Alexander Fullerton: Surface!

He went up the ladder from the quarterdeck, and as he reached the top he saw the figure of the S.O.O., who was standing at the ship’s side staring out over the water in the direction of the harbour entrance. Slayer ’s Captain tapped him on the shoulder.

“Wotcher, Stinky!” The other man turned quickly, and seeing his face the young submarine Captain caught his breath and hesitated a moment before he asked, quietly, “What’s wrong?”

“ Seahound . All the recall signals are through except hers. She can’t have surfaced.”

“Oh, Christ.” What could you say, to a thing like that? They turned and walked together along the deck, down on to the welldeck and up to the Staff Office. The S.O.O. picked up the receiver.

“Anything?”

“No, sir. Nothing.”

“Keep trying.” He turned to the younger man. “Why don’t you go and turn in? You can’t do anything. You look pretty tired.”

“Me, tired? You look half dead. And what can you do? … Have you got any cigarettes?”

Number One had never seen such rain in his life. It was practically solid water: it could have been coming up out of the sea, as easily as falling out of the clouds: there was so much rain that it was difficult to see where it started and where it ended. It fell steadily, furiously, pounding and drumming on the casing and in the bridge, deadening the rumble of the diesels. Deadening sight, as well as sound: visibility was only about forty yards. Number One leaned against the front of the bridge, straining his eyes into the night. If anything was sighted, it’d be sighted at a range of forty yards, and that wouldn’t leave much time for thinking things out…

The Captain stood beside him. His presence annoyed Number One. On watch, he liked to be alone, like the film-star. Because the visibility was low, the Captain had come up and stayed up, as though he doubted his First Lieutenant’s ability to deal with any sudden emergency. But it was only a superficial annoyance to Jimmy: he knew that if he were in command, he’d be doing the same thing.

The Captain lowered his dripping face to the rim of the voice-pipe.

“Control Room!”

“Control Room.”

“Ask the P.O.Tel. how long he’s going to be with that blasted set.”

“Aye aye, sir.” The Cox’n, who was on watch, lumbered aft the short distance to the wireless office.

“Ain’t you found that flippin’ fault yet, Sparks? Captain wants to know ‘ow long.”

The P.O. Telegraphist had his head inside a grey metal cabinet. He was fiddling at something there with a screwdriver.

“Ger,” he answered. “flip orf.”

“Can’t tell the Captain that, Sparky. ‘Ow long?”

The P.O.Tel.’s long body began creeping slowly, feet first, out from under the bench. When he got his head out, he sat up and glared at the Cox’n.

“Tell ’im the flipper’s fixed.” As the Cox’n vanished into the Control Room, the telegraphist heaved himself to his feet and began tuning his receiver. He slid headphones over his ears, and settled down on the seat. It was hot and stuffy in the cabinet: it smelt of switches and fuses and valves. Several half-naked women smirked down at him from their positions on the thin, steel partition. He reached for a stub of pencil, and began to write down the jumble of code.

Presently he pressed the buzzer, and the Control Room messenger stuck his head round the door.

“Eh?”

“Tell the Captain – urgent signal addressed to us. Cipher.” The messenger met the Captain as he stepped off the ladder, soaked to the skin.

“All right. Give it to the Engineer Officer.” He heard Chief’s angry mutterings as the messenger woke him and gave him the signal.

“Urgent, sir.”

“Urgent be damned.” But all the same, he sat up and reached for his code-books.

A minute later, the Captain arrived in the wardroom. He leant one wet hand flat on the table, and eased himself sideways on to the locker.

“Well, Chief?” The Engineer seemed to be having some difficulty. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, he was goggling at the sheet of paper in his hand. He looked up at the Captain.

“It’s— it’s—” he couldn’t say it. The Captain grabbed the signal from him. A look of complete astonishment crossed his face. Then, quickly, he remembered that it would be better to give the impression of having expected something of the sort. After six years…!

“Well, Chief. No more bangs, eh?” Chief still hadn’t found control of his tongue. He shook the Sub’s shoulder, and when he woke, mouthed at him excitedly.

“What in hell’s the matter with you?”

“He’s trying to tell you that the war’s over. Japs have jagged in, Sub.” The young man stared, trying to get it into his head.

“Oh… I see.” He paused, looking at the Captain. He didn’t know whether he was glad of this or not. He supposed that it would be expected of everybody to be pleased. He remembered that he was still tired and that soon he’d be called for his watch, war or no war. He lay down again, and closed his eyes.

“Thought your pains had started, or something, Chief,” he murmured, and chuckled to himself, already halfway back to sleep. The Captain wrote out a short signal, and handed it to Chief.

“Fix it up and send it off.”

On the bridge it was still raining hard. The Captain heaved himself out of the hatch, and stood beside his First Lieutenant.

“Come round to three-one-five, Number One. Four hundred revs.” Number One raised one hand in acknowledgement, and passed the order down the voice-pipe. The Captain shouted in his ear, “Just got a signal. Japs have hurled in. We’re going home!”

Jimmy peered at him through the driving rain.

“I don’t believe it!”

“All right, don’t. And don’t relax the look-out. It takes two to declare peace.” The Captain dropped through the hatch and down the ladder into the Control Room. He shook off the loose water, and reached for the microphone of the broadcasting system. Flicking the switch on, he tested by slapping the face of the instrument and hearing the thumping echo in the loud-speakers.

“D’ye hear, there? … D’ye hear, there?” The men on watch stood in a close group, the dim light glowing on their unshaven faces. The helmsman craned his neck round to stare at the Captain.

“D’ye hear, there? This is the Captain speaking. Shake your messmates and get round the loud-speakers…”

Up for’ard, Shadwell grinned to himself. He enjoyed shaking Rogers. He leaned over the hammock, grabbed his friend’s right ear, twisting and pulling at the same time. Rogers woke with his fists swinging out of the hammock: a stream of oaths ripped across the compartment.

“Now, now!” murmured Shadwell, soothingly. “’Ush, ducky. We want to ‘ear what the Captain ‘as to say, not what you’ve bin dreaming about.” The Captain’s voice came at them again from the speaker.

“I’ve an important announcement to make…”

The moon broke through a rift in the rain-clouds, gleamed on Seahound ’s shiny black hull. She crashed her bow into the gentle waves, flinging them aside one after the other, tossing them in gleaming showers of spray over her steel shoulders. Number One paused for a moment in his looking-out, and watched the regular fist-slamming impact of the powerful bow as it broke steadily through, and while he watched that easy effortless motion he thought to himself that this was the way it had always been, with Seahound . She took it all so quietly. The North Atlantic at its worst had flung its weight against her: a Burma hurricane had raved and torn at her in its crazy rage. Germans had bombed her, and Japanese had shelled her: she had known the roar and the clanging blows of Italian depth-charges. The only thing she hadn’t known was Peace: and that, thought Number One, shocking himself with the truth, would be the end of the road, the scrap-heap. They’d swarm all over her, cutting with flame and steel, hacking and tearing her apart because she had served her purpose and was of no further use. Feeling the lift of her under his feet and watching the way she slammed into the waves, he thought: You’ll take this in your stride, too, you lovely, courageous old bitch! Smoothing along to the breakers’ yard, with your head in the air! Ruthless and vicious, uncomfortable to live in, stinking of shale oil and sometimes of things much worse, I’d give everything I have to save you. His hand rested on the curved timber that edged the top of the bridge, and the tip of his thumb felt the nick that had been made a year ago when they were loading spare engine parts and the crane-driver carelessly swung a heavy part against the bridge. He knew every inch of this ship.