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Watery pearls fell
1’he seagull moved its wings and rose lazily from the eheerless gray sea
from its legs and underbelly. In long curving sweeps it flew to the west, clear of the oncoming periscope's track. To the east, the craggy Scottish coast was a shadow in the mist, os top nine inches of a tapered bronze tube was all that showed above the water. It plowed a '^Cute furrow across the smoothly undulating surface, throwing up a tiny feathered plume in its
Jfrlow the surface, inside the control room of HMS Oceanus, Lieutenant F. F. Farington-Smith Un8 the periscope full circle, straightened, and stood back. In one movement, he pushed up the n§cd handles and nodded to the stoker manning the operating levers. There was a quiet “clunk"
as telemotor pressure hit the ram, and a sustained hissing as the “stick” slid softly down into
housing well. . on(ji-
Smith plucked a handkerchief from his shirt sleeve and ran it over his forehead. The air ^ tioning was running and the temperature was normal, but he was tense. The control room ^ silent except for the spasmodic clicking of the gyro compass repeater and the jerking moveIj"en a of the planesman’s control bars. The seated helmsman moved his control a little to port, little to starboard. The log keeper glanced at the clock, and the diving officer flicked the p order instrument to “flood aft,” then to “stop.” an(j
The coxswain looked up from the after-depth gauge to the officer standing behind 1111 asked, “What time are we going home, sir, please?” . . at
“Probably after the next attack,” said the officer-of-the-watch. Then he returned to the J hand, “Watch the bubble, ’swain, we’ll try a stopped trim.” >a(j
Smith, leaning against the brass conning tower ladder, noticed that the palms of his han ^ ^ turned green from the verdigris on the rungs after his six ascents and descents that morning- glanced over his shoulder.
“Any HE?” he asked.
“Sweeping for HE. No HE, sir,” came the reply from the sonar room. {he
Hydrophone effect, or HE, is the noise that the movement of a ship’s propeller makes 1 ^ water. This noise provides the alert submariner with a means of detecting other ships vicinity. The Oceanus seemed to be quite alone beneath the cold gray waters of the C Smith went forward to the wardroom, his tennis shoes soundless on the skid-proof deck. He more than six feet tall and had to stoop to avoid cracking his head on the maze of pipes and va^zg crowding the submarine’s deckhead. Reaching the wardroom, he pulled back the blue curtain and looked in. A man in gray flannel trousers and white turtleneck submarine swea e ^ in the captain’s chair, hunched over the table with his head in his hands. A large st0.PW‘eatiy suspended from a lanyard around his neck, was swinging slowly back and forth beneath his n ^ bearded chin. The gold propelling pencil in his right hand tapped quietly, rhythmically. 0e£j polished table top. To his left, a half-dozen fluttering attack analysis forms stayed anc rC. against the breeze from the ventilation louvre, by a heavy copy of Conduct of Submarine P tions (Secret). , oSg-
but
Smith cleared his throat. Commander John Samson looked up from his Daily Telegraph word puzzle. Smith said, “Still no sign of him, sir.” ^
no.
Samson turned back to his newspaper and muttered something that sounded like “yes could have been
Smith dropped the curtain and started back to the control room. . ced
Samson was not, in fact, in command of the Oceanus. He was a senior and very expen submarine officer appointed to the role of “teacher” to a class of five senior lieutenants stu y to qualify as submarine commanding officers. He had four months in which to teach lkeinn(jef ultimately, pronounce them either qualified or unfit to command. The candidates were ^gt observation day and night, at sea, in port, on duty, even when trying to relax. Each had a ^ seven years submarine service to his credit, and despite being selected for the course, could s sacked from it at any time. They were undergoing the most important examination of their se ,, careers, which was to last 120 days and nights. By tradition, the course is called “the Peris ’ and rightly so—in a long-forgotten contraction of the words “Periscope Course.” 5j
It was a taxing time for everybody, including the actual commanding officer of the Oce . g Lieutenant Commander Henry Purdy. Each day, one of the class would be detailed as a t0 captain. He had the full responsibility of a qualified commanding officer. He was reC|Uir,epot maneuver the submarine at close quarters, on leaving port and coming back alongs.de the ship. He was responsible for the signal traffic, diving and surfacing the boat, and earring ^ dummy submerged torpedo attacks on the “enemy” shipping. But Purdy was also requir remain silent in the background, ultimately responsible to the Admiralty for the safety ° ()f
submarine and her crew. He had to observe the overconfident, timid, or thoughtless handh b ^ his precious charge as the perishers learned through trial—and not infrequent error - 0
command, organize, and fight a submarine, her weapons, and crew.
