Christopher Wood - The Spy Who Loved Me

Bond turned away. He was tired almost to death. His wound had re-opened and all he wanted to do was to lie down and be allowed to go to sleep. But that was impossible. He had to think - and he had to think fast. Less than five minutes. What the hell were they going to do? His eyes sped over the banks of equipment trying to find a solution. Then he saw something. It was a chance. A faint chance. But it was all they had.

One of the relay screens on the console showed a set of coordinates. Bond looked from them to the giant globe. Two lights, marked ‘S1’ and ‘S2’, flashed from positions in the Atlantic. Stromberg One and Stromberg Two. Ranger and Potemkin ! Bond checked the positions on the globe against the co-ordinates on the relay screen. The position of the Potemkin approximated to that on the screen. Now, where were the co-ordinates of Ranger ?

Another explosion thundered through the ship and a slight list to starboard became more pronounced. Black smoke was pouring out of one of the ventilators. Bond could feel the seconds ticking away with every tortured heartbeat. Carter was looking into his face imploringly. ‘James-’

Bond held up his hand and looked at his watch. ‘I know. We have four minutes. Can you work a printout transmission unit?'

‘Sure. Why?’

‘Find one and get ready to transmit. I’ll tell you in a moment.’

Bond’s eyes ranged to the opposite aisle of the console. A body slumped across one of the machines. He pulled it aside and his heart lifted. Through a smear of blood he could make out the faint, flickering digitals of another set of co-ordinates. He checked them off against the globe and they approximated to the indicated position of Ranger . Running to Carter’s side, he flicked up the switch marked ‘Stromberg One’. Carter looked up at him strained and puzzled. Bond took a deep breath. ‘We’re going to try and re-target those submarines.’

‘What on?’

Each other.’ Bond did not pause for a reaction to his words.

I'm going to give you Potemkin 's position as a target for Ranger

‘And vice versa.’ Carter’s face lit up. ‘My God I It might just work.’ His fingers poised over the keys and Bond started reeling out the figures. Below him, the message that might save the world began to take shape like a business telex. ‘Captain of Stromberg One. New target co-ordinates. Repeat, new target co-ordinates -*

In less than a minute it was done and Carter started to contact Potemkin . Supposing the two submarines were in communication with each other? Bond shivered. The whole plan was built on ‘ifs' He watched the telex machine. At one minute to midday it chattered into life.

‘Stromberg One. Message received and understood.’

Carter sighed in relief and snapped his finger. ‘Come on, Stromberg Two, talk to daddy.’

Bond turned to the globe and looked at the throbbing lights indicating New York and Moscow. People waking, people sleeping - perhaps, soon, people dying.

‘James!’

The telex was working again. ‘Stromberg Two. Message received and understood.' It was exactly twelve o’clock.

Bond slumped into a chair and faced the slowly turning globe. Now that the die was cast he felt strangely calm. Whatever more might have been expected of him he had done all that he could. He would have liked a drink. A large dry martini with the thinnest sliver of freshly pared lemon- peel.

‘Look, James!'

Something was happening on the globe. Two dotted lines of lights were rising from the submarine symbols. Bond stiffened. These must be tracing the paths of the missiles. The dotted line from the south Atlantic seemed to be travelling towards New York. The line from the north was rising as if about to veer eastwards. What had happened? Had the captains ignored the change of co-ordinates? Fear drove a wedge into his heart. Then a pattern began to establish itself. The missiles were travelling in an arc. They rose and then began, slowly but remorselessly, to veer towards each other. The traces overlapped and one bisected the other as they started to descend. Bond watched fascinated as the dotted lines drew nearer and nearer to ‘SI’ and ‘S2\ Behind, the tanker listed and groaned, playing out a minor drama of its own. It was like watching the fuse burn down to some enormous firework. The globe spun once more and when it came round there were no dotted lines, no symbols.

‘Jesus Christ!' said Carter. ‘I think we’ve done it.’

An explosion punctuated his words and Bond pulled himself to his feet. It wasn’t over yet. ‘Now we save ourselves. What’s the situation on deck?’

‘We can’t get up there.’ Coyle had appeared at their side, his face black with smoke and oil. ‘It’s a sheet of flame from bow to stern. The companionways are buckling with the heat.’ ‘We’ll have to go out the way we came in,’ said Carter. ‘Get everybody aboard the Wayne and get those bow doors open. Stromberg’s men have last priority. We’re going to be like sardines as it is.’

‘Yes sir! ’ Coyle turned away and started bellowing through a loud-hailer.

Bond looked round for a radio. ‘We must tell the outside world what’s happening. Those two submarines going up is going to put everybody on nuclear alert. God knows how much damage has been caused.’

Carter nodded grimly. ‘Okay, I’ll supervise embarkation. Don’t leave it too late!’ He had to shout the last words as there was a staccato ripple of explosions, and flames belched out of one of the ventilator grills. The paint on the forward bulkhead was blistering. Bond groped his way through the smoke and found a VHF set. It was hot to the touch. He began to transmit the special call sign, which should immediately be picked up by the nearest Area Station of Universal Export. Lights were beginning to go out and generators whine down into unnerving silence. Come on, you lazy bastards! What are you doing? Listening to the ice cubes clinking in your gins and tonic?

‘... Station Y. State your message. Over.’

Thank God! Bond hunched over the speaker. ‘On no account implement Red Revenge. Repeat. On no account implement Red Revenge. Explanation will follow. 007 for London. Out.’

Bond left the voice asking for further information and started to run towards the gallery. Heat and smoke were now turning the control room into a death-chamber. The tanker was listing hard to starboard. It was difficult to keep his feet.

A violent explosion racked the control room and hurled Bond to the deck. The giant globe crashed on to the console and disintegrated. Severed wires spluttered angrily in the smoke-filled darkness. Bond started to claw his way to his feet and winced as a fragment of broken glass cut his hand to the bone.

‘James?’ Carter nearly fell over him before seizing his arm and dragging him towards the gap in the louvres. ‘The bow doors wouldn’t open. We'll have to blast our way out!’

Bond stumbled on to the gallery and peered through the smoke towards the dock. Water had risen fast and the starboard side of the quay was submerged. The bows of the Wayne swung free and men were swimming to reach the forward hatch. The area around her was crowded with crew members of the British, American and Russian submarines trying to help their wounded comrades aboard. Stromberg’s men were being held back at gunpoint. It was a scene of desperation and confusion that bordered on panic. Smoke, flames and the smell of battle and burning flesh. Injured men who were frightened of being left behind were crying out and trying to drag themselves towards the Wayne . Others were struggling to keep clear of the rising water.

Bond found one of Talbot’s men who was still alive and began to help him down the stairs. Below him, he saw two rats swim through the water and scramble on to a floating corpse. This was a hell by Hieronymus Bosch. Was this degrading slaughter what Stromberg had in mind when he planned the end of the world? Bond reached the bottom of the stairs and water swirled over his feet. The man in his arms was babbling incoherently and beginning to falter. Bond fought to keep his feet. Another explosion rocked the tanker and the list became more pronounced. The water was now up to his waist and running wild as if fretting to be free of its metal bonds. Into the brig it swirled, snatching up the relics of the last six hours of bitter struggle and battering them against the steel walls. The lights were going out one by one and the smoke lowering down upon the Stygian gloom. Bond remembered the obituary he had written for himself earlier - ‘drowned, burned, and buried’. With every second, the type became more readable. Keeping close hold on the man in his arms he advanced precariously towards the invisible quayside. The last berthing ropes of the Wayne had been slipped and she now rode free of the sunken jetty. Carter had scrambled to the stern and was looking back.