Corpse (Commander Shaw Book 15)

by Philip McCutchan

  “It’s a’richt,” one of them said. “They were English.”

  The remark made me feel at some disadvantage myself, but those Scots and the rest of the airfield staff proved very helpful indeed. They were one hundred per cent committed against CORPSE now and they acceded readily to my requests: use of the helicopter, and use of their radio installation. I went up to Air Traffic Control and I set up the naval command frequency for contact with the Polaris fleet. I had no means, of course, of enciphering my message so I had to take a big risk, but shrugged it away with the knowledge that the Senciar Maru had the capacity to break the naval cipher in any case. I made my signal as from Defence Ministry; the addressee was the lurking threat to CORPSE and all its works, somewhere beneath the North Atlantic, and the message was an order to the nearest Polaris submarine to indicate its exact position immediately and then maintain it until further notice. All this, I authenticated by adding the Top Secret code group that had been communicated to me by Max via the Metropolitan Police Commissioner and memorised.

  Then I sat back to await the response.

  It was not long in coming: the nearest of the Polaris fleet was HMS Renown, cruising submerged off the North Irish coast and currently thirty miles from Malin Head, bearing 275 degrees. I did a quick calculation and then made one further signal: Renown was to surface in two hours as of now and stand by f or the approach of a helicopter.

  SEVENTEEN

  I went down from Air Traffic Control at speed, leaving instructions with the airfield staff to shut up shop and make themselves scarce: I would myself have no further need of Stornoway, and I felt the staff were in imminent danger now from CORPSE. I retrieved Josip Humo from the 6D2 jet and told the pilot to take off for Madrid again as soon as he had finished refuelling. Humo and I then ran for the helicopter and were airborne within seconds. Under a bright and rising sun all too reminiscent of Japan, the machine swung away to the south-west and raced at something like a hundred knots over the peaks and crags of the Outer Hebrides, down towards North Uist and then away for the north Irish coast to search the area of water thirty miles north-west of Malin Head. In a little over two hours out of Stornoway we were over the reported position of the Renown: I saw her, long and black and lethal, wallowing on the surface in a slight swell, with water washing her casing, streaming over her and falling away again.

  The helicopter came down to hover over the fore part of the submarine. I gave a wave to the captain, who was standing in the conning tower with two of his officers and a number of ratings, hair streaming in the down-draught from the rotor blades. First Josip Humo was winched down, then me, to be taken in hand by a naval party and set on our feet on the casing. There was a good deal of strain in the air, and many unasked questions hung: the Renown’s company were among the last outposts of free Britain, and they would all have families at risk and the risk was as great as ever even now. In accordance with orders I had already given, the helicopter pilot at once turned away and sped low across the water to put himself down in Northern Ireland and get lost. I had considered an air search for the Sendar Maru, but not for long: the Jap could be anywhere, and the helicopter would not have fuel enough for any useful quartering of the sea. It should be possible to find a way of inducing the Sendar Maru to approach the Clyde, and when she got there she would find the Renown across her track. That would be faster than any search could hope to be. And in any case, when I climbed to the upper reaches of the conning tower, thick and tall and black, and identified myself to the captain, a Commander Foster, he had news for me. Foster was tense, his voice sharp with anxiety, with an obvious feeling that the sands were running out. He asked the questions that the ratings had not asked, and I filled him in briefly, then he gave me the news good news up to a point: the Sendar Maru has transmitted a number of plain-language messages in the last hour or so and the Renown’s communications officer had been able to get a fix of her position and plot her course. She was steaming easterly from a position in latitude fifty-five degrees north, longitude eleven degrees west.

  “Almost due north of the Bloody Foreland, off Donegal.” Foster said, “or around a hundred miles to the north-westward of us, and closing.”

  “How fast?”

  Foster shrugged. “An estimated twenty knots. Contact can be made within the next two hours, if that’s what you want.”

  “It’s what I want,” I confirmed, and then came the bad news. I asked what the transmissions from the Sendar Maru had been about. Foster told me they had ordered the nuclear-waste ships in and they would be blasted off at noon if the Polaris fleet had not surfaced and set their courses for the Firth of Clyde for surrender and demilitarising. Foster’s face was as pale as death itself; he had been under immense strain, bearing a tremendous responsibility. I glanced at my watch: it was a little after 0800 hours. I wondered where the Sendar Maru was bound. To all appearances it looked like the Clyde, though I doubted if she would enter before she had blown the nuclear-waste vessels in the non-Scottish ports, and maybe not even then in case the Polaris fleet, not having surrendered, went into the last strike-back. Anyway, according to those fixes, she was coming fast towards the Renown’s position: maybe her communicators hadn’t been listening on the naval command frequency when I had sent my messages … maybe many things. It was at least possible even likely I felt now that she had no idea of the Renown’s current position across her inward track towards the Clyde. And I had to act before CORPSE did. Quickly I told Foster what I wanted: the Renown was to close the Sendar Maru at full surface speed and then stand by to take off the members of Her Majesty’s Government. Foster seemed surprised. “You really think they’ll release them?” he asked.