rom Samson was required a blend of vigilance and patience, understanding and diplomacy, —above all—icy nerve. Virtually a guest in the submarine, he was obliged to engineer condi- °ns for his pUpiis that simulated war, introducing hazards capable of unnerving his host, Purdy. ai y’ he authorized the opposition, two fast and expertly handled fleet destroyers, to tax the ould-be commanding officers to the limit, knowing that all that stood between the Oceartus and faster was his own ability to teach, coupled with his intimate knowledge of submarine opera- ”s and understanding of when to intervene before it was too late.
Smith’s course by now had progressed from single-ship-only attacks to a target with an unre- ncted escort. The rapid and unpredictable actions of two highly maneuverable fleet destroyers Clr*g about at close range called for quick, expert reactions within the submarine below for, in r ace as well as in war, the dived submarine is always vulnerable. The first dictum thrown at any wyonic submariner, officer or crew member, is, “Remember this, submarining is safe—as ng as you remember it’s dangerous.” Even when able to see at periscope depth, the submarine n still be rammed and sunk within seconds if the officer in charge is not alert or adequately ^ordinated. If forced to dive deep to avoid being made mincemeat of by the speeding cutting edge j destroyer’s bow, she would be blind and must rely upon the commanding officer’s training and her “ears” alone.
there are those who have a natural periscope eye and can visualize the development of the “I ace scene while deep and temporarily blind. Then there are those who do not and who get in the box” as soon as they are denied the use of the periscope.
Un this day, 56 feet deep, it was Smith’s chance to show into which category he fell. Subma- j nes were his life. His father had been a distinguished and highly decorated submarine command- § officer during World War II, and the thought of joining any other branch of the service had ever entered Smith’s mind.
As acting captain, he continued his visual lookout routine. Up and down went the search riScoPe. He searched round and round, scanning the horizon for some sign of the target, smoke, masthead, or a report of faint HE from the sonar office. He dared not use his radar, for the Posed antenna could reveal his own position more quickly than it would enable him to detect the emy. Visibility was low, and Smith knew time would be short for developing his attack. The J.PS would either be on him soon after the submarine hove into sight, or they might pass outside Reective torpedo range before he had time to close on them. He had to resist the temptation to eP the periscope raised for more than 15 seconds at a time, which would have given the PPosition a solid radar target.
H's elbow crooked over the handle, he swung the stick through the starboard bow for the 50th e- Suddenly, he stopped, steadied, and inched the eyepiece back a degree or two. He smacked P |he handles and moved quickly to the smaller attack periscope.
Up,” he said. “Diving Stations. Attack Team close up.” l^e game was on.
the officer-of-the-watch broadcast the order twice over the Tannoy system. Immediately, the at came alive. The men, once again, went swiftly and silently to their action stations. They had drticipated in more than 100 such attacks in the past three weeks. The pumps hummed softly, nning water from aft to forward to compensate for the change in disposition of human ballast. °Se relieved at their stations by the “first 11” made their reports to the executive officer. Relieved at the helm, sir. Course three one zero.”
Relieved on the panel, sir. ‘Q’ vented inboard, main vents open, number four group on the nft’ 4,000 pounds pressure.”
Relieved on the after planes, sir. Bubble’s amidships, depth 56 feet.”
Roth telegraphs slow ahead, group down, sir.”
Ramson, unnoticed, came quietly into the control room.
Parted
^ith, hunched and tense over the periscope, gave the order to begin the attack. Watches were
Escort in sight. The Scorpio, I think,” Smith said.
instruments warmed up, and plots readied. Purdy watched Smith intently. [1] [2]
There was a brief pause.
“Bearing is that!”
“Green four five, sir,” said Pogson, the rating whose job it was to read off the periscope bearing ring and range window.
“Range ... on 36 feet . . . is . . . that!” Smith said.
