How the hell could he decide? Two hundred metres below the surface of the icy, grey-green waters of the Barents, isolated from his own people, isolated even from the bloody Russians, it was too late to ask for clarification. Too late for a lot of things. Too late to return to base and pretend there’d been a communications failure. Too late to save his career. No, he had to press on, give the Russians what was coming to them.
A sharp rap on the door frame made him jump.
‘Yes?’
‘May I speak to you, sir?’ It was the first lieutenant.
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’
Tim Pike slid the door shut behind him and stood awkwardly.
‘I’m anxious that you should brief me on our mission, sir,’ he blurted out. ‘We’re in hostile waters; I’m your deputy, sir. Not knowing why we’re here or where we’re going puts me in an impossible position.’
His short, ginger beard quivered as he spoke, his grey eyes staring at a point above the commander’s head.
‘I’ve told you, Tim, that the orders are top secret. For my eyes only. That’s still the situation. Nothing’s changed.’
‘But there will come a point, sir, when a large sector of the ship’s company will have to be told your orders. You can’t operate the boat on your own, sir.’
‘I’d caution you not to be impertinent, Lieutenant Commander.’
Their eyes met. Pike saw that behind the arrogance, Hitchens was afraid.
‘May I sit down, sir?’
Philip gestured to the bunk, and turned away to fumble with a pen on the desk. Pike was right; he’d have to tell them something soon. But what?
‘And there’s another thing, sir. I hesitate to mention it. Don’t want you to think I’m prying. But there’s been some talk on board that you’ve been having some problems at home. Now, I don’t know if that is the case, sir, but sometimes it helps to talk….’
‘How bloody dare you! Spreading malicious gossip about your Commanding Officer? That’s an offence under Queen’s Regulations. I’ll put you on a bloody charge if you don’t watch it!’
‘Sir, I’ve not spread any gossip…’
‘Well, who has? I want their names. Come on!’
He thrust the pen towards Pike.
‘Write them down. All of them!’
‘Sir, you’re being unreasonable. You must understand — the men are uneasy. This patrol has been unorthodox, to say the least. The secrecy with the communications routines, the need to avoid contact with our own side as much as with the Soviets, the mystery about our ultimate mission — it doesn’t make for a happy ship.’
‘Are you challenging my authority?’
Philip’s voice had risen in pitch. Pike looked at the redness in his eyes, the veins standing out from his neck. Was this rage? Or panic.
‘Well?’
Now it was Pike’s turn to be afraid. Was this the moment to take command?
He funked it.
‘No, sir,’ he muttered. ‘I’m not challenging your authority.’
Philip subsided, relieved.
‘Just as well,’ he said drily.
‘Just trying to help, sir. Do my job.’
‘Mmmm,’ Philip grunted, his temper now under control. ‘Well…, don’t think I haven’t realized the difficulties you’re all facing.’
He struggled to decide how much to say.
‘You see, things are looking pretty bad, with the Russians. There may be some action. That’s why I can’t say much yet. Don’t want to alarm the men. We’re going in close…, that’s all I can say. Very close to the Soviet submarine bases. You know what weapons we have on board. I hope it won’t be necessary to use them. But I don’t know how things’ll turn out.’
‘How will you get your final orders, sir. On the broadcast? The trailing wire antenna?’
‘There’ll be no more orders. I already have my rules of engagement.’
Pike was stunned. He could tell that Hitchens knew he’d said too much.
‘That’ll be all, Tim. What I’ve just said is in confidence. Just for you. Not to be passed on. Understood?’
‘If you say so, sir.’
‘I do. Now carry on.’
The conversation had disturbed Pike deeply. Already had his rules of engagement? Christ! That meant the decision to fight or not to fight was down to Hitchens, and Hitchens alone. Close contact with the Russians needed a CO with a cool head and a rational mind. The way Hitchens had just behaved had revealed no sign of either.
He headed for the wardroom and breakfast. Suddenly, the submarine banked sharply and Pike had to steady himself. Why the manoeuvre?
Breakfast could wait. He made for the control room. Sebastian Cordell stood in the bandstand, gripping the rail and calling out orders.
‘Steer one-eight-zero! Keep 260 metres. Revolutions for twenty-five knots!’
‘Why so deep? What’s going on?’ Pike demanded.
‘Active sonobuoys. Someone’s pinging us. I just called the captain. He said I should ask you. He didn’t sound very well, sir. I think he was throwing up. He left the key down and I could hear him.’
‘I see.’
Pike studied the Action Information screen. Depth of water 300 metres.
‘I hope to God the inertial nav. system hasn’t drifted. It can get pretty shallow around here.’
‘We’ve a bearing on the buoy, sir!’
‘Yes?’
‘Zero-three-zero, sir! Range two-thousand-eight-hundred yards.’
‘Steer two-one-zero! I’ll shake the buggers off,’ Cordell muttered. ‘Take a depth sounding. The sods know we’re here now. Making a bit of a noise won’t matter much. Ident on the sonobuoy?’
‘CAMBS, sir,’ came a voice from the AIO.
Pike and Cordell stared at one another open-mouthed. CAMBS was one of their own.
‘A Nimrod? Up here? Must be forward-basing on the sodding Kola Peninsula!’ Cordell exploded. ‘I don’t get it. We’re right inside a Soviet ASW area, and there’s a bloody Nimrod operating. If things are as tense as the captain says, the crabs’ll be shot down!’
Pike ran his hand over his beard. The boy had never spoken a truer word, if only he knew it.
‘As the captain says’. That was the trouble. Everything they knew down there came from just one source; the captain. And God alone knew how reliable he was!
‘And why’s the Nimrod gone active? Does he want us to know he’s there?’ Cordell blustered.
‘Maybe he does,’ mused Pike under his breath.
‘Thirty metres under the keel, sir!’
‘I’d like to go deeper.’ Sebastian’s face glowed with excitement. ‘The crabs’ CAMBS may still be able to separate us from the echoes off the sea bed. Just a little bit closer to the mud and we’ll be invisible.’
‘Too risky at this speed,’ Pike cautioned.
‘Cut the speed to five knots?’
‘Okay.’
‘Keep two-seven-five metres. Revolutions for five knots!’
The helm responded and the deck tilted downwards.
‘I’ll change course back to the south again,’ Cordell decided. ‘Then ease round to the east so we get back on our original track. There’s a big surface contact heading for Murmansk. If we can close with it, we can hide in her shadow.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Pike agreed. The boy was doing all right for his first run as tactics officer.
Suddenly all heads turned towards the door. Ashen-faced, Philip Hitchens entered the control room.
‘Everything all right, sir?’ Pike asked softly.
‘Fine. Cordell can brief me, then I’ll take over,’ he snapped.
‘Right, sir. I’ll leave you to it.’
Pike hurried to the wardroom. There were two men he needed to collar before they disappeared into the bowels of the submarine.
Claypole, the stocky, bushy-bearded marine engineer, was one of them. Pike stopped him as he was heading towards the tunnel over the reactor.