Cuttlefish (7 page)

It was so cold. Cold cold cold. So hard to think. Once her head was out it had been easier to go out to try and snip with the cutters at the steel wires—which needed both hands, than to try and reach out. Opening her eyes underwater had been hard, but she could see a little in the water-filtered moonlight.

And then…the hatch began to close on her foot. She pulled it out. Tried to grab the hatch to stop it. It went on closing. It was too strong for her to resist. In a panic, she pushed the cutters in, and they slipped from her numb hands. The knife. She pulled it from the sheath, and got the hilt in, just in time to stop her air hose being crushed. But she could not even get a hand in to try and open it.

And in her frantic thrashing she'd got her legs tangled into the folds of net. The hatch had at least stopped closing now. Cold and desperately afraid, Clara tried to pull her legs free. Then the hatch that she had her hand on began to open again. And the knife tumbled slowly down into it, after the shears.

“It looks like she's trapped in the net. There is still net over the hatch. She's still breathing.”

Malkis nodded. Tugged his beard. Then said, “Empty the forward ballast tank. See if we can raise the bow as much as we can to reduce the water pressure. We should get to within a foot or so of the surface—the tide is going out. We'll close the hatch as much as we dare. Then we'll seal the forward bulkhead and pump air into the escape hatch. Then we're going to open it—with water coming in. And against the water, boy, we're going to have to push you in and close it. You'll have to take the second hookah pipe and cut her free and bring her in. Can you do that?”

Tim nodded. “Sir.”

“Don't try to do anything else. Just get her in,” said the captain.

As they opened the hatch, the water sprayed in like a fire hose, bruising hard. Fortunately, it mostly hit the far wall of the escape chamber first. Albert and Big Eddie pushed Tim through, and he grabbed the wall-staple to stop himself washing straight back, as the hatch closed. Then, in the surge of icy water he had to grab the second hookah pipe, and start breathing. He ducked under the
surface to stop the cold water beating at him. Air, precious air, came in through the mouthpiece.

The chamber filled quickly, and he followed her air-line up. Twisting the screw, he opened the outer hatch as much as it would go. He could barely squeeze out of the gap.

In the light of the spotlight from the bridge, he could see her in the water. She was trying to pull her legs free of the net, obviously not managing much with numb hands.

And then she saw him, too. She nearly spat her air hose, with her relief. She clutched onto his arm with hands that were only just warmer than the cold water.

Tim tried to keep calm, and simply concentrate on cutting the strands of the netting. He got her foot loose, and pushed her ahead of him, to the hatch. She tried to pull herself in, but obviously just couldn't do it.

Tim pushed her from behind. Got her arms in. Pushed more, grabbed the edge of the hatch and shoved her in with his other hand with all his strength. She kept floating up, of course. So, he realised, was he. If it hadn't been for the net she'd have floated to the surface.

Pulling down hard with his arms he got his head into the escape chamber. She was bobbing up at him, terribly in the way, trying to move herself, and in danger of floating out again. Tim pushed her away hard, so that he could get in. He jammed his legs across the opening and reached down and started winding the lever to close the hatch. He only realised their hoses were still in the way when the air stopped coming. In a panic he managed to open it a little. He hauled at the hoses with her trying to help, with hands that didn't obey either of them properly. Eventually, they got the hoses in. It seemed to take forever. Then…a turn more and he got the outer hatch closed.

Tim managed to dive down and hit and twist the purge knob.

Air began to bubble in, and water drain out.

The girl, from half-leaning against the wall, sat down suddenly in the water. Well, either sat down or collapsed. Tim sat down next
to her. Put his arm around her to keep her upright. He spat out the hookah mouthpiece. Their heads were above water now. “You all right?” he asked through chattering teeth.

She nodded, weakly.

The inner hatch opened and they were both hauled out.

“W
ell done, boy!” said Captain Malkis, as someone wrapped Tim in a blanket. “Get them somewhere warm. Hot drinks.”

Tim shook his head. He was shivering. It was even harder to do this than to go out the first time, but it needed to be done. “Need to go back. More cutting.”

“The divers…”

“Too small still.” He kept it short. It was easier to talk through his chattering teeth. “Two minutes.”

The captain looked at him. “You need to recover, boy.”

“Sooner. Best. And I need a weight…to keep down.” Tim shivered. “We were floating away.

Albert slapped his head. “Of course. We've got lead boots.”

A submarine captain had to make fast decisions. “Give him your boots,” said Captain Malkis.

“Part of the suit, sir.”

“Oh. Get a bunch of pry-bars from the engine room. Jump to it, man. And I'll want another man to go in with him. Not you, divers. You two get suited up. If the net can be cleared from the hatch, you'll be working on the rest as soon as they get in.”

So, each with a belt with four heavy pry-bars hooked onto it, Tim and Submariner Smith, the bosun, had gone in to the escape hatch again.