  “Under threat, yes.”

  “The threat being?”

  “Your Polaris missiles. That is. the missiles from the other submarines of the Polaris fleet … which you’ll have ordered to be homed on to the Sendar Maru. That’s what you’ll tell CORPSE.” Renown, as CORPSE would realise, would by then be too close to the Japanese vessel to be able to use her own missiles as a threat since the arc of fire could not be brought down to such short range; but the man in purple would know that in theory at any rate he stood at the mercy of the more distant and still submerged submarines. “CORPSE won’t want to lose their HQ ship, the nub of the whole operation.”

  “They have a good counter-threat, haven’t they? They’ll simply blow those bloody nuclear-waste vessels!”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it,” I said. “The cabinet’s not all that vital to them when all’s said and done … but a radiation-free Britain is!”

  “You’re going to the brink, aren’t you?”

  I gave a hard laugh. “So will CORPSE be. It’ll be a case of whose nerve is the first to give. I’ve an idea it won’t be mine. I have something of a trump card.” I told the submarine captain about the stomach bug, and its current nesting place low down in the Sendar Maru’s guts rather than mine. Before the death-ships blew, I would sacrifice the cabinet. He seemed quite a lot happier after that.

  *

  At 0932 hours we brought the huge shape of the Sendar Maru up ahead of our north-westerly course, which had taken us nicely into deep water and well clear of the land. Renown closed; soon the two vessels were no more than a mile apart; and I left the upper platform of the conning tower to take up my position below. There, I could listen by telephone to the proceedings without being seen myself from the Sendar Maru, where binoculars would shortly give the bridge personnel a good view. The Japanese ship moved on, Foster reported, passing north of us, and a signal was made from the conning tower by lamp, ordering her to heave to or the missiles would be ordered in, sprouting up from the wastes of water to bring total destruction to the CORPSE command. The Sendar Maru maintained her course and speed. We all waited, scarcely daring to breathe now. I visualised scenes of fury aboard that enormous ship, the man in purple weighing the odds and reaching a decision behind his stupid hood. He wouldn’t be wanting to balls up the whole operat
ion at this stage when in fact — as he would think — he had won and had only to consolidate. By my side in the lower conning tower stood Josip Humo with Zambellis’s transmitter in his hand.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “All ready.”

  Things began to look bad for the cabinet. Then some of the tension broke: Foster reported down his telephone that a curfuffle had arisen below the counter of the Sendar Maru: water was boiling in white foam and after a while drifted forward as her engines moved astern to bring her up.

  “Round one to us,” I said to Josip Humo. He made no response, he was too keyed-up. My voice had sounded brittle in my own ears. A moment later I heard the clack-clack of the Aldis lamp above my head, making the next signal, which Foster reported down to me: All members of Her Majesty’s Government are to be transferred to me immediately and in safety.

  Nothing happened.

  There was a curious stillness, as though both vessels were somehow detached from the world, things apart and in a kind of time-suspension, though in all conscience time was passing fast enough … then as the distance closed more a great voice boomed at us from across the water, a voice immensely amplified by a powerful loud-hailer. I recognised it as that of the man in purple.

  “You are being foolish. You make threats. So does CORPSE. Stand down your Polaris fleet and sail back into the Clyde peacefully, or I shall blow up the nuclear-waste ships now in their stations.”

  The telephone from the upper platform whined in my ear again and I answered. It was Foster. In a strained voice he said, “You probably heard that.”

  “I did.”

  “Well?”

  I said harshly, “Chuck it back at him. Repeat the missile threat.”

  “This is the brink, Shaw.”

  “I don’t think so.” I felt my hands shake on the telephone, felt a horrible stir in my guts as they began to turn to water. “I say again, repeat the threat. And add that once the cabinet’s aboard the whole Polaris fleet will assemble in the Clyde and demilitarise.”

  “CORPSE won’t take that. What would be the point of taking off the cabinet only to sail them back into CORPSE hands?” “Just try it,” I said. “He won’t take the big risk now, he has too much at stake. Leave him to assume that we’ll bargain again in the Clyde, asking for assurances as to the bloody cabinet’s safety thereafter … or something!” I felt my nails dig hard into my palms as I gripped the telephone, and I shouted along the wire at Foster. “Get cracking, will you, for Christ’s sake, use all the bull you’ve got!”

  There was no answer; the phone clicked in my ear. Then I heard the lamp sending out the message. I shook. Whatever I had said to Foster, this was indeed the brink. I had the devil’s own job to stop myself giving the final nod to Josip Humo. Was the goddam cabinet worth all this, worth the risk? The answer was most probably no; but even so, I couldn’t bring myself to kill the wretched politicians so long as some hope remained. On more practical grounds, they did have a use: without them Britain would have no government, at any rate for a while, and vacuums are nasty, asking to be filled by wild men.

