Again there was that hard, dry cough, and then the voice resumed, "It's evident that our three boats wouldn't have received these orders unless a most unusual situation was developing. However, I would like to make it very clear" —he emphasized the words— "that the order to assume the first degree of readiness is normally a precautionary measure. It does not mean that we will launch missiles, although that's a possibility which can't be excluded."
He paused dramatically. "As I told you earlier, we'll surface for a few minutes at twenty-two hundred for navigational purposes. That will be in approximately twenty-three minutes' time. I'll keep you informed of any further developments. In the meantime, keep calm . . . don't listen to rumors . . . concentrate on your duties. That is all."
While Shadde was speaking the first lieutenant had opened the test panel on the firing pedestal and gone through the motions of testing the circuit. "Firing-plunger circuit tested and correct, sir," he reported to Shadde.
A few minutes after the second broadcast the doctor went to the captain's cabin to report that Lieutenant Musgrove had collapsed in the reactor control room. He had been taken to his cabin, and the doctor had attended to him there.
"What caused the collapse?" snapped Shadde.
The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "Difficult to say, sir. Your announcement about the missile state of readiness must have triggered it off. He probably collapsed from sheer fright. . . that's shock. When I revived him he was incoherent and babbling."
Shadde paced up and down the small cabin. "My God! What an officer! If that made him pass out, what the hell would he do in real trouble? Incredible! What have you done with him?"
"Given him a sedative. He'll sleep for a long time."
"Sure he's not putting on an act?"
The doctor watched the captain carefully to see the reaction. "Quite sure, sir. His nerve broke under stress."
Shadde looked as if he had been slapped in the face. His chin went up and he gave the doctor a furious stare. O'Shea braced himself for an outburst. But it never came; instead Symington's voice crackled in the speaker. "Captain to the control room. Twenty-two hundred, sir."
"Very good," Shadde called back. "I'm coming through."
Hurriedly he pulled on seaboots and an oilskin and went through to the control room. He checked with the asdic operator; there were no ships in the area. He called, "Diving stations." The order was passed on the broadcast and the crew quickly went to stations. "Forty feet!" rapped out Shadde.
The diving-plane operators turned their wheels and the forepart of the submarine began to lift. "Up periscope!" Shadde took a quick sweep around the horizon. "Stand by to surface."
"Stand by to surface! Shut main vents!" called the first lieutenant. There were muffled thuds as the vents were closed.
"Surface!" barked Shadde.
"Blow main ballast!" called the first lieutenant.
The diving planes were put to hard arise and there was the hissing of high-pressure air expanding into the ballast tanks. The signalman opened the clips on the lower hatch and Shadde lifted his big body up the conning-tower ladder.
The submarine began to move about in the seaway as she broke surface. Shadde released the clips on the upper hatch, swung it open and climbed out onto the bridge, followed by the lookouts, the signalman and the officer of the watch.
A steepish sea was running. The plunging bow threw spray back across the bridge; this and the rain and the lowering clouds which darkened the northern twilight made the visibility less than a mile. Above the men on the bridge, the radar scanner was searching the horizon, providing the control room data for the reports of bearings and distances of ships and the land.
Lookouts were posted, but the navigation lights were not switched on. Position data was checked and reestablished on the Ship's Inertial Navigation System and computers; lastly, a diving signal was made to FOS/M. Not many minutes after she had surfaced Retaliate was back at two hundred feet, and course was set to reach the position in Bohus Bay.
One hour before midnight Gracie was called to the captain's cabin. Shadde was pacing like a caged tiger, but he was beaming. "Splendid, Gracie! You've done a magnificent job. Quite remarkable! The exercise is a roaring success!"
The hollow-ringed eyes were bright with excitement. "Thanks to you, Gracie, there's not a man on board who doesn't believe that a most serious situation is developing. Except for us, of course. The whole crew faced with what they think is the real thing. It's first-class experience. Magnificent training!"
Gracie hadn't said a word. He just stood there waiting.
"There's one thing needed to complete the exercise. A third signal!" Shadde's eyes flashed. "Here it is. . . . You'll receive it at five minutes to midnight. I've marked the precedence 'flash' this time. We'll go to periscope depth at twenty-three fifty-five."
There was a deep sigh and an upward jerk of the captain's head. "This third signal will crown a remarkable performance. End on a dramatic note." Shadde laughed gaily. "After that— we'll turn for home, and I'll tell the crew over the broadcast what it was all about." His face turned somber again. "Shan't leave it at that, though. I'll draw attention to the lessons learned. And they'll be considerable, I can assure you. Now that's all, Gracie. Once again, congratulations on a first-class performance."
"Thank you, sir," Gracie said uneasily. Then he left the cabin and went straight to Symington to tell him that the captain had given him a third signal—contents unknown.
At five minutes to midnight the submarine went once more to periscope depth, and down in the W/T office Gracie sat with hunched shoulders as the third signal came through. He took it to the control room. Shadde was at the periscope and near him stood Symington and Keely, who were about to take over the watch. Gracie answered Symington's questioning look with an almost imperceptible nod. He handed the signal to Keely.
Keely looked at it and his eyes bulged when he spoke to the captain. "Signal, sir. 'Flash' precedence."
Shadde stiffened, then said: "Decipher it at once."
The sublieutenant went quickly to the wardroom.
Keely noticed that this time the address groups did not include Massive and Deterrent. When he read the deciphered message he felt as if he'd been kicked in the pit of his stomach.
"Execute Thunderbolt four repeat Thunderbolt four at 0010 repeat 0010 Stop Targets KPF 18/19 repeat KPF 18/19 Stop Thereafter retire into the North Sea Stop Guard this channel at each hour Stop Acknowledge"
The wardroom clock showed two minutes to midnight. Pale and excited, Keely ran back and thrust the signal into the captain's hands. "It's to execute Thunderbolt, sir," he said huskily.
The red glow of the control-room lights accentuated Shadde's hawklike appearance as he went to the broadcast to call Cavan, Gallagher and Weddy to his cabin.
When he spoke to the three officers his voice quivered. "Gentlemen, read this quickly, please. There's little time to spare." He handed the signal to Gallagher, and the three men read it.
There was a tense silence, and then Gallagher said, "That's certainly something."
Weddy had been expecting this ever since the order to assume the first degree of readiness. All the same he had a tight, dry feeling in his throat, and thoughts of his mother crowded out everything else. He hoped fervently that she wasn't in London.
Shadde questioned them abruptly. "Well, gentlemen? Do you agree the import of the signal? Four Polaris missiles to be launched at ten minutes past midnight?"
Weddy felt slightly dazed, but he nodded with the others.
Shadde ran his fingers across the open page of a black code book. "Target coordinates, KPF eighteen and nineteen. Here they are: KPF eighteen—naval base and dockyard, Kronstadt." He looked up. "Thank God it's a military target." Then his finger moved on. "KPF nineteen—industrial complex, Leningrad. See that, gentlemen, do you? Those are our targets."