands on the casing and disconnects the lift-line to let the submersible half sink in the sea. It’s held up by a tow-rope. We tow it out to its diving position and then, when it’s all set to go, the diver disconnects the tow-rope. You sink to whatever depth you require and then switch on the engines. It’s as simple as that.’

  ‘What kind of submersibles are they?’

  ‘Vickers Pisces III,’ Masters said. ‘Battery-operated.’

  ‘Communications?’

  ‘Marconi Modular systems with thruster control circuits, sub to sub. No interference at all.’

  ‘So the boats pull away, we float on the end of tow-ropes, the CO gives his instructions while we’re drifting and then we cast off.’

  ‘Very good, Mr Dalton.’

  Dalton grinned. ‘Will we get there in half an hour?’

  ‘Those little buggers are fast,’ Masters said.

  ‘I certainly hope so.’

  They had to wait for five minutes until the CO returned from the lower deck. ‘Right,’ he said crisply. ‘I’ve just given the maintenance team their instructions regarding the plugging of the hole blown in the pontoon leg by the terrorists, should such be the case. They’re dividing into three teams, taking three of the four submersibles. You, Rudy,’ he said to Captain Pancroft, ‘will join the first team, then take command of all the teams once the assault begins. You, Mr Dalton, will be in the second and are responsible for yourself once aboard the rig.’

  ‘That’s as it should be,’ Dalton said.

  ‘I’ll take the third submersible,’ the CO continued. ‘Major Lockyard will cross by motor launch to boat two, Nelson, and you, Sergeant Masters, will leave from this boat in the fourth submersible. Any questions, gentlemen?’

  All the men grouped around the CO shook their heads. The CO glanced at the other boats. The wind howled and the sea was roari
ng, with the waves curling higher each minute, exploding over the deck. The CO studied the sky. It was black and forbidding. Glancing across at the other four boats, he saw their lights through glistening showers of spray.

  ‘I’ll contact the others from Nelson,’ Lockyard said, ‘and order them into the submersibles. I’ll have them all over the side fifteen minutes from now.’

  The CO checked the time. ‘Good. Let us drift for five minutes. That will give me enough time to brief the men. We can all cast off then.’

  Lockyard nodded and went to the starboard side to catch the small launch that would take him to Nelson. The others made their way to the stern, being careful and holding firmly to the railings. The sea was roaring all around them, sweeping noisily across the deck, pouring over the other side or through the drainage holes while the ship rose and fell and plunged through more oncoming waves. They finally reached the submersibles. The maintenance men were already boarding. The launching deck resembled a cross-Channel ferry and the wind howled icily across it. The ship was rolling from side to side, the sea roared and flooded the deck, but the submersibles were pinioned firmly to their stays and, though drenched, seemed secure.

  Twenty feet long and eleven feet high, the miniature submarines looked like huge insects perched on skis. The ports comprised three round windows and had reinforced lights above them. On each side there were propellers. They had no rudders, but were steered simply by increasing the drive on the relevant propeller. Squat legs joined up to the skids, which were to allow movement on the seabed. Beneath the ports, at the base of the prow, was the manipulator assembly, or CAMS (Cybernetic Anthropomorphous Machine System): a set of robotic steel arms used for remote-control work on the seabed. It was those windows on the nose of the submersibles, Masters realized, combined with the skids, that made them look like giant insects.

  As Edwards, Pancroft and Dalton were clambering into their respective submersibles, Josephine, Huk and Genesis, Masters looked up at the two muscular SBS corporals waiting on top of the fourth submersible, Trinity. Wind-blown and drenched, they had bandoliers of white-phosphorus incendiary grenades strung around their wet suits. The grenades were all wrapped tightly in cling film to protect them from the water. Masters didn’t know the men. Both were specialists with all kinds of boats and in another squadron.

  ‘Who’s in charge?’ Masters asked.

  ‘I am,’ one of the men, a blond giant, said.

  ‘Do you know what you’re here for?’

  ‘No, Sarge.’

  ‘It’s terrorists,’ Masters said. ‘They’ve taken over Charlie 2 and threatened to blow a hole in a pontoon leg if we attack. Unfortunately, we have no choice, so we’re going to attack. The job of this team is to mend the leg before the rig sinks.’

  ‘We’ll have to fight our way to it.’

  ‘Correct,’ Masters said. ‘We three can take care of the fighting while Captain Pancroft leads the men down the pontoon leg. That’s it. Let’s go.’

  Without a word, the second corporal clambered into the submersible and Masters followed him in, first grabbing hold of its curved metal ‘sail’ to haul himself up. Once on top, he had to fight to keep his balance, since the boat was now rocking heavily. Waiting for the first man to lower himself down the hatch, Masters glanced at the boat’s low, open stern and saw a powerful wave breaking over it, filling the air with a fountain of hissing spray. The corporal dropped through the hatch, then disappeared completely, so Masters swung his legs over, sat briefly on the edge of the steel sail, then carefully lowered himself down.

  He landed on a wooden deck. Beneath the deck were pipes and pumps. The interior of the submersible was small and very cramped, with curved walls of steel and a low ceiling. Masters had to stoop low. The hatch was directly above his head. He saw two curved wooden benches around the side of the sphere, facing the three ports at the front. There was more equipment beneath the benches, there were controls on all sides, and every available space in the sphere was covered with gauges and valves.

