John Wingate
Submarine
When a nation, whose very existence depends on overseas trade spends so much on its social services that it allows its navy to shrink to a coastal defence force and hands over control of its vital sea routes. its potential enemy, that nation is undoubtedly in a state of grievous decline.
Freedom is the sure possession of those alone who have the will to defend it.
Maps
Glossary
AIO — Action Information Officer
ASW — Anti-Submarine Warfare
CEP — Contact Evaluation Plot
Chief Ops — Chief Petty Officer (Operations)
Chief RS — Chief Radio Supervisor
CINCEASTLANT — Commander-in-Chief Eastern Atlantic
CINCPAC — Commander-in- Chief Pacific Fleet
CINCSUBEASTLANT — Commander Submarine Forces Eastern Atlantic
CINCSUBPAC — Command Submarine Forces Pacific (US)
CVN — Aircraft Carrier, Nuclear
D/F — Direction Finding
DR — Dead Reckoning
DGI — Director-General of Intelligence
DSRV — Deep Submergence Rescue Vessel
EP — Estimated Position
ECM — Electronic Countermeasures
EW — Electriconic Warfare
FCO — Fire Control Officer
FOSM — Flag Officer Submarines
HE — High Explosive, also Hydrophone Effect
HP — High Pressure
ICBM — Intercontinental Ballistic Missile
JCS — Joint Chiefs of Staff (US)
Jimmy — The First Lieutenant
JR — Junior Rating
LOP — Local Operations Plot
LP — Low Pressure
LRMP — Long Range Maritime Patrol
MBU — Multi-Barrelled Underwater Weapon
MEAOW — Marine Engineering Artificer of the Watch
MEM — Marine Engineering Mechanic
MEO — Marine Engineering Officer see Ship Control Console
SCOW — Ship Control Officer of the Watch
SINS — Skips Inertial Navigation System
SLBM — Submarine-Launched Ballistic Missile
SR — Senior Rating
SSBN — Submarine, Strategic Ballistic Missile Nuclear
TASO — Torpedo and Anti-Submarine Officer
TCC — Torpedo Course Calculator
VDS — Variable Depth Sonar
WEO — Weapons Engineering Officer
Wrecker — The CPO in charge of the panel in the control-room
Chapter 1
The coastguard officer replaced his cup to add another tannin circle on the battered tray. His keen eyes had detected through the early mist what he had been expecting, but he picked up the binoculars to confirm his sighting. He glanced at the brass clock on the walclass="underline" yes, that must be her, HM Submarine Orcus. She was dead on time, an indistinct blur where her fin floated in the haze sealing the sky to the glassy sea. The stream was easing as the time of high water approached and tide lines snaked mazily upon the mirror-like surface of the muddy bay of Hilpsford Point: the morning was turning out to be one of the few decent days of spring since the equinoctial gales which had struck so late this year.
In the circle of his binoculars he could see her better now, the black outline of her casing showing when she turned at the buoy. The after edge of her fin, sticking up like a matchbox on end, was slightly raked, and he could make out her periscopes and masts. Her square fore-planes were turned in and stuck upwards like the dorsal fins of a fish. Her fine lines were spoilt by the ugly bulb on her bows — presumably her sonar. A light, tinged red in this dawn mist, was blinking from her bridge: that was her, flashing her identification now that wartime radio restrictions were in force. The coastguard picked up his lamp and, moving outside to the small parapet, flashed back his acknowledgement. He returned to the warmth of the room and picked up the telephone.
'That you, pilot? Yes, Hilpsford Point coastguard here: Orcus is off the channel buoy..'
Ten minutes later the submarine was sliding up the channel, with only her wake ruffling the surface as she proceeded on her electric motors. Sinister, mysterious lone wolves, submarines always produced a tingle at the back of his neck when they appeared out of the mist, silently like thieves in the night. Submariners were a special breed, he knew that: not only because his father had served in 'the Trade' but also because these submarines and their men were part of Barrow-in-Furness. Vickers had been building submersibles for the Navy since the beginning of the century, from the tiny Holland boats to the huge nukes which were the capital ships of today's fleet. The coastguard officer returned outside to his parapet and waved back at the figures on Orcus' bridge. She must be in from patroclass="underline" patches of paint had flaked from her fin and there was a jagged gash in her after casing. Her White Ensign flapped lazily from a wartime staff erected on the fin; her sailors were breaking rank to man their wires. The poor sods, the coastguard thought. The Navy and the RAF were bearing the brunt of this bloody war. Up here, many of the Barrow girls had married sailors. But the public knew little about the struggle taking place out there in the Atlantic: the climate would change, he reckoned, when the appalling casualty figures were released. He gave his final wave. Orcus was end-on now and would be docking within the hour.
'Thanks, sir, for fixing everything,' said Lieutenant-Commander Julian Farge, as he banged shut the carriage door. 'I'm unused to travelling first-class sleeper.'
The ageing commander peered up from the platform of Lancaster station. 'I'll do all I can for you,' the Resident Naval Officer for Barrow said. 'Make the most of your leave.' He returned Farge's salute and strode towards the ticket barrier.
Farge extracted his pyjamas and sponge-bag from his pusser's grip which he then slung up to the rack above his bunk. He had had enough today and his Northwood visit tomorrow could be a drawn-out affair: the sooner he got his head down, the better.