With his torch Liang Hui flashed the agreed acknowledgement: a series of three shorts and three longs. They sat waiting, listening to the changing rhythm of engine movements, the sound of men’s voices until, closer and higher than they’d expected, the submarine’s navigation lights showed through the fog. A voice hailed them. ‘Stand by. We’ll throw you a line.’
It was close now, towering above the life-raft. In the reflected green of the starboard light they could see the shadowy outline of men on the casing. First attempts to pass the line failed. Eventually Liang Hui caught it and the raft was hauled alongside. Two seamen slithered down and with their aid and helping hands from above, Krasnov and the Liang Huis were transferred to the casing. They were taken along it. Krasnov on a stretcher, to the free-flooding door at the foot of the fin, then through it and down the hatches into the control-room.
Bill Boyd, well briefed by Brough and Hamsov, interviewed the drenched survivors and heard their story: how the light aircraft in which they’d been flying from Reykjavik to Narvik had developed engine trouble and come down in the sea. There had just been time to get off a MAYDAY but insufficient to give a position. Their friend who was both pilot and owner, Lars Rikdal, had failed to get clear. It had happened very quickly and in the darkness. The young man with them, Bjorg Edde, had suffered head injuries and some damage to his eyes. Fortunately, they explained, Tanya was a trained nurse and using the first-aid box in the life-raft she’d been able to bandage the injuries and sedate Edde. She was insistent that the bandages should not be disturbed and that he should be kept sedated until he could be transferred to a hospital.
Bill Boyd, understanding, puzzled and sympathetic at the same time, said, ‘Bit of a problem, but we’ll sort it out. Great thing is we’ve found you. That’s a slice of luck, anyway. We heard there was a light aircraft down but we hadn’t a clue where you were. Sheer luck,’ he repeated, thinking that he was a pretty-accomplished liar. ‘I’ll signal the senior officer of HM ships in company and ask for instructions. It’ll probably be decided that you must be transferred to the nearest HM ship with adequate medical facilities.’
Tanya said, ‘Bjorg Edde badly needs hospital assistance. Can’t he be transferred to a Norwegian hospital?’
Bill Boyd pointed to the clock over the chart-table. ‘It’s ten to four in the morning and there’s fog. The operation on which our ships are presently engaged is taking us away from Norway. By daylight we should be clear of the fog. We can then transfer you to Belligerent. She has surgeons and full hospital facilities.’
‘When will we be able to get to Norway, sir?’ Liang Hui, wet and dejected, his forearm bandaged, was deferential but not to be ignored.
This is for the Ministry of Defence to decide. No doubt proper arrangements will be made as soon as possible.’
‘Thank you,’ said Liang Hui. ‘Please don’t think we’re not grateful. It’s just that we’re worried.’
Whatever you are, thought Bill Boyd, you and your sister are putting on a great act, bless you.
The little drama having been played out for the benefit of members of the crew in the control-room Krasnov was put in the captain’s minute cabin with Tanya to look after him. Liang Hui was sent off to the small wardroom. It was already overburdened with Brough and Hamsov who were sleeping on settees.
‘We’ve only got these people for a few hours,’ Bill Boyd explained to the first-lieutenant. ‘They’ll have to make the best of it.’
He sent for CPO Blades and gave him an ‘immediate’ message for Belligerent, repeated Aries and C-in-C Fleet, reporting the recovery of three survivors from a ditched aircraft, one with head injuries. He requested instructions for their disposal. The reply came within a few minutes: Immediate to Bluewhale. Proceed with Belligerent and Aries to area GVF for Phase Two of exercise Kilo Zulu and for transfer of all repeat all survivors to Belligerent by helicopter as soon as possible.
Bluewhale dived and made off to the north-west at seventeen knots. Soon afterwards Bill Boyd went to the sonar room, a screened compartment in the control-room. Petty Officer Stephens who’d been on watch while they looked for the Daisy Chain skimmer was still there.
‘How’s Rockfish getting on, Stephens?’
The petty officer looked at the sonar screen. ‘Bearing two-seven-zero, twenty-one miles, sir. She’s been heading to the westward since she picked up that skimmer.’
‘Bully for Rockfish,’ said Bill Boyd. ‘I was beginning to think we had her for keeps.’
When things had settled down Boyd sent for the first-lieutenant. ‘Well, Number One, how are the lame ducks?’
‘The Cantonese girl is looking after Bjorg Edde. Won’t leave him. Doesn’t want any help.’
‘Lucky Bjorg,’ said Boyd speculatively. ‘Nice-looking girl.’
‘Quite a dish, sir,’ agreed the first-lieutenant.
‘Her brother?’
‘Having coffee and nosh in the wardroom.’
‘Has he met Brough and Hamsov?’
‘He’s seen them. They’re bedded down but they haven’t lifted an eyelid for him.’
‘Sensible characters. Nothing like a good kip. Shan’t be sorry to see all these bodies go. We aren’t really cut out for this rescue-hospital ship scene.’
‘No, sir. We’re definitely not.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
News of the disappearance of Krasnov reached the Zhukov in the early hours of morning. It came in the shape of a radio message from Major Martinsen using a Nepa salvage vessel as communications link.
Yenev, worrying about the progress of salvage operations, was lying on his bunk awake when Uskhan brought the signaclass="underline" Regret to inform you that Lieutenant Ivan Krasnov cannot be found. He was last seen by Sub-Lieutenant Gerasov in the kafeteria at approximately 1100 last night stop Norwegian vessels on patrol off Vrakoy have been alerted and a search in and around Kolhamn is proceeding.
Yenev instructed Uskhan to request the salvage vessel Volga to inform all Soviet naval units in the vicinity that Krasnov might have been abducted or be making an escape by sea. That done he sent for Milovych. The commissar, awakened from solid sleep, arrived in the captain’s cabin wearing a towelling wrap. It concealed most of his plump body but when Milovych sat down Yenev could not, serious though the situation was, help observing how the commissar, aware of the direction of the captain’s gaze, drew the wrap more tightly about himself. He was still in a state of somnolent irritation. Among other things he was annoyed that he’d forgotten to put in his dentures. This introduced an unusual sibilance, a minuscule but embarrassing whistle when he spoke. Looking at his watch, he said, ‘I presume you have good reasons for sending for me at this hour?’ Yenev passed him the signal. ‘Judge for yourself.’
As he read, Milovych’s face paled visibly and seemed about to collapse. Recovering his poise, he stood up, pulled the wrap more tightly round his body and re-tied the girdle. ‘This is extremely serious, comrade.’ He waved the signal with one hand, gestured with the other.
Each man knew what the other was thinking. Defection. The commissar’s small eyes bored into Yenev’s. ‘Have you had, ever had, any cause to doubt Krasnov?’
‘Never,’ said the captain. ‘Knowing how thoroughly your department investigates the background, record and political behaviour of officers — especially those dealing with classified technology — I have never doubted him. Of course, as a seaman, I’m not enthusiastic about graduate entrants. You know that. I have, as you also know, been critical of Krasnov at times because he tends to be cocksure, too patronizing. But he’s been a good officer and that he should be insecure, politically unstable — well, that I certainly have never thought.’ Milovych pulled at the flesh beneath his eyes as if the gesture in some way improved matters. ‘I must say I never had any doubts about him. His political soundness. His loyalty to the Party.’