“Twenty four minutes,” said Pogson. ,,
“I can’t see the Menzies yet,” said Smith. “Target the escort. We’ll start a second plot later' Barber, on the navigation plot, leaned toward Smith and whispered, “Periscope’s been up ■> seconds.”
“Okay—okay,” Smith hissed. Louder, he said, “I am ten degrees on his port bow. Speed by second bow wave . . . uh . . . um ... 12 knots. Down periscope.” ^
Samson glanced at his stopwatch and scribbled a note on his pad: “P up 1 min. Y not stick a flag on it?”
The team was now in action. Smoothly, the information was given where needed, computed, analyzed, and redistributed. Reports, orders, and estimations were fed to Smith to provide him with the trigonometrical data he needed to maneuver the Oceanus undetected past the escort, into a good firing position against the Menzies, the target.
Correctly, he started to work the boat slowly and noiselessly to a position where he could shoot at and sink the escort, should she menace him. Correctly, he tried to keep the Oceanus end on to the escort in order to present the ever-probing sonar with the minimum extent of target. Voices began to sound crisper, more urgent.
“True bearing three five six.”
“Range two thousand three hundred.”
“Enemy course one eight six.”
“Three hundred and eighty yards off track.”
“You are on a 55 track.”
“Faint HE bearing green four two, sir.”
Finally, Smith said, “For exercise, bring all tubes to the action state.”
The chief electrical artificer, at the torpedo firing levers, repeated the order and passed i forward to the tube space.
Smith snapped up the handles, and the periscope slid swiftly down into its housing. “Starboard 15, full ahead together, 80 feet,” he rapped out. “Steer zero four zero.’ [3] himself, he said, “Oh, God, what I wouldn’t give for a cigarette.” ,
Samson appeared suddenly at the search periscope. He had it raised for three seconds, glance at his stopwatch, and returned to his corner.
The patter continued.
“Both telegraphs to full ahead together, group down.”
“Going down, sir.”
“Steer zero four zero, sir.”
Then Smith said, “Give me three minutes at full.” ,
The lights dimmed as the thrusting electric motors drew more power from the Oceanus - batteries. She began to pulse and throb as the extra revolutions forced her through the darkening waters. Bow-down and speeding up, she quickly reached her ordered depth.
Smith stood watching the gauges, tapping his foot softly on the control room deck.
“Eighty feet, sir,” reported the second coxswain.
“Course, sir, zero four zero,” the helmsman said.
“HE lost in our own, sir,” said the sonar operator. ,
The Oceanus, now blind, was closing in on her ideal attacking position. The periscope cou not be used at this speed and depth, but nor would her fast-turning propellers be creating a tellW disturbance on the surface of the water.
There was silence for 90 seconds. Then, “Two-and-a-half minutes at full, sir.”
“Very good,” said Smith. “Stop together, 56 feet. Go ahead when you want to, Number One.”
Fifty six feet, sir,” said the second coxswain. “Coming up.”
amson came out of the sonar office where he had been since Smith had ordered the motors Pped. He moved over to the after periscope. Both he and Smith plucked a two-inch square of s tissue from the deckhead hook. The periscope eyepieces would be damp and blurred with ndensation when they emerged from the housing wells.
Up periscope,” said Smith.
Bearing should be red three zero. You should be 28 degrees on his port bow,” said the data c°mputer.
By now, Smith had the periscope spinning round as the submarine came up from deep. He was arching intently for the telltale shadow on the surface above that submariners learn to dread— ^ underside of a surface ship, too close.
he planesmen concentrated, leaning tensely forward over their gauges, determined to get her P ast and hold her steady at periscope depth, amson was at the second periscope.
mith took his hands off the handles and said, “Put me on.”
B°gson rotated the cross-arm a fraction. “You’re on, sir,” he said, “red three zero.” Fifty-six feet, sir,” said the second coxswain.
^ Well?” asked Samson.
Oh, Jesus bloody Christ!” Smith was rigid, stupefied, incapable of action.
^arnson, at the other periscope, whipped out his orders with quiet urgency, do ^ne Bundred and ten feet, flood ‘Q,’ group up—full ahead together both periscopes right ^u, both planes hard a’dive. Shut all watertight doors and bulkhead ventilation.” he orders were acknowledged with rapidfire precision, the r ?u^maUne hung in the path of the speeding destroyer’s stem for an agonizing instant. Then ^diving officer’s controlled voice came through, “Bubble’s going aft.”
