“Are they putting up some top cover?”
“We’re told maritime patrols are always active and being monitored by the RAF but the crabs are being tight-lipped over it all. It stinks to me, the whole air situation is a big issue but the crabs are playing it close.” Crabs was the derogatory nickname for the RAF, it’s thought to be derived from their light blue uniform’s matching the pale blue cream used to treat pubic lice.
“What do you think Exec?” asked Luke smiling.
“Trade for us. They’re coming out to play.”
“Weaps?”
“I think the biggest threat will come from their stealth. They do call them the black hole after all.”
“I agree,” said Luke.
“We’ve a good mix of warload Captain. We’ve squeezed in two extra Spearfish.”
“How Savita?”
“Hammocks. The torpedo room was reluctant at first but they now prefer them to sleeping on the fish.”
“Right. When I was new I found sleeping on Torpedoes a bit uncomfortable at first, but you get used to it,” he said.
“I had to sleep on the fish when I was with Tireless,” she said, “it wasn’t so bad. I got quite attached to one, I called her Polly. It is odd at first sleeping on a three hundred kilogram warhead of aluminised PBX.” He smiled, where did I find this crew?
“Tea leaves,” said Luke, “I have an Intel request if you need it confirmed see Admiral Speed. Keep an eye on the Iranian navy, especially any ships leaving the Gulf. If they head towards the Red Sea let Speed know right away. Could you put all this in Holy Ghost’s data stream please?”
“No problem Maccy.”
“Thanks. Let’s get out there.” Luke turned back.
“Oh, I’ll take this with me,” he put the crystal ball back in its bag. “If you want your own Tea Leaves, you can bloody buy one.” Commander McLeod sighed. The three left the shore facility and walked along the quayside back to the boat. He led the way back onto the boat and down into the control room. A woman in a naval officer’s uniform stood in the centre of the room. She saluted him. He knew who she was. Her hair was tied up, black, pretty and bright keen eyes.
“Lieutenant Pearl Turner. Medical Officer Sir.”
“Yes, welcome aboard Lieutenant. Follow me,” He walked astern, she followed.
“You’re new to submarines I believe?”
“I’ve done around half of my intro course, Sir.”
“So not been to sea in one yet?”
“No Sir,”
“Well you’re in at the deep end then, we’ll sail on ops within the hour,”
“That’s OK Sir, I’ve been down to the bottom of the deep end at my local pool,” He turned and she grinned. He laughed.
“You’ll do fine with us.” He stopped at a bunk room entrance.
“Mr Salt. Get your hand off it and put your porn mag away. Come out and meet the real thing.” There was a grunting and presently a ginger haired man appeared.
“Sir?”
“Lieutenant Pearl Turner. Medical officer. This is CPO William Salt. He gets stick from us but he runs the bloody boat for us. Pearl, if you want to know anything just ask Salty. Mr Salt show the Lieutenant around and get her fit up with a bunk, Ascot’s old one I suppose.”
“Yes Sir,”
“I’ll be off now Lieutenant,” he turned and headed back to the control room.
“Right mam where’s your kit?”
“At the bottom of the sail. Don’t call me that, either Sir or Pearl,”
“Yes mam, sorry I mean Sir,” CPO Salt spoke with a strong West country accent from his native Bridgewater.
“Let’s get you fit up with a bunk first Sir and then we'll get you going from the rear.” She smirked and raised her eyebrows.
“So soon CPO Salt, you’re forward. Is that sort of thing allowed on board,” she gave him a cheeky grin.
“Sorry, Sir I meant…”
“I know what you meant Salty.”
LUKE LOOKED AROUND the control room, all looked well. The boat felt ready, it’d taken years but he’d now got a nose for this. When things weren’t right he could smell it. At least that’s what it felt like.
“Exec is the boat ready for sea?” asked Luke.
“Yes Sir,”
“Then order the cast-off and join me on the sail.” Luke stood on the sail watching the crew casting off the boat’s moorings. The light breeze fresh and the sun warm on his cheeks. The sky was cloudy but with large blue openings. There’s enough blue in the sky to make a sailor a pair of pants, his grandmother used to say. He picked up the boat’s comms microphone.
“Forward three.” He waited and looked astern. “Come starboard five degrees.” The XO joined him on the sail. Soon they passed to the west of the breakwater with its fort from Napoleonic times. Next was Rame head, with that cleared she was at sea. HMS Holy Ghost the most powerful submarine ever built was on patrol. Her task, to keep the world’s economic lifeblood flowing through the Straits of Hormuz. To do it she’d have to face two of the most silent and deadly demons of the deeps.
Chapter 2
CAPTAIN LUKE MACARTHUR and Commander Mark Davis stood on the sail, the sea breeze strong in the afternoon sunlight. The bow raised a large bulbous swell as it pushed its way through the water. Davis lowered his binoculars. “It looks quite clear out to the west.”
“Yes, but let’s keep on this track. We’ll dive her to the east of the Hand deeps and keep this course to the south-west. We’ll do our bit to make it seem like we’re heading for the Med.”
They both stood taking in the last fresh air they’d taste for some time. Finally, Luke said. “We’ll make a dash down south we have to get there ahead of the Kilos, we’ll kiss Senegal and South Africa. Then up north again.” Luke looked out at the bright sun flecked white horses breaking on the ice cool sea. “Mark, what do you think? Should we wait for them off Suez or further south?” Mark turned to him.
“There’s the noise off Suez, there’ll be a lot of traffic. But it’s the one place where you know they’ll have to pass. We could try a chip and run on them.”
“Don’t go all Rugby plays on me Mark, I like the game, but I don’t know it like you.” Luke smiled.
“It means that you get around the back of them, get them worrying about us.”
“I like that, maybe we’ll do it, put them on the back foot.
I know they’ll have to leave the canal, that’s where we’ll definitely know where they are, but I think they’ll go deep quick when they leave the canal. They’ll be glad of the opportunity and the boats are new to them. We can out dive them, their max depth is three hundred meters, with two forty being more realistic. We’ll only get a brief chance and if we don’t make it count they’ll know somebody’s after them. Then there is the bloody noise as you say.”
Luke remembered the chart of the Red Sea he’d studied.
“We can always lie in wait at the southern exit of the Red Sea, it’s a choke point and it’ll be a lot quieter. You know what it’s called Mark?”
“No, go on.”
“The Gate of Tears. Some call it the Gate of Grief.” Luke looked Mark in the eyes.
“The question is if we wait there, who’s tears? Who’s grief?”
Captain Luke MacArthur stood and looked out beyond the bow, the wall of water rode over the bow as the Ghost pushed through the sea. He looked out to the horizon and realised what a weight now sat on his shoulders. I’ve really got myself in one now haven’t I?
“You bloody fool MacArthur. Well, that’s it. It’s officially dropped and hit the fan. Time to get on with it.”
“Sir?”
“OK Mark, that’s about it, let’s get below.” In the control room Luke took up his place sat on his seat at the conn station.