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After navigating out of Loch Ewe, Rory helped Angus take Dae-Jung back to the torpedo bay where Angus opened the torpedo hatches, pulled the one in question out, and started to work on its nuclear device.
“Do you need help here?” Rory asked.
Angus shook his head, absorbed in his task.
“I’ll go watch the radar then.”
Angus nodded.
Dae-Jung gazed at Rory. He seemed more fatigued all of a sudden, the recent activity having exhausted him. Rory gave a slight bow and went to leave. The Korean bowed in return and spoke, his voice croaky. Rory made nothing of the meaning of the words, but the sentiment was obvious. The man was grateful and relieved. Rory bowed once more, turned in the narrow corridor and walked to the radar screen. The other Korean sat at the helm.
On the radar screen, the crazy arm spun around, over, and over.
In his headgear a static buzzed.
“Rory.” Angus’ voice came through his headgear. “I’m switching your frequency. Someone wants to speak with you.”
Rory? It was Siobhan’s voice.
“Aye, Siobhan?” His words caught in his throat.
We need an update. What’s happening?
“Angus is changing the detonation mechanism over as we speak. There’s only one faulty nuke and Angus says setting it off will get rid of the other one.”
There was only two?
“Aye.”
Where are the others? There was dread in her voice. I can find out from my assistant in the Bunker. But there had been no reports of nuclear warheads released near us before I left. After a pause, she continued. So, there was a North Korean on-board?
“Aye, two, and they’re not well. I don’t think they’ll last much longer. The gunner only had enough energy to tell Angus what he needs to know.”
So, he’ll set the timer and you can put the sub onto autopilot? To dive?
“It appears it takes more than one to drive this thing. And there’s the question of who closes the hatch.”
Silence.
Rory. Her voice held pain.
“I love you, Siobhan. It doesn’t help you now, I know, but I needed to tell you. I... is anyone listening apart from you?”
Not on this frequency, why? Her voice was husky, as if she held back tears.
“I just wanted privacy to tell you if it were another time, in another situation, I ken we’d be together.”
Should he tell her he saw their future?
He was doubting that now. How could the future with her happen now he was going to...?
I love you Rory. I always have. I remembered you from when I was a child. A tall, handsome, deep-red haired Scotsman who wasn’t afraid he’d look silly playing dolls with a little girl. A kind and strong man. You were always the man I dreamed of when I was growing up. Oh! That’s so stupid...I’m sorry—
The radar continued sweeping its constant arc.
Angus walked into the bridge and passed the helmsman. “I’m amazed we’re still within radio reach.” Angus said, then looked around as if searching for something.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, forgot where I’d put... Where are those—? Oh, there they are.” Angus walked past Rory toward the ladders.
“Let me know if you need me.”
“Okay.” Angus spoke over the static in Rory’s headgear.
“Siobhan, are you still there?”
Yes. There were tears in her voice.
Rory hated that she’d been crying.
“It’s not stupid. I knew I loved you from before I met you, as a child or as a grown woman. You see—” A sharp crack sounded at the back of Rory’s headgear and a heavy thud reverberated within his own skull.
Through the blur of pain, Rory recalled Angus wasn’t wearing headgear, and seeing a monkey wrench in Angus’ hand. Then his world went blank.
***
THE SOUND OF WAVES slapping rhythmically against the side of something, accompanied by a rocking motion, woke Rory from a groggy state. Pain clenched the back of his skull as if a fist tried to drag his grey matter to the outside of his head. His chest was tight from the vice surrounding it, he could hardly breathe. He opened his eyes; it was foggy. No, his visor was misted, and he was flat on his back in a squidgy-rocky thing. As he tried to wipe his visor, two gloved hands came into view in the starlight. The stars were above him and his feet were elevated on the edge of the rubber dinghy in which he now found himself.
Rory brought his feet down and struggled to sit. The fist was now thumping inside his skull. His head told him to stop moving or it would behave the same as the worst hangover he could ever imagine. He ripped the tape, which held his gloves on, from around his wrists and freed his hands. Next, he removed his headgear and respirator mask.
He sucked deeply on the cool night air. The fresh saltiness and distinctly ocean scent filled his nostrils and settled the pain—somewhat. He rested his head back on the rubber dinghy.
Ow!
Rory reached his hand behind his head and felt an egg-shaped lump.
Night birds flew overhead, their cries mournful. It meant he wasn’t too far from land, didn’t it? Then there came the loud humming of an engine underneath and ahead of him, and the splash of waves hitting together. A wash rocked his small craft wildly. Spray, from the impact of waves on the side of the dinghy, hit him in the face, shocking him with its chill, stinging his eyes with its salt. He was wet now.
Rory scampered forward to view ahead of him. In the dark night he could barely make out the top of the submerging submarine, the tall thin radio mast the last thing to disappear under the ocean.
“What!”
His convulsive exclamation caused a shooting pain in his forehead. He laid back and observed the stars for a while.
So, Angus had knocked him out and set him adrift in the dinghy. He shook his head a wee bit, the pain returned, and he stopped.
Talk about hangovers!
He could do with a scotch right now.
Angus.
Rory bit his lower lip as he gazed at Pleiades.
Angus.
He picked up his headgear and tried the radio. Dead. Damaged by the bash to his head.
The dinghy continued a gentle rocking after the wash subsided.
Where was he? He lifted his head, risking pain, and scanned the horizon. Behind him in the distance was a land mass.
The Isle of Lewis?
He was out in the North Atlantic Ocean. How the hell was he going to get back?
Didn’t think of that, did you, Angus?
Damn.
He rested his head gingerly back onto the side of the rubber dinghy. He’d been telling Siobhan he had seen the future with them in it together. It had made little sense then. If he didn’t get back, it would make none now.
There used to be Search and Rescue. He’d read of it once. He could do with it now.
The waves gently rocked the dinghy, and the stars continued their journey around the North Celestial Pole. A motor chugged in the distance behind him. He turned and waved his headgear and then remembered his torch hanging on his belt.
Maybe the battery would last.
