Submarine

Trevellion had always been impressed by the American set-up; they were casual in so many ways, particularly in service protocol, but surprisingly hidebound in others. Their strength lay in their infectious enthusiasm and their friendliness, as exemplified by this meeting of the Joint Chiefs of Staff which Hart had asked Trevellion to attend as the British First Sea Lord's representative. Trevellion, sitting between Hart and Quarrie, found it difficult to believe that the most powerful men on earth were assembling here with such scant formality.

Admiral John Floyd, who was Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, had invited the Secretary of Defense to attend this final meeting on Operation sow before its presentation to the President.

'The boss is arriving now,' Hart muttered. 'Better douse your pipe.'

They stood up as the grey-haired admiral entered, at his side the Secretary of Defense, a dapper little man with rimless spectacles, dressed in a light grey suit which contrasted with the green and blue uniforms around him. An aide ushered both men to their seats.

'Right, Mr Secretary,' Admiral Floyd said, 'Let's go through the plans.'

In the dim light of the air-conditioned room Trevellion listened to the terse presentation of Operation sow. Charts were magnified, thrown up on the wall, as the most senior officers in the American fighting services made their contributions. There were no questions and the admiral, rising to his feet, turned to his civilian superior:

'Mr Secretary. We need the President's go-ahead. It should be easier, now that he's back from the hills.'

The slight man in the grey suit turned towards Trevellion:

'Would Captain Trevellion like to come along with us to the White House, Jack? Our British friends are in this as much as we are.'

It was the courteous informality which impressed Trevellion as they drove to the White House. It was open knowledge that, since the Soviets had begun making peace noises, the Commander-in-Chief of the American forces had returned from his alternative command centre to the White House, which must inevitably be the Soviets' top-priority target.

The President was waiting for them in the Situation Room. He seemed astonishingly relaxed, Trevellion thought, for a man bearing such a hideous burden. The mobile, craggy face of the politician was older than Trevellion expected. To survive, this man had to be tough: he was holding the fate of humanity in his hands at this moment.

'Well, Mr Secretary, so you've got things worked out?' the President asked, strolling towards them.

While they chatted, Admiral Floyd took Trevellion's elbow: 'Mr President, Captain Trevellion is the British First Sea Lord's special envoy.'

'Hi, Captain. I'm glad Tony Layde's sent you over. He's happy, is he, with the British part in so?'

'Yes, sir. We're aiming to start the operation as soon as Orcus is ready.'

'How soon's that, Captain?'

'Our boats will be taking up their positions on the ninth of May, sir.'

The President pursed his lips, looked up from beneath his bushy eyebrows and slowly shook his head. He remained silent.

'Our end's tricky, Mr President,' Trevellion said. 'The patrol submarine has to be modified, if she's to stand a chance of success.'

The Secretary of Defense waved his hand at the empty chair. 'We'll explain our plans, Mr President, if you're ready.'

The Secretary opened the proceedings by explaining in landsman's terms the broad outline of Operation so both East and West.

The Soviet navy was naturally exploiting its 'fortress' position, particularly in the Barents Sea. sow would show that all this was in vain: although the geographical siting of the Barents was an undeniable advantage for the Soviets, this factor was one which the submarines of the Royal Navy also intended to exploit, as Trevellion was waiting to demonstrate.