Submarine

'Just that.' Rackham relaxed in his chair and nodded towards the staff officers crouched over the working tops of the wide tables. 'That's what we're on — and Orcus is vital to the operation.'

Farge met again those piercing eyes while FOSM continued:

'The Kremlin remains convinced that we can't sink their SSBNS. We insist that we can, so we have to prove our point within an unspecified time bracket. If we fail, they'll know we're bluffing.' He shrugged His shoulders in a gesture of hopelessness. 'Then they can fire their ICBMS, knowing that they have an SSBN capability still in reserve — their precious, last-resort SLBM weapon — to match our own for a second round, if we continue to reinforce Europe with our trans-Atlantic convoys. So everything depends on our sinking their "bombers", their Delta Twos and Typhoons, and proving that it is an illusion for them to think that they can really stand up against it this time round.' Rackham glared, at the commanding officer in front of him:

'And that means us, you and I, all submariners and ASW forces, especially the LRMP aircraft.' Jake Rackham was warming to his task, his voice becoming hoarser as he enlarged upon his theme: 'While we're still planning frantically against time, it is vital for me to know quickly at this stage whether you, as one of my most experienced patrol submarine cos, will undertake the job I've got for you. If you decline, nothing will be held against you. We reckon Onus' chances of survival are sixty-six per cent against.' He repeated his estimate emphatically. 'Against, d'you understand, Farge? In spite of the modifications which are now in hand at Vickers, your chances of returning from this special operation are only thirty-three per cent — which is why I've selected Orcus for this part of Operation Search and Destroy, West.'

'She's expendable?' Farge asked, though he knew the answer.

'Check. If you're captured the enemy can learn little from Orcus. We can't afford to risk one of our new boats. A U is expensive, and can do your part of the job no better than Orcus. If the enemy get hold of one, they'd be able to counter the whole of our ASW warfare within weeks.'

'The stakes seem pretty high, sir,' Farge said. 'If Orcus succeeds in her part of the operation, is there the possibility that we can destroy one of their "bombers"? Could it mean the truce developing into permanent peace?'

Rackham nodded. 'If we fail, God only knows where humanity will end up,' he said unemotionally. 'And I'll have lost some bloody good submariners.' He pushed back his chair. 'There it is, Farge. I'm giving you twenty-four hours to think it over. Phone me personally from leave. If you decline I must find someone else — and rapidly.'

Rackham climbed to his feet. The interview was terminated.

'You can't tell me any more, sir,' Farge asked, 'about the operation?'

'Nothing yet, except that you've to work on their doorstep.' He waved a hand to the centre of the room. 'My staffs here to help you. You see, Farge,' he said gently, 'I don't know more myself yet. If you decide to… volunteer, I want you back here '

on the twenty-ninth for final briefing, on your way back to rejoin your submarine. Remember, Orcus is only part of Operation SDW.' The FOSM held out his hand.

'Enjoy your four days leave,' he said, reaching for his cap. He added softly, 'I don't want to push you, Farge. But I've chosen you because I believe you're the best man for the job.' Then he called across to his staff:

'Help Lieutenant-Commander Farge all you can, gentleman. He'll be wanting to look at the charts before he leaves. Steve, look after him. will you?'

A grey-faced commander detached himself from the group: 'Certainly, sir. He's arrived at the right moment.'

Rackham raised his eyebrows.

'Washington is on the line, sir. They want to know if the First Sea Lord's special envoy has been fully briefed for the meeting on the twenty-eighth?'

Chapter 3

Exmoor, 25 April.

'I'll take Meg for a walk, I think,' Julian Farge said, after an uneasy hour at the dinner-table. 'We'll go up on the moor.'

'Sorry about my tales of woe,' his father said, 'but it's good to talk with someone now Barbie's gone. Don't keep Meg out too late.'

What could have been a serene happy retreat, Newdyke, was becoming a nagging duty. As his father had reiterated over the port, there was considerable animosity against him. Lord Farge was very much a political peer. He had not exactly bought his place in the House of Lords but, as a result of vast profits from the manufacture of plastics, his largesse had certainly been well placed.