, B? second coxswain said, “Going down, sir.”
Uold the bubble at ten degrees.”
,, en degrees, aye aye, sir.”
Shut off for going deep, Number One,” said Purdy, quietly, saf S ^1C Bow-down angle increased and the threshing screws drove the submarine deeper toward the°U’ eyes in the control room were on the depth gauges. Hands reached out to brace against hnaccustomed decline. The Oceanus sped past 70 feet as the destroyer’s bow went racing vf.[,r.*ler conning tower. The churning beat of her razor-edged propellers sounded ominously loud the submarine’s tiny control room.
( A11 round HE, very loud, sir,” reported the sonar operator.
. Standby to blow ‘Q,’ ” said the diving officer, and, as the depth gauges registered 90 feet, Blow ‘Q ’ ”
Wat^ Crewman wrenched at the valve, and the quick diving tank smartly expelled eight tons of Shut off shallow water depth gauges.”
Be Oceanus pulled out of her dive at 175 feet and leveled off at 110.
Vent ‘Q’ inboard,” said the diving officer, and 87 men subconsciously worked their jaws to hi ii. 1Ze *Be pressure on their eardrums as a blast of high-pressure air roared into the submarine ,, s sealed cylinder.
HE right astern now, sir, fading.”
t Bis face pale and taut, stood motionless between the periscopes. Samson, close behind,
^hed him on the shoulder.
jou can bring her up again now, Freddie,” he said quietly. n Be Oceanus climbed back up to periscope depth. She had penetrated the screen and was now a *y placed between the escort and the target. Smith quickly maneuvered her into an ideal c ,Sltl0n for torpedo attack to about 1,200 yards on the target’s beam. With the periscope set on the crCU.B director angle, Smith watched the Menzies steam into his line of sight. With the sswires a quarter of a ship’s length ahead of her speeding stem, he gave the order, “For
J“ly 1986
exercise, fire one!” Immediately following that, “Fire a green grenade.”
The remaining three torpedoes of the simulated salvo were fired at intervals, and the periscope was lowered. Smith was about to give orders to start evasive action when Purdy turned to Samson and looking at his watch, asked, “Any more for today, sir?”
“That’ll do, Henry,” said Samson. “Let’s go home.”
Purdy nodded to the first lieutenant who picked up the Tannoy microphone. “Stand by 0 surface,” he broadcast. “Report main vents, open all LP master blows.” ,
The signalman undid the clips on the lower conning tower hatch and stood aside to allow Smi up into the tower.
Shortly afterward, the first lieutenant reported, “Ready to surface, sir.”
Smith responded, “Right, Number One, surface.” .,
“Blow one, three and five main ballast. Let her come up, ’swain,” the first lieutenant sai - “Fifty feet, sir. Forty. Thirty. Twenty-five .... On the surface. Pressure in the boat, sir. At the top of the conning tower ladder, Smith removed one clip from the hatch. He tucked is binoculars firmly into his duffel coat, and the signalman on the ladder below him tightened 1 grip on Smith’s ankles. As he undid the second clip and released the hatch, the bottled-up air below roared past him, lifting the skirts of his coat up to his waist.
The hatch fell open, and Smith stepped out onto the dripping bridge platform.
The voice-pipes had been drained and opened, the boat shut off from diving, engine elute e engaged, and now the Oceanus was thumping along on her diesels through the mist toward base at Rowantown.
Smith stood silently on the bridge, searching the horizon through his binoculars and checking radar reports. He lit a cigarette. Then he heard footsteps on the bridge deck behind him an ’ turning, saw Commander Samson. He watched him glance around the skyline, sniffing the air u a hunting dog, then fish in his duffel pockets for his pipe and matches.
Samson looked at Smith. “Miserable day,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” said Smith, “in more ways than one.” to
Samson got his pipe going to his satisfaction, glanced around him once more, and began lower himself into the conning tower again. ,.
“Oh, by the way, Freddie,” he said, “come and see me in my cabin when we get in, woU
you?” k
“Aye aye, sir,” said Smith. He turned despondently and continued to scan the horizon throug the mist ahead. . .
