He nodded at me, tight-lipped. It was not for nothing that the DNI had filched Willowtrack's sound signature from the u.s. Navy's Anti-Submarine Warfare Library.
A cloudy clutter of sound came through, then: Jum-jum jum-squeak!'
Circ pump, Willowtrack,' I said.
The sonar-man intoned, Possible contact bears zero-sevenfive degrees.'
Could she hear us? At our speed the propeller could only be pinwheeling.
Peace's finger whitened on the activatingr button of the control microphone.
Rig for silent running!'
A paralysing quiet fell on the Control Centre. We awaited
Peace's next move. Would he try to fox the crafty Tyler with a `sound knuckle' or try to slip away?
Depth? Speed?'
One-eighty feet, sir. Four knots'
We crept along into rapidly-deepening water as the volcanic shelf on which St Brandon lies fell away into the ocean depths.
Peace rapped out, All stop! Left full rudder!' Devastation eased round the extremity of St Brandon, the way off her.
Back full! Rudder amidships!'
A shudder pulsed through Devastation as Peace dived backwards into his own echo. A long minute passed. We were racing stern-on towards Willowtrack.
Ahead one-third! Take her down smartly! Three hundred feet! Course one-eighty degrees true!'
Up went the planesman's hand to the engine annunciator pointer. He said, without inflexion, Answers, ahead onethird, sir.'
MKG stood like a statue among the confusing agglomeration of dials, pipes, cables and eerily-lit instrument consoles. Devastation crept away.
For half an hour, it seemed, no one in the control-room drew breath. Peace altered course until I saw-the sonar-man's face whiten at the thunder of the seas against the barrier reef. Peace went deep-600 feet-and inched up and as close to the menacing sea-facing coastline of St Brandon as he dared. An hour passed. Tension eased. The combination of our sound knuckle' and the echo effects of the reef must have baffled Tyler.
' Then the sonar-man, keyed-up, exclaimed: Possible goblin contact, sir'
Peace looked thunderstruck. She's-she's parallel with us!'" He grabbed his microphone. Rig for ultra-quiet! All stop!
Hold her steady with the pumps, Bob! Nothing that is not necessary.."
Devastation coasted to a standstill. All turbines, generators and pumps not needed for the essential running of the ship were silent. Men kicked off their shoes. No one spoke.
Peace turned on the sound reproducer. Through the woolly beat of surf-there it was!-jum-jum-jum-squeak!
The sonar operator intoned softly, 'Contact evaluated as submarine, sir.'
Range? Course? Speed?'
Range four thousand five hundred yards. Approximate course zero-three-five degrees true. Approximate speed-' he paused, tensely. ' Slowing, sir-slowing now!'
Slowing! She had a bead on Devastation, all right! Wil- lowtrack slowed as we slowed.
Flood her down, Bob! Seven hundred feet, smartly!'
As the way dropped off her, Devastation started to sink, slowly at first, then more rapidly. Then, in a moment it seemed, she was starting to race for the bottom.
Christ!' snapped Peace. That bloody salinity layer!
Pump auxiliaries to the sea!'
The noise of the pumps seemed to fill the whole ship. And Willowtrack lay less than two miles away, ears glued to us!
A chant came from the rating at the rate-of-flow meter-it shows the gallonage going overboard: Six thousand out – seven thousand out-ten thousand out-sixteen thousand o u t – '
I glanced at the fathometer: 650 feet. Peace would never hold her! In trying to outsmart Tyler, he had been caught by the density of the water which a short while before had been Devastation's friend.
There was only one thing to do, Tyler or no Tyler.
Blow the tanks!' ordered Peace.
As it thundered into the main ballast tanks the high-pressure air seemed to shout our position to Willowtrack. It ceased; Devastation hung uncertainly. The sonar was silent. Willowtrack had the edge. The warm smell of polythene caught at my throat.
Then the sonar-man said, Goblin contact-' a look of astonishment came over his face-' she's making off, sir!
Ten knots!'
Peace swung on me. ' What the devil is Tyler playing at!
Here he had us nailed, then he simply pushes off.'
Maybe he didn't hear us at all-something to do with the underwater topography,' I suggested. ' The sound could be distorting.'
Peace shook his head. There it was, however, on the sonarscope: the retreating sound of Willowtrack. Peace was uneasy. It's a double bluff,' he muttered. Wants me to run for deep water-does Tyler know the cyclone forecast?'
MKG kept his voice low. If you run, Semittante is wide open.'
The alternative is the simplest-Willowtrack didn't hear us,' I said. After all, there's a hell of a racket, the sea on the reef..
True,' Peace reflected.
'Contact goblin-she's speeding up, sir!'
What the hell!' snapped Peace. Ahead one-third!'
We started to shadow our pursuer.
The sonar-man chanted, Contact fading, nineteen thousand yards.. Peace's order for flank speed came too late. As mysteriously as she had halted, Willowtrack disappeared..
' Secure from ultra-quiet,' ordered Peace. There was no need now to keep the men tensed up. We had lost her-or had we?
The chart's moving needlepoint of light now placed us off the southern end of Seahorse Sound inlet-where the seahorse's tail started to curve, as Adele fancifully pointed out. The inlet itself, stretching for five miles parallel with our present course, terminated at a seaward entrance with a coral headland '-St Brandon's widest sector. Stealthily Devasta- tion inched on.
I glanced up at the big clock and mKG's glance followed mine. Six o'clock! The whole afternoon had passed.
Peace turned to us, jubilant. It was the sort of exercise his iron nerves rejoiced in. 'Lost her!'
Certain?' asked MKG.
' Pretty well,' he replied. What's on your mind, Mica?' `
Shall we go through to your quarters?' he asked-, John and Adele, too.
Peace's excitement gave way to caution. Of course, Wil- lowtrack may be lying doggo.'
We went through to the cabin.
MKG said, without preamble, See here, Commander, now you've shaken Willowtrack off our necks, I must let the President know what's happening.'
'Let the President know?' echoed Peace incredulously. '
You want me to signal-to give our position away after all I' ve done to evade Willowtrack?'
MKG reddened slightly, but he remained adamant. 'I said once before, Commander, that my first duty is to the office of Vice-President. Anything might have happened since the White House signal to me yesterday. It's almost sunset now and the routine time my messages are scheduled to go off.
Adele can send it-I'd prefer her to your regular operator.'
Peace swung backwards and forwards on his heels. You seriously propose that I should go to periscope depth, put up an antenna which is detectable by Willowtrack's radar, and send off a signal which will enable Tyler to get a fix on my position? Have you also considered the time-factor involved in sending such a signal? How long do you think I'll have to stay up? It's not a matter of a few minutes, it's a signal halfway across the world. Reception may be bad. It usually is in a west-east or east-west direction in these latitudes. Devastation will be a sitting duck!'