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The Sub
The dark form of the North Korean submarine moored at Drumchork Pier loomed opposite them in the starlight as they stood on the private peer outside Murdo’s cottage with their equipment at their feet.
“The hatch has been open for a week. I’m not too sure if anyone is in there.” Murdo stood facing the vessel, his hands at his belt. “I can tell ye the fuel gauge shows ye have enough to take this boat about one hundred and fifty miles out if ye travel at your forty mph.” Murdo turned and stared straight at Rory, his face half illuminated by the lights of his boat.
“How do you know that?” The words came slowly out of Angus’ mouth.
“You haven’t been in it, have you?” Rory’s heart began a sudden pounding. Being in it would be the only way for this old mariner to know.
“Och, no, lad. The fuel tank’s hatch is on the ootside.”
“The gauge indicating the fuel levels is on the inside,” Angus observed.
Murdo remained silent in the half light.
“You’ve exposed yourself!” An icy sensation hit Rory’s gut. This old fisherman had effectively sacrificed himself. A hurt in his chest accompanied a sudden acknowledgement of Rory’s fondness for him.
“Aye, well, I’ve had my life and now ye have enough fuel. But dinnae tell the other fishermen I’ve raided oor secret stash, aye?” The cool night breeze stirred the old man’s hair. “Ye’d better suit up. I’ll no’ tak ye any closer without your fancy-dress.”
Rory sighed heavily as he turned to his kit and put on his radiation protective suit. Beside him, Angus did the same. They climbed onto the boat, carrying the rest of their gear.
“You’re not...?” Angus looked at Murdo who, with a brief shake of his head, stepped into his boat.
Rory picked up the headgear for his suit and looked inside it. Embedded in it were an earpiece and a small microphone. Plus, the speaker pack with aerial modification for CB radio which Geoff, the Government communications guy, had added. Angus showed Rory his was the same. Droplets of sweat dribbled down Rory’s back. Now a wash of relief flowed through him. At least communicating with Angus would not be by hand signals. They couldn’t even lipread through the respirators. Murdo started the engine and set off for the submarine’s starboard side.
“We’ve set our radios to your Hertz, Murdo.” Angus said above the engine’s chug. “We’ll be able to keep contact with you for a while yet.”
“Aye. Get your headgear on the noo.” Murdo watched as Rory secured his headgear and then tested the microphone. Rory gave a thumbs up when both Angus’ and Murdo’s voice came through clearly.
Once near the vessel, Murdo cut the engine and the small boat drifted closer. The wash from the motorboat lapped against the side of the submarine. The smaller vessel clunked as it connected with it, its lights illuminating the flat deck area of the submarine. Rory stepped out of the gently rocking boat onto the narrow deck and turned on his own torch as Angus followed him. Murdo threw the rope attached to a rubber dinghy to Rory. He caught the rope and tied it to the handrail near the hatch while Murdo let the dinghy drop into the water. Rory then grabbed the bags of equipment from Murdo and handed one to Angus.
“Farewell, boys. I’ll be on the radio for as long as you’re within range.” Murdo nodded, his eyes lingering on Rory.
Rory waved as the old man stepped to his wheel and drove his motorboat away, then turned to Angus.
“You first.”
“Aye, aye, captain.” Angus gave a mock salute and, carrying a bag of equipment, began his one-handed descent down the ladder of the hatch into the submarine. Rory followed, carrying a bag of equipment as well, and landed on the sub’s floor with a clank.
A dull red light-source illuminated the long narrow corridor. Pipes ran from one end to the other. Everything was metal. Rory turned his torch off and hung it by the clip on his belt. He had to crouch as the ceiling was low.
Submariners must be short people.
“Internal power’s still working. Murdo must have got it going somehow.” Angus switched his torch off as well, and hung it on his belt. “Which confirms to me the leak is a warhead.”
They walked along the corridor, which led to the business part of the vessel. The low ceilings and narrowness continued. Ahead, the space opened up to boards and desks covered in switches, dials, and lights. Meters, gauges, knobs, buttons, and small screens filled the room. It was neat and compact, tidily holding everything Rory could imagine was required to sail this underwater vessel. And more.