  The corporal was at the pilot’s console, sitting on a low wooden bench. When a pair of big, soaked boots dropped down just above Masters’s head, he had to quickly move back. Bumping his head on the low ceiling, he cursed and sat on the bench. The blond giant had just dropped on to the wooden deck and was shutting the hatch. He grunted as he turned the locking wheel, which made a harsh, grating sound. The noise reverberated around the small sphere and then the wheel clicked shut. The blond giant muttered something and knelt between the benches. He seemed ridiculously large in that enclosed space, grinning at Masters.

  ‘They’re pretty small,’ he said.

  ‘Too small,’ Masters replied.

  ‘I don’t like to be underwater in these fuckers. At least not for long.’

  Suddenly, the submersible started shaking and giving off reverberating metallic sounds. Startled, Masters glanced up, then he recognized the sound of clanging chains.

  ‘It’s the diver,’ the blond giant explained. ‘He’s standing on top of the submersible. He’ll stay there while we’re lowered over the stern and then he’ll disconnect the lift-line. The boat will pull away from us and we’ll float out on the tow-rope. Then, when we’re ready to cast off, he’ll disconnect that as well.’

  The man’s voice had an echo, as did every sound inside the sphere. The lights were on and they shone down the curved walls, gleaming off pipes and valves. Masters didn’t feel claustrophobic – he’d been well trained for this – but he certainly felt the urge to get out and back into the open air. Trying to distract himself, he glanced around the cramped sphere. The corporal-pilot was facing the pilot’s console, checking gauges and dials. Masters glanced at his watch. It was 0540 hours. They would reach the rig shortly after 0600 hours, which is when it would all start.

  The submersible started vibrating, shaking violently, breaking loose, then it jumped up and swung from side to side as if hanging in space. That’s exactly what was happening: it was swinging over the launching deck. It had been picked up by the lift-line and was now swinging over the stormy sea. Masters held on to the bench, feeling a bit disorientated. The submersible shook with a dreadful clanging sound, then suddenly dropped like a stone, going down very fast. There was a crashing sound as the dropping motion stopped abruptly, followed by a reverberating drumming sound as the submersible bounced up and down and finally settled again, rocking lightly from side to side.

  ‘We’re drifting out,’ the corporal said. ‘The boat’s pulling away. When we stop drifting out, the tow-rope’s tight. We get the CO’s speech then.’

  Masters gazed through a porthole. The sea fell away into darkness. The waves rolled up and rushed down to form a tunnel, then raced up again. The sea was extremely rough, and it was like being on a big dipper. Masters felt his stomach heave as they climbed up and then plunged down again.

  Outside the porthole was a whirlpool of water; rushing forward, it smashed noisily against the port, swirled around wildly as if in a washing machine, then fell away to reveal the dark sky, drifting clouds, a few stars. This movement was continuous and soon became sickening, with the submersible leaning over dramatically, then straightening again.

  Masters crawled away from the porthole and sat on the wooden bench, but instantly was almost thrown sideways by another violent motion. He heard the drumming of the sea against the hull, then the sphere settled down.

  Turned on by the corporal, the radio was crackling. The voice of Lieutenant Commander Sandison came through the speaker, distorted and unreal. ‘Victory to Josephine. Victory to Josephine. You are now in position to tow-drift. We will launch in five minutes.’

  ‘Josephine to Victory. Josephine to Victory. Message received. Roger and out.’

  The corporal turned around. He had left the radio open. Waving his right hand at the console, he nodded to Masters.

  ‘The CO should come on any minute now, then we’ll be taking off. The CO’s in Josephine.’

  ‘Josephine to all sub
s. Josephine to all subs,’ came over the radio. ‘This is your Commanding Officer speaking. We are now in tow-drift and will be casting off as soon as I finish speaking. We will be heading for Charlie 2. That rig has been hijacked. The crew have all been murdered and sixty terrorists are now aboard. We have to rout the terrorists and take the rig back. We are not concerned with damage to the rig, nor with the lives of the terrorists. Once aboard you will shoot to kill. You will board by climbing the pontoon legs. Your orders are to commence firing as soon as you reach the deck or as soon as the enemy fires. We are casting off now. We will submerge to three hundred feet. We will follow the chart route to Charlie 2 and surface under the main deck. The pilots will open the hatches and check with the other pilots. No one is to move to the ladders until all hatches are open. There’s to be no noise down there. The assault commences when Josephine signals. At the signal you will advance to the ladders with weapons ready to fire. Select the ladder closest to you. Shoot on sight of the enemy. Don’t stop until the whole rig is cleared and every terrorist is either dead or captured. Over and out.’

  When the static rushed back in the corporal turned the volume down. He turned the volume back up a few seconds later, when the CO came back on line.

  ‘Instructions for Auk, Huk and Genesis. Repeat: instructions for Auk, Huk and Genesis. You are not to engage the enemy unless absolutely necessary. Your mission is to get to the damaged pontoon leg. You will stay with the crew of Trinity, who will give you cover. You will descend into the damaged pontoon leg and repair it as best you can. Take full diving kit and wet-welding equipment. As you also have to carry the replacement plates for the pontoon leg, the only weapons you can carry are your Brownings. Repeat: stick with Trinity. Your mission is to fix that damaged leg. I want no deviations.’