He stiffened. It was forbidden to use the wardroom radio at sea except in the dogwatches. There wasn't an officer in Retaliate who didn't know this. With a heave he was off the bunk and at the wardroom door, but the only person there was O'Shea, asleep in an easy chair. He went back to his desk and rang for the messenger.
"Beneath this sky, for you,
My love, I'll die, I'll die,"
the singer wailed, and Shadde choked with rage. If this could happen, discipline was indeed crumbling.
When the messenger arrived, he spoke with exaggerated calm. "Find out who is responsible for that—that filthy noise. Tell him to see me at once."
"Come back my heart, the spring is —"
the crooner pleaded and then, dramatically, stopped.
There was a knock on Shadde's door and Dwight Gallagher came in. "Understand you sent for me, Captain."
It had never occurred to Shadde that the culprit might be the American. He set his teeth and glared at him. "Were you responsible for that filthy noise?"
Gallagher looked at him coolly. "My record player, Captain?"
Shadde looked as if he would like to strike him. "You've been in this boat for two months, Gallagher. You should know by now that that sort of thing's forbidden."
"In the wardroom, yes. But this was in my cabin, with the door shut." Gallagher smiled. "I was trying out a little transistor job I bought in Stockholm." He spread out his hands in a gesture of apology. "Certainly sorry if I disturbed you, Captain. Seems it was doing a better job on volume than I imagined."
"Look here, Gallagher." Shadde choked. "I didn't send for you to discuss your—transistor. I—" He hesitated. "While in this boat you'll kindly observe the customs of the Royal Navy. One of them is consideration for men off watch. That may seem unnecessary in the United States Navy, but we attach some importance to it here." He waved Gallagher out of the cabin and slammed the door. He started a letter to Elizabeth, but after two or three paragraphs he tore it up, put his elbows on the desk and buried his face in his hands. After ten minutes or so he sent for the chief petty officer telegraphist.
"Come in, Gracie. Sit down."
Gracie was surprised. Never before had he been asked to sit down in the captain's cabin.
"Gracie, I'm worried. This submarine isn't the fighting unit she should be. Trouble with a long peace is that everything's an exercise and the crew knows it. I need your help."
Grade wondered what on earth the captain was leading up to. "How can I help, sir?"
Shadde's eyes narrowed. "Gracie, this ship's company's got to be confronted suddenly with what they think is the real thing. Of course, it won't be the real thing, but they won't know that until after the exercise. You, Gracie, are going to receive two or three important W/T signals."
"Where from, sir?"
Shadde smiled, humorlessly. "From you."
"I don't follow, sir."
"Simple. You'll transmit them and receive them."
"What sort of signals, sir?"
"Haven't worked out the details yet. Starting point might be a signal from Flag Officer Submarines ordering Retaliate to a certain position at a certain time. Next signal might order us to adopt the first degree of missile readiness. That'd seem pretty realistic, wouldn't it?"
"Couldn't do that, sir. It'd be top secret. Come in a cipher I don't know. Have to go to Mr. Keely for deciphering."
"That's no problem," said Shadde. "I'll encipher the signals myself, and hand 'em to you for transmission." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Tell me this, Gracie: can you transmit a signal and simultaneously receive it through one of our receivers? So that the message comes in this end through the teletype?"
Gracie thought for a moment. "Admiralty and other ships would read anything I transmitted on the regular frequencies. Don't see how it could be done, sir—unless ..."
"Unless what, Gracie?"
"Unless I used the automatic transmitter. Put the message onto the tape first, fed it in and then let it transmit."
"On what frequency?" Shadde lowered himself into a chair.
"No frequency, sir. I wouldn't actually transmit."
"I don't get you, Gracie."
"I'd close the circuit, sir. Feed the tape into the transmitter, and switch it on to transmit direct into the teleprinter. We do that when we check a punched tape against the original message. Signal would come out of the teleprinter just the same as if we'd been reading the Admiralty or any other station."
Shadde rubbed his hands together. "Capital, Gracie, capital!"
Gracie showed no enthusiasm. "When d'you want this, sir?"
"Haven't yet decided," said Shadde. "But if and when I do, I'll let you know well in advance."
Grade got up. "Is that all, sir?"
"Not quite." Shadde's eyes bored into him. "Grade," he said, "absolute secrecy. Only surprise will create the atmosphere of the real thing. Not a word to anyone. D'you understand?"
"Yes, sir." He found the captain's eyes almost hypnotic.
"There's another reason, Grade, why secrecy is essential." The captain waited for the words to sink in. "We've a saboteur on board. That collision. The jammed steering. Under certain conditions he'll give himself away. Don't ask me why. Have confidence in my judgment. D'you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you, Grade."
The ticking noise was first heard during the dogwatches. It became known officially at 1920 when CPO McPherson reported it to Weddy, who was on watch. By then Retaliate was heading into the outer reaches of the Great Belt.
Weddy at once called the captain. Shadde was on the bridge in a trice with a gruff, "What's the trouble?"
"McPherson's reported a ticking noise in the fore-ends, sir." Shadde spun around on the CPO. "What sort of ticking noise?" "Sort of faint noise, sir. Mechanical, I'd say. Seems to be very regular. Right up in the bows."
"Come along, McPherson, I'd like to hear it for myself." In the forward torpedo compartment the men stood aside as Shadde and McPherson went up to the tubes. Shadde stood listening. Then, very faintly, he heard it; an unmistakable, slow "tick" . . . "tick" . . . "tick." He looked at the second hand of his watch. The time interval was exactly three seconds. His face set grimly. "It's mechanical, all right."
For a moment he stood there puzzling, then in a flash he knew it was sabotage. Somewhere in the fore-ends was some form of time bomb. Easy to guess why the fore-ends had been chosen. There were twelve torpedoes there.
Shadde swung around to the men behind him. "Get aft to the control room! Shut those watertight doors behind you! At the double! You stay here, McPherson, and lend me a hand."
For the next ten minutes the two men searched feverishly; and all the time in the background they could hear that ominous tick. McPherson confessed afterward that in those minutes in the torpedo room with the watertight doors shut on them he felt "chilled to the marrow of ma' bones." But they found nothing.
Back in the control room Shadde ordered speed reduced to three knots, enough to maintain steerage way, and then he went to the broadcast. "This is the captain. Be ready to act quickly, and keep cool. There's an untraced ticking noise in the fore-ends. It's regular and mechanical. I propose to assume that it's something which threatens the safety of the submarine. There's no need for alarm. We're not far off land and I intend making for Korsor. All watertight doors forward of the control room are to be shut and all forward compartments are to be cleared. As many men as possible are to go up top and assemble on the after casing, where they will be under the charge of Mr. Keely. All hands, repeat all hands, are to wear life jackets. Those orders are to be executed at once. That is all. Carry on."