Peter Pišťanek - The End of Freddy

Urban collects all his modest possessions and with heavy heart sets out across the snowy plain. On the way he encounters the fog. Urban is walking down hill. The snow line ends, but Urban has no idea where he’s going. For three days he keeps wandering among mountain pines and has no idea if he is going north, or south. He periodically climbs a tree, locates another tree in the fog and sets out towards it. He uses all the food he brought along in Polyarny. He drinks clear and cold water from a stream. He tries again to catch fish, but again with no luck. He chews on roots and gathers berries. He is afraid of wolves, but doesn’t see any. He is wet to the skin. At night he sleeps in trees.

After three days he gets to a railway track. He can’t believe his eyes. The rails have a shiny surface, evidence of regular train traffic. Urban collects dry twigs from all around and piles it on top of the track. It takes him a whole day. Exhausted, he lies in the low grass and chews on the roots that he has dug out somewhere. That’s it. He’s not moving from here. He will either die, or wait for rescue here.

* * *

On their eighth journey, returning from Junja, at one thirty in the morning the Kamýk radar operator identifies a vessel on his screen coming towards them at almost 33 knots. Only a warship can be that fast.

Kubeš orders a dive to periscope depth.

“What’s the status of battery charging, Mr Kolesa?” he asks, observing the surroundings through the periscope.

“We’ve charged only half of them,” reports Lt. Commander Kolesa.

“Oh, well,” sighs Kubeš. “It’ll have to do. Dive to 100 metres.”

The boat dives rapidly.

“One hundred metres,” says Kolesa. “The boat is steady.”

“Turn off the engine,” commands Kubeš. “Leading Rating Anděl, analyse the sound of the vessel.”

In the sudden silence a weak buzz, gradually getting stronger, can be heard coming from the surface.

Anděl, the electronic systems operator, loads the sound into the computer and then runs it through a programme that analyses it.

“It’s the sound of a Russian Sovremenny class anti-submarine destroyer, sir,” he soon reports.

“Fancy that,” says Kubeš. “Here we go, gentlemen. We’ve been noticed at last. About time, after eight trips by the Kamýk and six by the Albatross .”

“Ping,” the sound echoes.

The men are startled.

“Asdic,” says Kubeš. “Anti-submarine detector. You all know it from Lešany, so please don’t look so surprised.”

“Ping,” the sound is back.

Then there is silence.

“Ping,” it goes again. “Ping…ping…ping.”

Silence.

Then they hear a sound as if someone had thrown a fistful of pebbles at the boat’s hull.

“The submarine is within the destroyer’s search cone,” reports Anděl.

“Good,” Kubeš can’t help saying.

He issues several orders to the helmsmen. He is trying to position the submarine with its back to the destroyer, to hinder the search. But the submarine’s speed is low now, so it does not react to the rudder turning.

“The destroyer is heading towards us,” Anděl notes.

“Let him,” says Kubeš.

“Its position is 120 degrees, and approaching quickly,” adds Anděl.

“No problem,” says Kubeš.

In his mind he is calculating his own course, the enemy’s, the evasive manœuvre; if he miscalculates, the submarine will sail into the charges. The men realise that and stay silent.

“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 powerful: 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.”