On a narrow seat at the end, which had a dashboard of sorts, sat a small man in a dark-khaki uniform wearing an ornate hat. Another sat next to him. Both faced Rory and Angus as they entered.
One held a handgun. A Daewoo K5, if Rory was not mistaken.
Rory dropped his equipment bag, raised his hands and bowed to the man he assumed was the captain of this North Korean vessel. Next to him, Angus bowed. Rory raised his head.
Both men in uniform stood and bowed. The one in the fancier uniform placed his hand on the console in front of him. His legs shook as he leaned heavily against it. Rory took a step closer. In the red illumination of the inside of the submarine, he could hardly tell the state of the man’s skin, but something told him, that in the light of day, it would be as red as the light on his bridge.
This submariner faltered. Rory closed the space between them and steadied him. The man dropped the K5, its clatter loud on the metallic floor of this compact space. He looked into Rory’s face. The man had no eyebrows or lashes, and no hair protruded from underneath his cap. He spoke in a thick voice a language which meant nothing to Rory. His companion then stood beside him, and shaking, he helped Rory with the more senior submariner. He also had red peeling skin and scant hair but appeared a little stronger than his colleague. Only just.
“We are here to help,” Rory spoke to both men. “They may know some English.” He turned his head to Angus.
Angus stood immobile, staring at the men who were victims of radiation poisoning.
“Help me get him seated again,” Rory asked.
Angus shook himself out of his stupor and assisted Rory to where they could sit the man more comfortably. His companion followed, and with slow laboured movements, sat beside him on the bench seat.
“I will try to explain,” Rory spoke to Angus across the weak and dying man.
“He won’t hear you very well, Rory. We only have internal speakers. He’ll only hear what comes muffled through the headgear.”
Rory lifted his hands toward his headgear.
“Don’t take yours off, Rory!” Angus was firm, the severest Rory had ever seen him. “Be safe. You never know. We may get out of this yet.”
“Okay.” Rory frowned his doubt.
Can you boys still hear me? Came through both their headsets at once.
“Yes,” they answered in unison.
“We’ve found the captain of the vessel. Rory spoke while smiling at the captain who had looked up as Murdo’s voice came from Rory and Angus’ helmets. “He looks near to death. He’s got a first mate, if that’s what you call them.”
Och weel. That’s ideal. He’ll know. Ask him.
“Great idea! But I don’t speak Korean.” Rory tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
Well, ye have a Chinese friend, do ye no’.
“Aye, but he does nae speak Korean. He told me so.”
Maybe your Korean speaks Chinese.
Angus’ eyes opened wide, mirroring his own.
“Get Xian, please!” Rory asked.
“While Murdo’s getting Xian, I’ll get the timer out.” Angus walked back to the bags and pulled out the gadgets. “They may recognise the equipment and gather what we want to do from it.”
Rory helped Angus place them in front of the captain and first mate and pointed. The captain lifted his head and looked at the equipment, the strain of these slight movements evident on his face. Angus made a supplicating gesture with his hands while the first mate watched everything he did.
“What’re you doing?” Rory observed Angus as he listened to the conversations coming from his earpiece. Murdo had reached their camp and was shouting for Xian.
“They may get what I mean and direct me to the missile bays.”
“He’s pretty weak.” Rory pointed to the captain. “Hope he lasts long enough to help us. His first mate seems a little stronger.”
Xian here, Rory. You know I don’t speak Korean.
“Aye, but he may well know Chinese. But you’ll have to shout so he can hear.” Rory stooped over the captain and Xian began to speak.
The submariner’s eyes lit up and he answered Xian. A breathless conversation on the Korean’s side continued for about five minutes. Rory placed his head almost to the mouth of the Korean as he spoke. The Korean and Xian each missed only a few words of the conversation.
Then Xian and the Korean stopped talking.
“Well?” Rory asked.
His Mandarin is way better than my Korean, man.
“What’d he say?”
He said he and his companion are the last survivors of this sub’s crew. His friend is a helmsman. Which means he can drive the thing. He is a ‘Torpedo-man’s mate’, the equivalent of a nuclear-gunner, on this vessel. He knows exactly what to do to sort the nuke. He recognised what Angus showed him and he said they’ll help him do it for as long as they have the breath.
