Philip E. High - The Time Mercenaries
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Philip E. High
The Time Mercenaries.
I
THE SUBMARINE crept through the water with the stealth of her kind but without high drama. This was routine, a normal return after a normal exercise in peacetime.
It was a late December afternoon, with the coming night forming shadows between the wave crests and a few snow flakes drifting down from the dark sky.
Beneath the water, Randall said, "Up periscope," and sighed, pressing his face to the rubber covered eyepieces as the instrument rose.
Happy days! Home for Christmas! Wonderful-if you had a tolerable home. He was pleased for the men, of course, but for his own part he would rather have remained at sea.
Before the periscope broke surface, however, his thoughts were interrupted. Above the normal noises of the vessel was another sound which would have been meaningless to the inexperienced but to Randall spelled danger. In wartime he had heard that sound too often and, on many occasions, for far too long.
As the periscope finally broke surface, he swung the instrument desperately, searching for the cause of the sound. The area should be navigationally clear and kept clear on Admiralty orders but
"Dive, dive, dive!" He heard his own voice shouting the order, felt his palm come down on the klaxon but he was aware of a curious feeling of detachment, as if someone else had given the order.
A destroyer! There shouldn't be a destroyer within fifty miles! He had caught only a brief glimpse of the sharp gray bows hurling back the sea in twin white crests but she had been pushing it close to forty-five knots. Worse, she had been coming straight at them.
They could all hear it now-Get this blasted tub down!-faces shiny and tense, eyes fixed and unmoving.
Sound! The express train sound of a destroyer racing through the water.
They were not going down fast enough. Unless a miracle occurred, the destroyer was going to ram them. The sharp gray bows would come slicing through rivet and bulkhead with a tortured crumpling sound.
Randall was aware that he was hunched, rigid and braced for impact. There was no escape now: the destroyer was right on the top of them and the noise of the racing screws seemed to fill the entire vessel.
It seemed to Randall that suddenly the world exploded. Somewhere there was an appalling crash; the vessel lurched and seemed to be flung upward. There were a series of vivid lightnings, nausea and a descending curtain of blackness.
He was never sure if he quite lost consciousness but the darkness seemed to vanish almost at once and brightness was hurting his eyes.
He stared into the light and slowly vague outlines began to emerge. Surely that was the periscope?
Everything seemed to flicker again and then he found himself staring into the white, strained face of First Lieutenant Cooper.
Cooper's lips were drawn back, exposing his teeth, and sweat ran in little runnels from his temples to his neck.
"She missed us!" It was almost a prayer.
"Only just." Coldness seemed to blow across Randall's damp face. "Check the entire ship for damage, Number One."
"Yes, sir." His voice seemed to blend with, and be carried away by, the rapidly receding sound of the destroyer's screws.
He was back within less than two minutes.
"No report of damage from any compartment, sir. A couple of circuits in the electrical system blew out but they can be replaced from stores." He hesitated. "Four men passed out, sir. I had them put in the sick bay and sedated. The S.B.A. could find no broken bones or signs of internal injury, sir."
"Good work, Number One."
"Sir." Cooper's voice was hesitant and slightly hoarse.
"It was kind of odd, wasn't it? I mean, I thought-I had the impression that we were actually rammed." Randall met the other's eyes. "So did I." Cooper blinked at him. "Any explanation, sir?"
"Frankly, no, but I think I can dream up something moderately convincing." He switched on the intercom and unhooked the mike. "Now hear this-now hear this. Captain speaking." He paused briefly. "As you are all probably aware, we are very lucky to be alive. Only a few moments ago we narrowly escaped being rammed by one of our own destroyers. I may add here that this vessel had no right being in these waters and when we get into port I shall hand in a very strongly worded report. I have no doubt whatever that there will be a full inquiry.
"In the meantime, I am sure that many of you had the impression that a collision actually occurred, but this is not an uncommon reaction in times of extreme tension. On many occasions during the war, in depth charge attacks, I was quite sure we had been holed and was amazed to find later that we had sustained no damage whatever.
"In our own case, the illusion was heightened by the failure and subsequent blowing-out of some of the electrical circuits. The failure of the lighting system for a brief period and a great deal of sparking and flashing no doubt convinced a large number of already over-tense minds that a collision had actually occurred. As you have all observed, we sustained no damage at all.
"Let us not be smug, however; we escaped serious damage by a miracle and it behooves us to pause and give inward thanks for our escape."
He paused for an appropriate period and managed with some effort to instill some slight amusement into his voice.
"I am sure, in view of the emotional strain you have all undergone, rum all around would not pass unappreciated."
He snapped off the intercom. "Blow tanks. Up periscope."
A minute later he said, "Half ahead together," then "Think I'll take a look around aloft."
Once in the conning tower, he leaned on the rail and drew the cold winter air deep into his lungs. It had been a dream, hadn't it?
He looked across the dark choppy water and, slightly to port, the warning beam from the Wendell lightship stabbed toward him like an accusing finger and was gone.
Dead ahead, a cluster of lights pin-cushioned the horizon: Seaforth, major port and their naval base, not far now.
Lieutenant Cooper joined him in the conning tower. "All shipshape below, Skipper." He cleared his throat nervously. "You gave a pretty convincing explanation, sir."
Randall looked at him sideways. "Did it convince you, Number One?"
Cooper thought about it. "I'm working on it," he said honestly. "Factually, rationally, I go all the way, of course, but it seemed so damned real at the time, I could have sworn on oath that we were rammed."
Randall found his pipe and thrust it unlighted between his teeth. "Obviously we were not, but it might be interesting to compare our experiences later. How about the Long Bar on Slade Street, preferably over a brandy?"
This is better." Cooper sipped the brandy gratefully and stretched his long thin legs under the small table. "Lights, people, music-it makes one feel human again, sir."
"Quite." Randall removed his peaked cap. "Well, Number One, let's get down to cases. I take it that you thought you heard the impact."
Cooper looked relieved. "Well, yes, sir, I'm almost ready to swear-" He stopped.
"Something the matter?"
"I-" Cooper lifted the brandy glass and put it down again a little unsteadily. "Must be the lights, sir, but for the moment you looked-you still look-so damned young."
"Really, Number One! I am forty-six, graying at the temples and my hair is thinning rapidly."
"Perhaps-perhaps you'd better take a look in the mirror behind the bar, sir."
Randall looked puzzled. "Very well, it's my round anyway. Drink up and I'll get these glasses back." He took them and walked toward the bar.
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