A Twist of Sand

The D.N.I, interrupted. "I might add that this voyage of NP is a proving voyage. If she comes home with a bag as full as I think she will get, the Germans will concentrate everything on building scores of her type for the North Atlantic. Their virtues -- on paper at least -- are innumerable -- high operational speed for indefinite periods; no need to surface; stealth of attack ..."

"There is nothing she doesn't have!" I broke in. The futility of British submarines, their wearisome little technical faults and the simple problem of operating them without straining their conventional machinery -- it seemed to me like comparing a turbine with a lawn-mower.

"No," said the schoolmasterly voice. "There you are wrong. There is one thing they certainly do not have. That is, radar anything like as good as ours. Their FuMB counter-radar really isn't up to much. Our V.H.F. is years ahead of theirs. So is our underwater radio reception and asdic.   When our ships in the Western Approaches have these installed ..."

He trailed off at the stern eye of my senior and shrugged. "In for a penny, in for a pound. He knows more now than anyone else; it won't harm him to know about the radar also. Besides, we'll install it in Trout in order to give him the best chance."

His matter-of-fact words struck a new chord of fear in me. Trout? What had she to do with it? Were they going to send me out against this futuristic submarine in poor little Trout? I still remember the prolonging of the minutes; somewhere down below there was a slight screech of rubber on the road as a driver braked carelessly; from the Thames came the mournful siren of a tug. The Flag Officer (S) stood with his face half turned to the great wall map. He and the Director of Naval Intelligence both realised that the cat was out of the bag.

"Surely. ..." I gasped.

The cold eyes never looked colder, and his voice sounded like backwash on sharp shingle.

"Your orders are to take H.M.S. Trout and sink NP I."

I looked from one to the other hopelessly. The Trout I A piddling little "T "class submarine against a 3,000 ton non-surfacing, super-efficient U-boat which was so good that even its creator could not believe it was true! Here was the straight, unswerving road to suicide!

I said flippantly, for after all they had signed my death warrant as certainly as they stood before me:

"Just tell me where to find her, sir."

The note in my voice certainly jarred on both of them. The icy eyes flickered only for a moment. His next words dumfounded me, even if I was capable of feeling little else but bitter, hurt anger.

"I don't know. You will have absolute discretion. The whole South Atlantic is yours."

I turned hopelessly to the Intelligence man.

"Surely, sir, you must have some reports about where she is based? You can't tuck a huge submarine away like that without a trace. What about some unfrequented harbour along the South West African coast ? The Germans there are well disposed towards the Nazis. Perhaps. ..."

He was smiling, sadly. "My dear boy," he murmured. "A submarine like that doesn't need a regular operational base. I estimate that she can travel about fifteen months without refuelling. She can carry all her own stores. She only needs to go home when she's shot off all her torpedoes. She carries plenty of them, too."

His words felt like the final body blow to a boxer. Neither of them said any more. I suppose several minutes must have passed.

Then I said feebly: "Briefly, then, I must take Trout to the millions of square miles of the South Atlantic, find and sink a U-boat capable of doing eighteen or more knots submerged, no base, no silhouette. Am I correct, sir?"

The icy eyes remained ice.  "That is correct."

Their minds were made up and there was little I could do about it -- except make my will.

"I am bringing H.M.S. Trout to Gibraltar. The new radar will be fitted there. It is not to fall into enemy hands, do you see, Peace ? It will be fitted with special demolition charges. If you are in any immediate danger from the enemy, you will blow it up. If necessary, you will blow up Trout also."

They were certainly making sure of my death.

"And if I catch up with NP I, what are my orders, sir?" I asked.

"You will sink her with torpedoes. You will bring home positive proof that she is sunk. There must be no half-measures."

The quiet voice joined in our conversation. "Once she is sunk, and does not return to Bremen after a period which the German High Command thinks appropriate, I feel certain they won't go ahead with building others. Remember, they are not even half sold on the idea. This mass of complex, highly dangerous nuclear machinery doesn't appeal to the men who know ordinary U-boats. But if NP I comes home with a string of sinkings and a world cruise behind her, they'll go for it." He glanced at his watch. "I feel all I can wish you is good luck."