It was no less cold, and still dark outside in the watery moonlight. But it was only six wire strands, and then a dozen cord ones, with hands that were clumsy and stupid with cold, and then the hatch
could finally open properly. As it did that, the bosun reached up and pulled Tim back in.

They closed the hatch and purged. This time Tim was the one who sat down, before he fell down.

Smith helped him up, and soon he was out, stripped out of his wet breeches, bundled into a dry blanket, and half pushed, half carried down to the engine room. “Warmest place on the ship, boy,” said someone with rough kindness, pushing a steaming mug at him as they sat him against the big firebox. “Get that into you.”

Tim's hands shook and his teeth chattered against the cup as he tried to drink. It was sweet tea, full of condensed milk and rum. “Albert says you'll be bone cold. Takes it out of you, and you weren't wearing all their layers.”

It took him a full half mug of the brew before he realised that he was sharing the warm firebox backrest with someone else. The girl was there. As was her mother, holding her hand.

The mother smiled at him. Took Tim's hand too. Felt it. “You're still very cold. You're a very brave young man. Thank you.”

Tim nodded. It was almost all that he felt he could do. The rum was making his head muzzy, and it was spinning a bit. But fair was fair, he knew. “She did it. She got it open,” he managed to say.

The woman stood up. “You both did well. Now, I am going to see if I can get you some bottles of hot water. Your core temperatures are very low. I don't think that the alcohol was a good idea.”

“You got me back inside,” said the girl, in a whispery voice. “Thanks.”

“It was…nothing,” said Tim awkwardly, cold and feeling remarkably stupid. He'd often dreamed of being a hero to some beautiful woman. Only the dream was a bit vague as to what happened afterwards.…Hopeful, but vague. And the damsels-in-distress hadn't been skinny ghost-pale girls who had already done what he could not. He hadn't set off to be a hero, either. Just been the smallest member of the crew. She was the one who had volunteered to do it.

He wondered what came next. It would probably not be much like the dream either.

It wasn't. Just as the girl's mother got back, the chief came along. “Going to have to move you two. The good news is we're starting the Stirlings again. The divers have cut us clear, but we're racing the tide, now. Just take you to back against the wall over there. It's still the warmest place on the ship, in here.”

Tim was glad of it. Glad too when the chief decided that the two of them had been cluttering up his engine room for long enough, and should go and lie in their own bunks. It had been too busy with all the noise—greasers scampering to the rods with their buckets, and coal-monkeys filling the feed-hoppers—to fall asleep in the engine room, but Tim had come close.

“But this is much more interesting,” said the girl with a little mischievous smile, the first smile that Tim had seen since she'd been hauled in from the sea.

“Now, Clara Calland! Behave,” said her mother. But she was smiling too.

The
Cuttlefish
made it out of the Wash before daylight, and lay, safe and hidden, out on the Dogger banks while the hunters prowled vainly above.

But Tim didn't know this. He slept the deep sleep of the very exhausted instead. Who would have thought a few minutes in cold water could make you that tired? He slept clean through Eddie's watch too. The good-natured diver had to bunk on the floor.

He only woke up because his stomach told him it thought his throat might have been cut.

He dressed, and made his way to the galley. “G'day, diver-boy,” said Cookie cheerfully. “I missed yer smiling face yesterday. But the skipper said you was to be allowed to sleep.”

“We got clear all right?” Tim asked, feeling guilty.

“We're still alive, so me opinion is we must have somehow,” said
the cook. “You're a bit early for your watch. I got tea, and ship-biscuits, if yer need a feed?”

“Please!” Never had rock-hard tooth-breaker biscuits sounded so good.

So Tim went and sat in the mess and corrected the state of his stomach. Tea—made submarine style, with condensed milk—and the biscuits, which had to be soaked to begin to be chewable, were a solid foundation. He took the mug back. “Thanks, Cookie. That should just about hold me to porridge time.”

“Funny, that's just about what the young miss said too,” said Cookie. “She was here about an hour ago.”

Tim found that he was actually rather sorry to have missed her. Two hours later, full of that second breakfast, he reported for duty. “Cabins first, and then at twenty hundred you're on with the sail-crew, then back to cleaning, and then at twenty-four hundred deck-watch, sonny. You're back with Cookie for the last hour. Get your sou'wester and oilskin and sea boots on, before you go out,” said Lieutenant Willis, grinning. “Even if you have showed us all that you don't mind getting wet.”

Tim found that he'd gone from being the new boy to being a part of the crew, at least as far as this officer was concerned, all in one day. It pleased him.

It obviously didn't please one or two of the others who were on the deck that night, changing the submarine from a sleek underwater craft to a sailing racer, but that was their problem. Standard, one of the other cabin boys, punched his shoulder. Too hard to be the friendly gesture he was pretending it was. Tim winced. “What's up, Darkie?” Standard said. “Got all soft in the cold water? Or was you soft before, and that hardened you up, but not enough?”

