“Sharp right, left engine full speed ahead,” says the commander.
The noise of the destroyer’s screws gets louder. It is approaching the submarine. Suddenly the destroyer is directly above them. Its fast turning screws make an awful noise.
There are two thunderous explosions, much more powerfuclass="underline" the lights in the submarine go out. Battery powered lights come on.
“Water leaking through the water metre glass,” reports the chief engineer.
“Seal it,” orders Kubeš.
“The destroyer is leaving,” says Anděl.
There is silence.
Only a stream of water entering the submarine through the water metre’s cracked glass hisses, now in a high, now in a low pitch.
The destroyer stops. They can’t hear it, but they are all clear that it’s searching for them.
There is a long silence.
“Maybe they’ve lost us,” says Skopšík.
“Ping,” they hear again.
After a few seconds, again.
Then the pauses in which the searching cone misses the submarine become shorter and the little stones again drum on the hull.
“He’s lost us and found us,” says Kubeš.
The ship’s screws begin to turn; the turns get faster, closer and louder.
The men on the Kamýk can hear everything: the destroyer passing above them and quickly taking off at full speed to stop it being damaged by its own charges.
This time the Russians set the depth charges for greater depth and all ten explosions therefore go off above the submarine, pushing it still deeper.
The commander points an electric torch at the depth gauge. They are one hundred and eighty metres deep.
The destroyer sails away.
When it stops, Kolesa asks: “Should we empty the chambers, sir?”
“No,” says Kubeš.
“The submarine is sinking, sir,” says Kolesa.
“I can see that, too,” says Kubeš. “Is the main pump mended?”
“We can’t see well enough to repair it, sir,” someone answers from his post at the main ballast tank.
“Turn the emergency light on, then,” orders Kubeš.
“The depth is 250 metres,” says Kolesa.
The hull of the submarine makes a cracking noise. Then comes the sound of scraping, as if a strong steel cable were being dragged against its hull. The submarine has reached the limit of its stress resistance.
The emergency light is on in the command centre.
“I’ve had enough of this,” says Kubeš. “Do you think, Mr Kolesa, that you’ve programmed the chips on the Stingers properly?”
“I guarantee it, sir,” says Kolesa and there is a hint in his voice of devilish joy and excitement.
The destroyer sets out for a third attack. This time the charges explode quite far from the boat.
“Perhaps they’ve lost us,” says Skopšík.
The reply is a familiar ping and the sound of pebbles hurled at the hull.
“This is how I see it, gentlemen,” says Kubeš and puts his foot on a crate of spare parts. “Mr Kolesa will change into his neoprene suit and take oxygen tanks with him. He will prepare one missile. We’re going to surface now. As soon as the pressure is equalised, Mr Kolesa will climb the bridge, tie himself to the bridge and fire a Stinger at the Russians. We’ll then dive fifty metres. If one missile doesn’t do the job, I’ll have another one ready.”
“But why you, sir?” asks Kolesa. “It’s enough if someone passes the second missile to me when I re-surface.”
“They won’t pass it to you, Kolesa,” says Kubeš, “because you’ll stay under. Don’t forget about pressure sickness. You can’t surface in a few seconds from a depth of fifty metres.”
“Well, I suppose you can’t,” says Kolesa. “But there’s another option.”
“Which is?” the commander enquires.
“For me to climb up with two missiles and if I miss with the first, I’ll use the second,” says Kolesa. “But, of course, the submarine would have to stay surfaced a few seconds longer.”
“Fine, we’ll take your suggestion,” decides the commander. “Go and change and prepare two missiles.”
“The destroyer is waiting but not moving,” reports Anděl, his earphones on. “They’re looking for us.”
“They’re looking, looking, and have no idea of the fate we’re preparing for them,” says Kubeš. “Senior helmsman! Prepare secret documents for destruction.”
“Yes, sir,” says Sub-Lieutenant Petrovič.
“Mr Mikuš, we’re going up,” Kubeš tells the second senior engineer, when Kolesa appears in the command centre in a neoprene suit with scuba diving equipment, an anti-aircraft Stinger missile in each hand.
“Empty all tanks simultaneously,” says Kubeš. “Equalise the buoyancy in time. And you, Kolesa, don’t forget to tie yourself to the bridge. Make sure to aim well, because if you miss, the next depth charge bombardment will tear you to pieces outside a pressurised submarine.”
“I’m rather aware of that, sir,” smiles Kolesa and climbs up.
“Someone help him with those missiles,” the commander says. “When he gets to the bridge, hand them to him fast, and close the hatch.”
The submarine rises towards the surface.
“Surface to periscope depth,” Kubeš says impatiently.
“We’ve reached periscope depth, sir,” says Mikuš.
The periscope slides from its bed; Kubeš observes the surroundings.
“Yes,” he says. “They’re some 200 metres away, 120 degrees. Mr Kolesa, he’s aft of us, across. It’s a nice target. Let’s do it. Good luck, Rudolf.”
Kolesa notes that the commander has called him by his first name for the first time, but has no time to reflect on it.
“The submarine has surfaced,” reports Lieutenant Mikuš. “Pressure is equalised.”
Kolesa climbs to the bridge. The surfacing of a mysterious submarine stirs the Russian destroyer to busy activity on board.
“They seem about to launch a boat,” Kolesa reports to those below.
Besr and Zapletal quickly pass him the two Stingers and close the hatch. Kolesa ties himself to the bridge and squats down. He puts the first firing mechanism on his right shoulder. He pulls down the visor and turns on the targeting module. He prays that his slight software change to the targeting regime will work.
He raises himself enough to put the optics of the targeting module above the bow of the bridge. The targeting lozenge roams the field of vision and when it crosses the image of the destroyer, it stops and begins to flash. Kolesa raises himself, takes a breath and fires the missile. In fascination he watches the Stinger fly out of the tube, cover a few metres and, at a safe distance from the firing tube, ignite the rocket engine and disappear in a flash: there is a fire and explosion on the distant destroyer. Bits of metal, displaced by the explosion, fall in the water.
Kolesa throws away the empty firing device, arms a new one, cursing the slow sighting lozenge, takes aim and fires the second missile.
“Let’s go down!” he shouts down the speaking tube and locks it.
He does not wait to see the outcome, puts on his mask and takes the scuba mouthpiece in his mouth, and then holds onto the bridge rails.
The submarine seems to dive forever. But Kubeš ordered all the tanks to be flooded and started both engines even before the second missile hit.
The way down to a depth of fifty metres is for Kolesa like a horrific journey down a roller coaster. When the submarine stabilises at its right depth, horrible sounds are heard: the sound of the damaged and sinking destroyer’s partitions cracking. Kolesa thinks that the second missile must have hit their ammunition or missile stores.
Even at a depth of fifty metres, the light of a giant fire on the surface illuminates the water. Lt Commander Kolesa can now see all the way to the surface: burning fuel spreading round the destroyer in widening circles, lighting up a whole column of water. In the transparent water round Kolesa move bizarre shadows. If he hadn’t had a mouthpiece, he would have shouted with joy. He grabs the firing tube and bangs it with all his strength against the metal cover of the bridge.