  More waiting, more desperate nail-biting. No more amplified voices from the Sendar Maru. Then Foster came on the line again: there was a movement along the upper deck of the Japanese, a group of men and women being herded like sheep, and the gripes were being slipped from two of the boats which a moment later were lowered on the falls to the embarkation deck.

  I found myself soaked in sweat. Up the telephone line, my voice hoarse, I said, “Stand by to submerge as soon as they’re aboard.” I put a hand on Humo’s shoulder. I said, “Don’t jump the gun. Wait for my order, all right?”

  He nodded. That bantam’s egg looked lovely; it was salvation for Britain. With the high command gone, the heart of CORPSE; would follow. I listened to Foster’s continuing commentary as the boats filled with HMG and were lowered to the waterline and slipped. I visualised them moving across towards us under power, coming fast through a friendly blue sea. They came alongside and then I heard the men from Whitehall clambering out on to the casing, still with plenty of worries for the future: so far as they knew, CORPSE ruled yet. Down the phone Foster reported he would be submerging in two minutes. I told Humo to stand by. As the last of the cabinet clanged down the steel ladder of the fore hatch into the submarine’s interior, the first orders were being passed to take the vessel down deep. There was much subdued noise, a sound of electrical efficiency. I nodded at Josip Humo, and he turned and went up the ladder: he wanted, he said, to watch Zambellis being beautifully revenged. I went up with him; it didn’t matter if I were seen now in the binoculars from the Sendar Maru. As the hull of the Renown sank lower so that the waters swirled around the base of the conning tower, not yet shut down, I stood with Foster and Humo looking out at the Sendar Maru and I was about to pass the final order to Humo when somehow he managed to fumble the bantam’s egg transmitter right on the lip of the conning tower bulkhead, and lost his grip. It went straight into the sea, splosh.

  I went mad, so did Foster. Josip Humo had tears streaming down his cheeks. Then something happened: the Sendar Maru’s loud-hailer came back to life and once again I heard the man in purple, this time addressing me:

  “This you will not win. Commander Shaw.” That was all he said. I’d been recognised and I knew what was to happen next, and he didn’t need to say any more. I yelled at Foster to get the boat down pronto, but it happened just seconds before the hatch was shut and in that twinkling of an eye I registered the whole awful sight, one I shall never forget: seemingly from the bottom of the ship a vast flame and a cloud of smoke arose, ripping up through the sea, to be followed by an almighty roar, and, just as Zambellis had promised, with no time for the death-ships’ transmission to be made, the Sendar Maru went down like a gigantic mountain dropping at speed into a volcanic upheaval, her main deck and upperworks intact so that her remote control apparatus would be unlikely to have been automatically triggered off. She had gone within no more than seconds, and then we had the conning tower sealed and were submerging. We surged sideways, buffeted by giant’s hammers that seemed as though they must smash through the hull. Everything slid, and lights went out and came on again, and then, as the disturbed sea quietened, we lay more restfully and Foster took us down deep and began moving out of the area towards the Clyde. Above us, as we heard later, a great cloud of fall-out formed, but was carried away on the wings of a wind blowing from easterly, out into the wide Atlantic.

  *

  When I reached London, the party was already over for CORPSE. Renown had been in immediate contact with Defence Ministry after the sinking, and the news had spread. The interim government had panicked: some, including Brigadier Bunnett, had died in gun battles with the army. Some had been taken, others would be taken soon. The gaulieiers and the rank-and-file of CORPSE, shattered and leaderless and without a command base, had largely been rounded up after a series of bloody battles nationwide. During the day the whole Polaris force entered the Clyde, returning peacefully to the Gareloch. The rescued cabinet had been flown south as soon as they had disembarked at Greenock from the Renown. Good old British law and order was once again emerging: and the death-ships had already been sailed for Windscale and the storage ponds with the now useless tripping devices and priming explosives rendered safe by their own crews at gun point. CORPSE was no more: WUSWIPP would live to plague us again, but that was something for the future.

  I went at last to see Miss Mandrake in hospital.

  She was doing fine, she said, and she looked it. Just a question of stitches to come out and a scar to be healed. Max, walking away from a disintegrated house arrest, had been to see her. 6D2 was in being again, and back under his overlordship. All was well except in the hastily set up camps where the CORPSE thugs were being held. There, much misery and disillusion prevailed. Under the eye of a staff nurse I gave Miss Mandrake a polite kiss on the cheek and left St Thomas’s for Focal House. From there I got Mrs Dodge to put out a call fo
r Mrs Pontefract. When we made contact she sounded very pleased with the way things had gone and I could sense a blush along the telephone wires when I lavished praise on her and told her the country would be found not ungrateful. The next night I took her out to dinner, with Max, and we left the choice of location to her. She chose Brown’s Hotel in Dover Street; so English, she said, but in the event was disappointed to find so many Americans eating.

  “If anybody really does want to show appreciation of the little I did.” she said, “I’d so much like to have Noah restored.” The Flood Fearers, she went on to say, were basically good people and now that Mr Petersen and Brigadier Bunnett and their accomplices had gone, religion would return to normal. Next day she went back to Spain.