“I wish you'd go swimming, Standard. It'd do you good,” said Tim. They were busy pushing out the spars that clipped onto the narrow deck and gave the sail-crews some space to work. It was noisy wet work, as the big rubber pontoons in the hydrofoil outriggers in
the second hull would not be filled for this task That would lift the submarine mostly clear of the water, make her much faster, but easier to see.

“Uh-huh. Didn't wash you any cleaner. You still look like you could use a bath.” He shoved Tim toward the dark water.

“Shut up, Standy,” said one of the other ratings. “The kid did well. Get that net spar clipped in, and get a move on.”

Tim shut up too. There was no point in getting into a fight with Standard, who was bigger than Tim, and knew exactly how to make the most of it. Besides, the mate dealt with fights, and he was supposed to be pretty tough on anyone who was involved, no matter what the reason was. Anyway, he was kind of used to it. It came with having darker skin in a place where most of the people didn't see the sun much. He didn't have to like it, but he knew he'd have to live with it. He'd had enough fights to find that out.

When they finished on deck Tim went back to clean his last cabin and then clean the heads, then kitted up again and went to the deck-shaft, up the spiral stair and out onto the deck to do his turn on watch. The
Cuttlefish
, out here in the North Sea, sailed on the surface at night, her mainmast erected, the big transparent sails catching the wind. In the dark, with the submarine running low in the water, with no funnels and no superstructure, and nothing to be seen against the sky but the thin mast, they were very hard to spot. It saved a great deal of fuel, but it did mean that someone on the masthead had to have sharp eyes. There were bow and stern watchmen too, with safety harnesses and a strong likelihood of getting wet. Tim was on stern watch. He was grateful that he was not up in the swaying crow's nest. The North Sea was not as bad as the mighty Atlantic, the other submariners told him. Then he'd be lucky to stay aloft. “It's why you got a berth,” Banks had told him, when he'd come aboard. Banks was the biggest of the three cabin boys, due to move to being a submariner soon—well, as soon as he could pass the exam. He'd failed twice, and only had one more crack
at it left. He liked to tell horror stories to the newest of the crew. “The last boy, he was moving his line and we hit a wave. He catapulted out into the sea. They saw him swimming after the sub, but we don't stop, see.”

Tim had asked one of the senior ratings if it was true. The man grimaced, and said, “Partly. See, when the boat's under sail, she can't stop or turn fast. And at night, they'll never find you. So keep your line clipped in.”

After that warning, Tim kept the broad leather belt with its riveted steel hasp tight, with its braided rope to the brass snap-link hooked on to the recessed running pipe, and then quickly, unhooked and reclipped to the hasp.

“Scared you're gonna be washed off, Darkie?” said Standard, who was on the stern, waiting to be relieved. “I thought you said you could swim, new-pup. Not much of a sea today to be scared of,” he said scornfully before he ran back to the deck-shaft cowling without bothering to clip his line in.

Tim wondered if he should also not clip in. Just to show he wasn't scared. But the truth was, he was scared. And it was very…open, out here for a tunnel boy.

So he stayed clipped on firmly and scanned the dark water, and, as he'd been told to, looked at the line where the starry sky met the dark of the sea.

Clara found, after her diving exploit, that the submarine was a great deal more friendly a place than St. Margaret's School for the Children of Officers and Gentlemen had ever been.

Well, mostly anyway. A few of the boys seemed to want to be a little too friendly. That was…something she'd never really had to deal with before. It was interesting but a little scary too. There were girls who'd been involved with boys at St. Margaret's, of course. And
they all talked about it. And one of the fifth-form girls had left very suddenly, after doing more than just kissing, if the whispers were to be believed. Clara was curious, but not that curious. And her mother was watching her.

She'd asked some question about spotting the anti-submarine nets at dinner.

“Just what were you doing out of our cabin when we tangled in the net anyway?” asked her mother.

“Oh, I'd, um, gone to the heads,” said Clara. “And then the ship stopped, so I went to find out what was happening.”

“You really ought not to be out without me,” said mother, sternly.

“Well, ma'am, she's your daughter,” said the captain. “And you set the limits and rules for her. But we're a small, closed community, and I've had a word with the crew about your status here. There is absolutely no harm that could come to her on the boat. It's a boat, by the way, Miss Clara. Submarines are always called boats. I'd say let her roam, so long as she stays out of the way and clear of the engines, and out of the cabins. And she's been sensible about it so far. It must be a little dull for her in your cabin.”

Mother had smiled, wanly. “I must admit that we didn't plan ahead for entertainment for her, Captain Malkis. We were glad to escape with our lives. She should be resuming her schooling…but I am not the best of teachers. I'll set her some work too. But thank you. It's very confining for her.”