An hour later, the Oceanus rounded the point and the depot ship hove into view, her chic huddled alongside. The Perisher boat was almost always the last to return to port. Smith could se his last boat, the nuclear-powered Fleet Type Stalwart, secured in the port trot. She was the b° from which he had been recommended for the Commanding Officers’ Qualifying Course, Perisher. He knew she was due to carry out trials the next day with torpedoes powered by a ne form of propellant. The fuel was highly volatile, but the boffins had pronounced it safe enough ° use at sea. Test runs had been made on the range farther north, and they were anxious to get new fish accepted with the fleet. t
On board the Oceanus, special sea dutymen were piped and fell in, and Smith laid the bo^ alongside neatly enough. Commander Samson said, “See you in about an hour, Freddie, a finished making his way down to the casing. .
Once the breast and spring lines were up tight, the gangplank in place, and teacher on board depot ship, Smith climbed down the ladder into the control room and made his way forward to wardroom. Purdy was already there, discussing the next day’s routine with his first lieutenan • Smith began to forage around, collecting odd items of clothing, books, a carton of cigarette > and stuffing them into a well-worn traveling bag, a “Pusser’s Grip.”
“Just come to collect my gear,” he said. “Might as well do it now. Save embarassing eve ^ body tomorrow.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Freddie,” said Purdy, “sit down and have a drink.”
Smith looked solemn. Purdy handed him a glass.
^Come on,” he said, “it could be worse.”
§ No way,” said Smith. “No one has the plug pulled on him and gets away with it. Not with old ammo in the chair, anyway. Ginger was put deep in the last Perisher and got the boot. Same with erguson in the one before.”
He tasted his drink and lit a cigarette.
a ^0,” he said, “the body of this evening’s sermon will be, ‘Some people can ride a bicycle, fna Some can’t, and you’re one of the ones who can’t. So pack your bags, young man, and say ^rewellto submarines.’ I can’t believe it,” he went on, putting his head in his hands, “Submanes are everything to me. And now I’m going to be put out to pasture as Number One of some oody little frigate in the Far East or something.”
Ah, c’mon, you’ll forget about it,” said Purdy, helplessly. “Something’ll turn up.” bmith finished his drink, gathered his belongings, and together they climbed up on to the asmg. They scaled the gangplank and saluted the ensign as they stepped onto the well-deck. The u y spare crew officer returned their salutes and wished them good evening.
See you at dinner, Freddie,” said Purdy, “and good luck.”
mith smiled and nodded, and went down to his cabin. It was mess dinner night, and the ir^h'^ °Ut mess unhrcss uniform on the bunk. He shaved and showered, and then sat
sc *? ^ress’n§ §own’ smoking a cigarette. After awhile, he rose and looked down through the tootle at the activity on board the Stalwart. Arc lights illuminated the business of loading the t.r^^oes f°r the next day’s trials. It would be some time before old Knocker White and his lads in e ore ends could call it a day. They still had to “prep” the fish, civ lStubbed out his cigarette, dressed, and glanced at his watch. He looked down at his chest to rak ^ress stU(N’ his cabin, and walked slowly to the wardroom. He stopped at the letter pCpan(i dropped his eyes to the pigeonhole with the engraved visitor’s card saying, “Lieutenant cj ' Farington-Smith, Royal Navy, Army and Navy Club.” There was a Gieves bill, a printed secular from a London wine merchant, and a short handwritten note from the depot ship captain’s Cretary, traditionally known in the service as “Scratch.”
/. (^//v) uai/a/ /o3o
^. /30 ti-rrTt,
/fhn^A. a.
ml
y^c-iatc/i
W.. ^0esn t waste much time, does he?” thought Smith. He made his way aft to the cabin door h Commander Samson’s name marked on it. He knocked.
Come.” went in.
Ramson sat at his desk, sucking his pipe and studying some attack analyses. He looked up as the or opened, smiled, and said, “Ah, come in, Freddie, sit down, won’t you?”
1 *?e offered Smith a cigarette from an inscribed silver box and lit it for him. He was silent, hard at Smith.
