“That’s very well,” Kensington said, “but if it’s all the same to you, I’ll be keeping an eye out for German periscopes.”
“And so you should be,” said Bryce. “The Royal Navy needs earnest young men like you, if only to offset the cynicism of broken-down old wretches like me.”
Sub Lieutenant Kensington snorted. “Listen to you, playing the Ancient Mariner. You may be more experienced than I am, but you’re not more than five or six years older.”
“Too true,” said Bryce. “But they’ve been hard years, Young Kensington. Very hard years. You should have a go at my life — never knowing when the Exocet is going to drop in. She did it again last month, the old bitch. Showed up for tea unannounced and didn’t leave for a week.”
Kensington laughed. “Why do you call your mum-in-law the Exocet?”
“That woman is not my mum-in-law,” Bryce said. “She’s my wife’s mum. She’s not anything to me. Not as far as I’m concerned.”
“But the Exocet?”
“Because,” said Bryce with a theatrical sigh, “she’s like a ruddy cruise missile: you can see her coming, but there’s not really much you can do about it.”
Sub Lieutenant Kensington laughed again. “Right.” He raised the binoculars and resumed his search of the waves.
For all his enthusiasm, two hours later, Kensington was beginning to admit to himself that the First Watch Officer might be right. German submarines weren’t exactly leaping out of the water like trained dolphins.
And Bryce’s words, as cocky as they’d seemed at the time, did have a certain logic to them. Surely the Germans wouldn’t let things escalate to the point of military conflict. He yawned and raised the binoculars for what seemed like the hundredth time.
He was still searching for periscopes, diligently (if tiredly) when he felt a tap on his shoulder. A voice said softly, “Second Officer of the Watch, I stand ready to relieve you, sir.”
Kensington smiled in the darkness; the arrival of one’s watch relief was always an agreeable thing, but especially so after a long mid-watch. He lowered his binoculars and turned toward the sound of the voice. In the gloom, he could just make out the shape of the man waiting to assume his watch responsibilities. “Sub Lieutenant Lavelle, punctual as always. I am ready to be relieved, sir.”
Kensington turned up the brightness on the radar repeater to show Lavelle that the surface picture was empty of contacts with the exception of their escorting frigate, the HMS Chatham. He was about to crank the knob back down when he caught a tiny flash on the yellow phosphorous screen. “Hello,” he said. “What have we here?”
He spent a few seconds adjusting the controls on the faceplate of the repeater, trying to refine the tiny radar contact.
Sub Lieutenant Lavelle yawned loudly. “Probably a bit of sea return. Just finish your turnover. I’ll have a look at it later.”
“It’s not sea return,” Kensington said softly. “It’s small but consistent, and it’s tracking west-to-east. Right toward us.” He cleared his throat and spoke louder. “Lieutenant Bryce, could you come look at this? I think I’m getting a radar return from a periscope.”
“Get on with your periscopes,” Bryce said. “Turn over the watch and go to bed. Then you can dream of Jerry subs all you want.”
Kensington stared at the radar screen. He made his voice as serious as possible. “First Officer of the Watch, I am officially requesting that you evaluate this radar contact.”
“Listen to you,” said Bryce with a laugh. “Go to bed, you silly bastard! There are no submarines out there. I give you my word as a British officer.”
In a fluke of timing more suited to a situation comedy than to the bridge of a warship at sea, a short burst of static punctuated his last sentence. It was followed immediately by the voice of the ship’s Operations Room Officer, coming from an overhead speaker. “Bridge — Operations Room. The sonar boys are tracking an active contact at bearing two-nine-zero, range of about six thousand meters. They’re requesting a bearing check. My radar shows a flicker of something at that bearing and range. Request you do a visual sweep for surface contacts at that position.”
Kensington swung his binoculars to the appropriate area. “I’ve got nothing,” he said.
Sub Lieutenant Lavelle keyed a comm box near the radar repeater.
“Operations Room — Bridge. We have negative surface contacts. Bearing and range are clear.” He released the button. “Think it’s a submarine?” he asked softly.
“Probably a fishing boat,” Lieutenant Bryce said immediately.
“Wooden hulls don’t give much of a radar return, especially if they’re small.”
“We should wake up the captain on this,” Kensington said.
“Nobody’s waking the captain over a fishing boat,” Bryce said.
The Operations Room Officer’s voice rumbled the speaker again.
“Bridge — Operations Room. We have six inbound Bogies. I repeat, we have six unidentified aircraft inbound! We are initiating Level One challenges at this time. Recommend we take the ship to Action Stations.”
Before his First Watch Officer could object, Kensington shouted,
“Bo’sun of the Watch! Sound the general alarm! Take the ship to Action Stations.”
The raucous alarm whooped instantly in response, blaring out of speakers all over the ship, rousting sleeping Sailors from their bunks — as it was designed to do. Then the alarm was replaced by the bo’sun’s voice.
“All hands to Action Stations! All hands to Action Stations!”
“Damn it, Kensington,” Lieutenant Bryce half shouted. “That was not your order to give!”
“Sorry, sir,” said Kensington, who was not even a little bit sorry. “I was trying to anticipate your next command. Quick reaction, and all that!”
“Nothing to be done for it now, sir,” Sub Lieutenant Lavelle added helpfully.
“I suppose not,” said Bryce. “Kensington, call down to Main Engineering and tell them we’ll be needing all engines on line. Lavelle, you call up the Chatham. Tell them we’re going to Action Stations and advise them to do the same.” He snapped his fingers three times. “Step lively. The captain is going to be up here in about two shakes, and I want him to see us doing it right.”
“Bridge — Operations Room,” the overhead speaker said. “Sonar is reporting three more active contacts!”
“That would be the rest of those submarines that aren’t going to show up,” Kensington said.
“Shut your mouth,” Bryce hissed.
Kensington started to say something, but the overhead speaker interrupted him. “Bridge — Operations Room,” the Operations Room Officer’s voice said. “Bogies have ignored our Level One challenges.
Issuing Level Two challenges now. Gun and missile stations reporting ready for combat.”
“Very well,” Lieutenant Bryce said. “Stand by for orders.”
A watertight door banged open at the back of the bridge, and the bo’sun called out, “Captain is on the bridge!”
The captain crossed the bridge with a few long strides, his movements in the darkness carrying a confidence that only years of familiarity can bring. He climbed into his raised chair at the starboard end of the bridge and said loudly, “First Officer of the Watch, what is the situation?”
“We have six inbound aircraft, sir, as well as three active sonar contacts.”
“Four,” said Sub Lieutenant Kensington.
“Correction, sir,” Lieutenant Bryce said. “We have four sonar contacts.
The aircraft have disregarded our Level One challenges. Level Two challenges are in progress. Gun and missile stations are reporting ready for combat.”