Free Down The Hatch by John Winton Page B

of the Koran.
    By breakfast time, the major units had completed fuelling, the escort groups were in position, and the Task Force moved off on an easterly course. Istagfurallah flying the International signal “You are standing into danger”.
    Ten miles ahead, and directly in the path of the Task Force lay S.555, Exercise Callsign: Eskimo Napoleon, H.M.S. Seahorse (Lieutenant-Commander R. B. Badger, D.S.C., R.N.).
     
    Watching the Task Force’s advance, The Bodger felt like a bandit waiting to ambush a ponderous wagon train.
    “. . Four, five, six escorts. And behind them two carriers. Name of a name. . . . That’s the biggest carrier I’ve ever seen! It’s. . . . It’s indecent! They’re not even zig-zagging. Nearest escort is . . . let’s see . . . four miles away. God, talk about Johnny-Head-In-Air! You’d thing they were out for a Sunday afternoon jolly. It’s always the same with these frigates. Give them a fine afternoon off Portland with the First Eleven up in the Asdic Office and they’re good kids. But you wait until they’ve been at sea a few days and they’ve had a bit of rough weather and there’s any old Joe Bloggs on the set and then you see a difference! They wouldn’t know a submarine if it came up and asked them for a light. . .”
    “Periscope’s been up fifteen seconds, sir,” said Wilfred.
    “Right. Let’s have another listen.” The Bodger donned the earphones.
    By now the attack team had closed up and were waiting for the attack to begin. The control room was crowded with men standing by instruments, plots and counters to help The Bodger with his attack.
    “That’s a funny H.E.” The Bodger said.
    “I think he’s got a chipped propeller, sir,” said Leading Seaman Gorbles. “I can’t get a rev. count on him. He’s staggering his revs.”
    “Dead crafty,” said The Bodger.
    The Bodger took the periscope again.
    “Now here’s a character who looks as though he knows what he’s doing. I do believe it’s our friend with the chipped prop. Yes, it must be. Well, here goes. Bring all tubes to the action state. Stand by for the first range and bearing of the target. The target is Little Richard . There can’t be anyone else that size. . .”
    With the first range and bearing of Little Richard , the stop watches were starting, the first situation put on the fire control plot and the first entry made in the attack narrative. The attack was under way. Meanwhile, The Bodger returned to the ship with the intriguing propellers.
    “I don’t like the look of this man. He’s got the attack flag at the dip. He’s got a sniff of us. Ah, he’s turned away. His pennant number is F.787. Somebody get out the exercise bridge card and see who that is.”
    “It’s H.M.S. Windfall , sir,” said Wilfred. “Frigate converted from a destroyer, sir.”
    “Who’s her captain?”
    “Captain J. A. S. Persimmons, D.S.O. and Bar, D.S.C. and Bar, R.N., sir.”
    “Black Sebastian!”
    The Bodger put up the periscope handles with a snap.
    “I’d forgotten he was in this exercise! “
    The Bodger caught Wilfred’s eye.
    “ That ,” he said sombrely, “puts a different complexion on it altogether . With Black Sebastian in the hunt this is not going to be as easy as I thought.’
    “Black Sebastian!”
    The control room echoed the words. So might souls abandoned in hell have whispered the syllables of Prince Lucifer’s name.
     

6
     
    Captain Jasper Abercrombie Sebastian Persimmons, D.S.O*., D.S.C*., R.N., known in and out of the submarine service as Black Sebastian, was a living justification of the principle of setting a thief to catch a thief. An ex-submariner himself, he had become the finest anti-submarine captain afloat. His knowledge of submarines and their capabilities and his insight into the mind and thoughts of a submarine captain made him a deadly opponent.
    There had often been speculation inside the submarine service on the cause of Black Sebastian’s return to general