^ s quite a sight, isn’t it?” he said suddenly.
dl"Ss 1 July 1986
• 5 g
The muscles around Smith’s jaw tightened as he saw again the terrifying sight of the Scorpi knife-edged bow carving a great wave before it and bearing straight down on him, impossi close to the periscope’s top window glass. , j
“I should have been forced to deny you that little bit of drama,” Samson went on, ‘‘if I wor to the same rules as I expect of you. However, I was privy to certain information that you w ^ not—namely, that the Scorpio has a bit of boiler trouble and is temporarily limited to 20 kno s.
There was another silence. Samson said, ‘‘I could try to convince myself that you had *earn your lesson today, allow you to continue your perisher, and eventually recommend you for co^ mand, confident that by doing so I was not putting your life at risk or those of the 70-odd men would be serving under you.” , , a
He paused again, still holding Smith’s eyes. ‘‘But today,” he went on, ‘‘you disregard ^ basic safety rule of submarine operation. You went deep when the Scorpio was at a range ot > yards. Your signals would have told you that the destroyers were unrestricted and, at 25 kn0ts’ne(j Scorpio could have covered 2,500 yards in three minutes. In other words, by the time you retur j to periscope depth, the Scorpio could have been—and damned nearly was—right on top ot y° • was tracking him on sonar before you came up and, I don’t mind telling you, I was very muc two minds whether to let you. But the best way for you to realize fully what you had done was you to take a look, and I judged it safe to let you.”
There was another pause. Smith stared at the carpet. Then he looked up. . 9>>
“I’m right in thinking I’ve definitely had it—no more submarines for me—aren’t I, sir' “Yes, Freddie,” said Samson, “I’m afraid so.” rer
Then he stood up and turned his attention to the porthole. Hands thrust deep in his pockets with thumbs hooked over the leather-bound edges, he said, apparently to himself, ^ nius, according to Mr. Edison, is but 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration. We’ve all persp^^ pretty freely during the past three-and-a-half months, but no amount of sweat can do the when that vital 1% is missing.”
He turned to face Smith again. anCj
voices
“It’s like this, Freddie, you see,” he was saying, “some chaps can ride a bicycle, others—”
and the rattle of shouting
He was interrupted by the sound of a dull, heavy explosion, through the porthole. He whipped round. wn
“The Stalwart!” cried Smith. He leaped up, flung open the door, and raced frantically o- the narrow passageways toward the port well-deck. H
In the short time it took him to get there, barging his way down the gangplank through the s . knot of men already gathered, the Stalwart was well down by the bow with smoke and W pouring out of the fore hatch.
of
The subsequent court of inquiry established that the explosion had occurred in one torpedoes being routined in its tube. The tube rear door was open, and the explosion blew °u front door. The torpedo disintegrated, leaving a 24-inch hole in the bow open to the sea. ^ As Smith climbed to the bridge and disappeared down the conning tower hatch, sornese managed to get the fore hatch closed but, even so, the bow-down angle continued to incr ■ rapidly. was
Lieutenant Allan White was the only officer on board at the time of the explosion, ana u killed instantly. eI1(js
A leading seaman who survived, gave evidence that Smith had managed to reach the fore and had ordered the space evacuated. The last words anyone heard him say were, “Hurry a( now lads—everyone to the back of the bus. All change now, please, and be bloody quick a it ’ ’
As the angle increased, depot ship hands secured wire hawsers to the bollards in a h°Pe*^ attempt to hold up the Stalwart. But she was flooding so fast they snapped like cotton 1 ^ A stream of men began scrambling out of the after hatch, now high up in the air, to be picke by the depot ship’s boats.
Just before the c°nning tower hatch Went under, Smith Was fighting to get °ut- Later examination pealed that part of ls clothing had become Snagged on an obstruction, traPping him.
As the water reached the '.P the hatch, he must have jhven up the struggle and Pu led it down over his head r? s ow down thfe rate of Hooding. A clip was und in place, securing
11 shut.
Ju doing so, he had &lven other men more ‘me to escape through e after hatch—and had
entombed
himself, if the conning °Wer hatch had emamed open, the *'almn Would have °0ne to the bottom in ? time. As it was, the er hatch remained °ve water for another a|,ree~and-a-half minutes, e0vving seven more men to J*cape before she went under tor good.
The next day, the Stalwart as salvaged, and the late
Srn‘ltenant T- Farington- ith was recommended by .Officer, Submarines, ofr [he posthumous award ^fite George Cross.