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and therapists and so on? I never knew you took life so seriously. I suppose you've
even found some way of petting with that damned meathook of yours.»
Leiter said darkly, «You'd be surprised. Get a girl round the arm with this and you'd be
amazed the effect it has on their good resolutions. Now then, let's get down to cases.
What sort of formation are we going to swim in? Can we get some of those knives
made into lances? How are we going to recognize our side from theirs underwater, and
in semi-darkness at that? We've got to make this operation pretty solid. That
Pedersen's a good guy. We don't want to get some of his men killed through some
damn silly mistake of ours.»
The voice of the captain sounded over the communication system. «Now hear this.
This is your Captain speaking. It is possible that we may encounter hazards in the
course of this operation. I will tell you how this may come about. This ship has been
chosen by the Navy Department for an exercise that is tantamount to an operation of
war. I will tell you the story, which will remain classified top secret until further orders.
This is what has happened . . .»
***
Bond, asleep in one of the duty officers' bunks, was awakened by the alarm bell. The
iron voice of the P.A. system said: «Diving stations. Diving stations,» and almost at
once his bunk tilted slightly and the distant whine of the engines altered pitch. Bond
smiled grimly to himself. He slipped off the bunk and went along and up to the attack
center. Felix Leiter was already there. The captain turned away from the plot. His face
was tense. He said, «It looks as if you were right, gentlemen. We've got her, all right.
About five miles ahead and two points to starboard. She's doing around thirty knots. No
other ship could be holding that speed, or would be likely to. And she's showing no
lights. Here, care to have a look through the scope? She's raising quite a wake and
kicking up plenty of phosphorescence. No moon yet, but you'll see the white blur when
your eyes get used to the dark.»
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Bond bent to the rubber eye sockets. In a minute he had her, a white scut on the
horizon of the soft, feathery swell. He stood back. «What's her course?»
«Same as ours western end of Grand Bahama. We'll go deeper now and put on a bit
of speed. We've got her on the Sonar as well, so we shan't lose her. We'll get up
parallel and close in a bit later. The met. report gives a light westerly breeze in the early
hours. That'd be a help. Don't want it too calm when we unload the swimming party.
The surface'll boil quite a bit as each man goes out. Here.» He turned to a powerful-
looking man in white ducks. «This is Petty Officer Fallon. He's in command of the
swimming party, under your and Mr. Leiter's orders, of course. All the top swimmers
volunteered. He's chosen nine of them. I've taken them off all duties. Maybe you
gentlemen would like to get acquainted with your team. You'll want to discuss your
routines. I guess discipline'll have to be pretty tight recognition signals and so forth.
Okay? The sergeant at arms is looking after the weapons.» He smiled. «He's rustled up
a dozen flick knives. Had some difficulty persuading the men to give them up, but he's
done it. He's barbed them and sharpened them down almost to needles, then fitted
them into the tops of broom handles. Guess he'll make you sign an indent for the
brooms or he'll have the supply officer on top of him when we get out of this. All right
then. Be seeing you. Ask for anything you want.» He turned back to the plot.
Bond and Leiter followed Petty Officer Fallon along the lower deck to the engine room
and then to the engine-repair shop. On their way they passed through the reactor room.
The reactor, the equivalent of a controlled atomic bomb, was an obscene knee-level
bulge rising out of the thickly leaded deck. As they passed it, Leiter whispered to Bond,
«Liquid sodium Submarine Intermediate Reactor Mark B.» He grinned sourly and
crossed himself.
Bond gave the thing a sideways kick with his shoe. «Steam-age stuff. Our Navy's got
the Mark C.»
The repair shop, a long low room equipped with various forms of precision machinery,
presented a curious sight. At one end were grouped the nine swimmers clad only in
bathing trunks, their fine bodies glowing with sunburn. At the other, two men in gray
overalls, drab figures of the machine age, were working in semi-darkness with only
pinpoints of bright light cast on the whirring lathes from which the knife blades threw
small fountains of blue and orange sparks. Some of the swimmers already had their
spears. After the introductions, Bond took one and examined it. It was a deadly
weapon, the blade, sharpened to a stiletto and notched near the top into a barb, firmly
wired into the top of a long stout stave. Bond thumbed the needle-sharp steel and
touched the tip. Even a shark's skin would not stand up to that. But what would the
enemy have? CO2 guns for a certainty. Bond looked the smiling bronzed young men
over. There were going to be casualties perhaps many. Everything must be done to
effect surprise. But those golden skins and his own and Leiter's paler skins would show
at twenty feet in the moonlight all right for the guns, but well out of range of the spears.
Bond turned to Petty Officer Fallon: «I suppose you don't have rubber suits on board?»
«Why sure, Commander. Have to, for escape in cold waters.» He smiled. «We're not
always sailing among the palm trees.»
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«We'll all need them. And could you get white or yellow numbers, big ones, painted
on their backs? Then we'll know more or less who's who.»
«Sure, sure.» He called to his men. «Hey, Fonda and Johnson. Go along to the
Quartermaster and draw rubber suits for the whole team. Bracken, get a pail of rubber
solution paint from Stores. Paint numbers on the backs of the suits. A foot deep. From
one to twelve. Get going.»
Later, with the gleaming black suits hanging like giant bat skins along the wall, Bond
called the team together. «Men, we're going to have one hell of an underwater battle.
There'll be casualties. Anyone care to change his mind?» The faces grinned back at
him. «All right, then. Now, we'll be swimming at around ten feet for a quarter, perhaps
half a mile. It'll be pretty light. The moon'll be up and the bottom's white sand with some
seagrass. We'll take it easy and go in triangle formation with me, No. 1, leading
followed by Mr. Leiter here as No. 2, and Petty Officer Fallon as No. 3. Then we
broaden out behind like a wedge of geese. All you have to do is follow the number in
front of you and no one'll get lost. Watch out for isolated niggerheads. As far as I can
gather from the chart there's no true reef, only broken clumps. It'll be getting on for early
feeding time for the fish, so watch out for anything big. But leave it alone unless it gets
too inquisitive. Then three of you take it on with the spears. But don't forget that it's [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]