“Proceed to periscope depth,” he ordered.
Minutes later, “Up periscope.”
The hiss of hydraulics faded and the viewer came to eye level. Captain Kamani lowered the bar grips and looked through the lens for the first time on leaving Heard Island.
Morning sunshine bathed the green slopes of the two islands to the fore and beyond them the white-capped mountains filled the lens in a blue grey-haze as they rose majestically out from the sea. This was indeed a stark and beautiful land, lost in splendid isolation and a far cry from the brown desert regions where he was born.
“Come left 2 degrees. Reduce speed to five knots. Keep her trim,” said the captain as he lined up K449 to go through the centre of the narrow channel between the islands. He was thankful he had more than 400 feet of water below him and would have much more once he was through.
Fifteen minutes later, they came out of the 1,000-foot wide stretch of water into the main Cockburn Channel without a hitch and continued on a westward course at periscope depth, increasing speed to ten knots. Before them, the channel widened to three miles or so. Steep slopes of the surrounding mountains formed a corridor dominating the scene, plunging straight down to the channel floor some 1,400 feet below the water’s surface. The charts gave no indication of dangerous land formations below the surface, but nevertheless Captain Kamani was taking no chances. He ordered intermittent use of active sonar to ensure no underwater rocky outcrops lay in their path. The deep waters created a confusion of currents, strong and treacherous, and course corrections had to be continuously made. Both the captain and his XO shared the periscope making sure they kept to the middle of the channel at all times. However, as they progressed down the stretch of water, becoming more accustomed to the tidal currents, they allowed themselves to relax a little and even enjoy, to a certain extent, what they could see of this foreign land through the periscope lens.
Several hours later, after bisecting the southern Andes, K449 reached the dogleg three quarters of the way through the Cockburn Channel. Captain Kamani ordered left full rudder to proceed on a northerly course into a broadening stretch of steel-grey waters as the evening shadows began to dim the horizon. The lens displayed fading sunlight, illuminating the snow-capped peaks of Mount Hurt on the starboard side and Mount Vernal to port. Once past these craggy sentinels, K449 would enter the much broader reaches of the central Magellan Strait.
Three hours later they entered the Strait from the south, opposite the Brunswick Peninsular some twenty miles in the distance, with the large Dawson Island one mile to starboard. Here at the bottom point of the Magellan’s own dogleg, where the narrower arm to the Pacific joined the much broader arm stretching northeast, K449 turned into the broader arm that led to the Atlantic. The Portuguese explorer Ferdinand Magellan discovered the Strait in 1520. Once a popular trade route for sailing ships from the Atlantic into the Pacific as an alternative to navigating the dangerous waters around Cape Horn, it was now used mostly by scientific expeditions and tourist cruisers.
After sharing time between the Magellan maritime charts and the periscope, Captain Kamani and Lieutenant Zaha now studied the charts together.
“One hundred and eighty miles to the Atlantic,” said the captain. “At fifteen knots, we should be there in less than twelve hours.”
“The narrows here could be a problem,” said the lieutenant, pointing to a neck one mile wide and six miles long, two-thirds the way up the Strait between broad stretches of water. These were named St Phillip Bay and De Lomas Bay, the latter being at the mouth leading into the Atlantic.
“Better than when we entered the Cockburn Channel,” said the captain.
“I agree, but the chart indicates depths of only around 200 feet.”
“Lieutenant, we have no alternative but to go through,” Kamani said sharply. “Our problem will be entering the Atlantic in about the same depth of water.”
The XO shrugged. “That depth could expose us to anyone on shore; the eastern end is far more populated than the more remote west. The map indicates it is the closest point to the mainland from the island of Tierra del Fuego. Ferries must operate here and ferries mean people.”
The captain replied with finality. “We’re going through.”
The lieutenant nodded acceptance and looked back down at the chart.
“There is a large township here,” Zaha said, pointing to a position halfway up the northeast arm on the western side.
“Punta Arenas,” shot the captain. “The most southerly city in the world; population: about 150,000.”
“Could mean surface activity.”
“Probably; the Strait is twenty miles across at that point. We will stick to the centre. When we pass, it will be in darkness. I doubt if there will be any activity at that time.”
“Deep water runs out at that point too,” shot Zaha. “Depths range from 600 feet to 150 at the mouth.”
“Let us hope an American sub is not waiting at the mouth. 150 does not leave much cover and even less to manoeuvre.”
The two men lapsed into silence as they continued to study the chart, then a few minutes later, the captain rubbed both eyes with the heel of his hands and said, “I will rest now; wake me when we reach the city.”
In a little over three hours, Kamani was back in the control room. He was rested as much as a man could be after a series of catnaps. He ordered the periscope up. In the distance, on the port beam, he could see the twinkling lights of Punta Arenas above the moonlit surface of the Strait. He then swung the scope 360 degrees slowly, the lens displaying land and sea in shades of darkness caught by the light of the full moon. He concluded that all was clear with nothing impeding their path. In approximately eight hours, they would be in the Atlantic.
Through the wide stretch they cruised at fifteen knots, fifty feet below the surface, on past Elizabeth Island, sweeping right into a narrow seven-mile wide channel that ran for some fifteen miles, before broadening out once again into St Phillip Bay. Here in this much more open expanse of water, Captain Kamani increased speed to twenty knots, heading direct for the narrowest part of the entire Strait twenty-eight miles dead ahead.
At the increased speed, K449 soon reached the one-mile strip of water separating Chile from Tierra del Fuego, reduced rate of knots to seven and promptly entered the narrow channel on a middle course. Dawn had all but broken as Captain Kamani ordered the periscope down and prepared to wait out the six-mile run.
“Captain – sonar. Go active.”
“Aye, sonar.”
The hollow pinging sound of the sonar, seeking underwater obstacles that may be in their path, rose above the quiet murmurings of the crew as they went about their business guiding K449 down the 150 to 200-foot deep channel.
Then, when they were one third along the narrows,
“Surface contact. Bearing zero-four-five. Range five miles. Speed fifteen knots.”
Captain Kamani leapt from the command seat.
“Up periscope.”
Seconds later he had eye to the viewer and in the cold light of a clear dawn, he observed a cruise liner, lights ablaze, coming straight at him down the centre of the channel from around the starboard headland. He guessed it to be 40,000 tons, or more, with a probable draft in excess of forty feet. That kind of depth would create a major underwater surge, sufficient to do them damage if the ship came too close in this relatively narrow channel. He quickly calculated they had less than ten minutes to get out of the way.
“Left 3 degrees. Increase speed to ten knots. Take her down one hundred.”