Hornsby responded, confirming that at normal cruising speed, it would take about eleven days to reach Cyprus.
‘So, there you have it, Jack. Question is, do we get the Amersham to take action, or risk the lives of the men on the carrier?’
Rowse bowed his head in defeat. They really had no choice. Swan spoke to Hornsby. ‘Patch me through to the captain on the Amersham, please, John. Let’s finish this.’
On the submarine, Murphy had just been briefed of the situation and glanced over at a very concerned Will Crossman.
‘Relax Will, we’ll get through this. Let’s take a look and see if we can buy a way through to our target.’
Crossman was suddenly concerned for himself and his crew. He did not want to die for the sake of the twenty thousand dollars that he had been promised would be in his bank account by the time he got back to the States. He decided to take some action of his own.
‘Mike, I would like us to have a talk in private. Maybe we could go to your stateroom?’
Murphy took his eyes from the periscope.
‘What the hell for?’
‘Please, Mike.’ Crossman beckoned him.
Murphy shuddered.
‘Not just now, Will, we’re almost on our target. It’s what we came out here for.’
Crossman shook his head, realising now was the time to act, before they were all blown to kingdom come.
‘Why have we not surfaced, as we informed the British? There isn’t any Albanian freighter, is there, Mike?’
Murphy was outraged. ‘What do you mean? Of course there is. It’s only a few more miles north of here.’ He picked up the microphone. ‘Torpedo room — prepare to fire.’
‘Give me the microphone, Mike,’
Murphy held the microphone tight, pulling it to his chest. ‘Will, please maintain your post!’
Crossman moved towards him, then reached out for the microphone. The two men grappled with each other. Crossman now had a hand on the microphone and Murphy was trying to turn away from him, hoping that the sudden manoeuvre would help him win. Around them, apart from the two helmsmen, everyone had stopped what they were doing to stare at the battle playing out.
Then, with one aggressive move, Crossman smashed a clenched fist into the jaw of his opponent and pulled the microphone off him.
Murphy held out his hand. ‘Give me that mike, Will!’
Crossman stood firm. ‘I can’t let you do this, Mike. Why are you wanting us to have a private war with the British navy? Listen, man, they’re gonna sink us any minute. This guy on the radio, whoever he is, he knows who we really are. We can’t hide anymore.’
Murphy was at boiling point. If he was to look through the attack scope right now, the assault carrier would be there, ready and waiting — a sitting duck.
‘For God’s sake, Will, those bastard Brits killed my brother! They shot him two years ago, in Ireland when he was trying to get his son out of a demonstration. I need to make them pay for what they did!’
Crossman scowled. ‘What, by killing hundreds of people? It’s just plain murder, Mike, and you know it. These guys didn’t kill your brother. If you fire on that ship, your God-damned personal vendetta will kill us all!’
Crossman suddenly remembered something.
‘That guy you met with in Bermuda, he set you up to this, didn’t he? He’s the money for this mission. I didn’t get a good look at him, because of his cap, but I can say he looked a lot like Senator Tremaine of South Carolina. The night before we sailed, I saw that guy on TV and it was about Cyprus. He’s in charge of the special committee to negotiate peace.’
Murphy wiped the blood from his mouth. ‘So, what of it? Yeah, he’s financed this operation. But he has also given me the chance to get my revenge for them murdering Patrick.’
Crossman raged. ‘Dammit Mike, can’t you see what’s happening here? Tremaine has used your grief for something he wants. I don’t know what it is, but whatever it is, it’s bad.’
He stared at the old submarine captain, looking for a response, but Murphy displayed a sullen silence. He paused, then placed his face into the scope again. He could now see the carrier drifting, dead centre inside the markers. All he had to do was release those torpedoes…
He suddenly thought of Patrick, how he had surged through the crowd of rioters, ducking as the rubber bullets whizzed over his head and, as he reached out for his son, falling after a round had hit him. To watch that ship sink beneath the waves on fire… would be a divine retribution, an eye for an eye… but Crossman was right, it would also be murder. Mass murder.
He took a last look at the prey he had come all this way to catch and in defeat, clicked up the periscope’s handles. He looked over at Crossman and without a word, paced to his stateroom.
Crossman stared, mesmerised by what had just happened. He took the microphone and spoke to the crew. ‘Attention, Mike Murphy has been relieved of his command of this sub. I need to communicate with whomever it is who knows our true identity.’
Dimitri then added something more concerning. ‘Will, multiple splashes have been detected, I think they’re sonobuoys. We haven’t much time before they release a torpedo!’
Crossman looked at his men. None of them needed to die and certainly not like this, far away from home as they were sent to a foreign, watery grave.
‘Take her up. Dimitri, contact the British navy and tell them we are preparing to surface.’ He hoped that this action was not too late.
Aboard the Amersham, the mark 40 homing torpedoes were being prepared. Waring had not seen the submarine surface as informed. This game was now over. The ‘crabs’, the navy slang for the RAF, had arrived. Why in the form of an aircraft such as this, he did not know. He had no choice. Calling for battle stations was the only option.
Aboard the Shackleton, Swan suddenly heard a voice, but this voice was different from that of the man he had earlier communicated with. It was American.
‘Attention Doris-two-zero-three, this is the USS Hatcher. Please do not fire on us! The situation has been contained. Repeat, the situation has been contained. We are preparing to surface and surrender to the authorities. Are you receiving this message?’
Swan closed his eyes, He was relieved to not only hear from the sub again, but to also hear that the impending threat could now be over. Around the cockpit were other relieved faces.
He tapped his mike and spoke into it. ‘USS Hatcher — This is Doris-two-zero-three. Message understood — Will relay it to surface ships. They will contact you to arrange suitable rendezvous co-ordinates.’
Hornsby leant over and shouted to him. ‘Alex, inform them to be aware they are still being tracked and should they alter agreed course, they will be fired upon.’
Swan noted this, relaying it to Crossman.
On the bridge of 0113, Crossman gave the order for the helmsmen to surface. He thought about going to see Murphy, but decided that he would do this once they were on the surface. In precaution, he had placed one of the men who he had formally served with, to sit outside Murphy’s stateroom with a sidearm.
Crossman had dealt with a similar situation before, only that time it had been with a captain in charge of what was known as a boomer, a nuclear submarine armed with Polaris missiles.
That had been in 1962, during the Cuban missile crisis, when Crossman was serving as an Ex-O, there had been a break in communications. His captain had been given the order of ‘stand by to fire’ at their co-ordinated targets in Russia. Crossman had tried to persuade the man to confirm, before releasing the sixteen missiles. In the end, he had found himself almost committing mutiny to calm a situation which could easily have led to global Armageddon.