Doctor Who: The Sea-Devils (12 page)

‘Maybe he doesn’t know himself,’ said Mitchell.

‘I had the feeling,’ Ridgway concluded, ‘that Captain Hart was holding something back. Still, let’s do our best.’

The submarine had been submerged for over forty minutes now, and was nearing the base of the oil-rig. Two sonar ratings were listening attentively to their huge earphones, expecting an echo at any moment from the legs of the giant construction. Sonar, a form of underwater radar, sends out regular signals, and these can be heard as ‘pings’ over the operator’s earphones. If the beam of electronic signals hits anything metal, the signals echo back and the operator hears a ‘ping-ping’. The time span between the first and the second ‘ping’ gives the operator an idea of the distance to the metal object. By prodding with the beam in slightly different directions, the operator may be able to sketch out the outline of a sunken ship or the hull of another submarine.

Ridgway left his periscope and went over to the sonar men. ‘Anything yet?’

‘No, sir,’ one of them said.

But the other operator raised a hand. ‘I think I’ve got something, sir.’

Everyone was quiet. Even through the man’s earphones they could all hear a faintly echoing ‘ping’. Ridgway turned to the crew in charge of the submarine’s special television eye and searchlights. He had held back the order to switch on the searchlights because of the enormous amount of electricity they consumed from the submarine’s batteries.

‘Television eye on,’ he snapped, ‘and searchlights.’

The ratings threw the switches. A monitor screen next to the periscope came to life.

‘It’s getting faster,’ said the sonar operator. His companion was now also picking up the echo.

Sub-Lieutenant Mitchell asked, ‘Is it one of the legs of the oil-rig?’

‘Don’t think so, sir,’ said the sonar operator. ‘I was scanning in the other direction. It’s getting really close now!’

There was a sudden shriek of high-pitched ‘pings’ from the earphones of both sonar operators. They took off their earphones and held them a little way away from their ears. ‘I think something’s gone wrong, sir,’ one of them told Ridgway.

Ridgway rapped out an order: ‘Send for sonar maintenance.’ A rating hurried off down the single main corridor of the submarine. All at once the earphones went silent.

Then the engines stopped.

For a moment there was complete, eerie silence. Without the throb of engines in the background, there is no sound at all in a submarine. No wind, no waves—utter silence.

‘What the—’ Ridgway went to an internal ‘phone, pressed the button marked ‘Engine Room’ and said: ‘
Captain here. What’s happening?
’

The voice of the Chief in charge of the engine-room sounded bewildered and confused. ‘
I’ve no idea, sir. We’re making a complete check. Everything stopped.
’

Sub-Lieutenant Mitchell beckoned to Ridgway. He pointed to the dial that measured their depth under the surface. ‘We’re going down, fast.’

‘That’s impossible,’ said an astonished Ridgway. He looked at the dial: it was not only possible—it was indeed happening! He turned back to the ’phone. ‘
Chief, get those engines working right away!
’

‘
Aye, aye, sir,
’ said the Chief over the ‘phone, with no hint of conviction that he could do it. ‘
We’ll do our best.
’

Mitchell was still staring at the depth dial. ‘We’re dropping like a stone. Look!’ He pointed to the monitor screen.

‘Look at what?’ asked Ridgway. All he could see on the screen was murky water.

Mitchell was wide-eyed. ‘It’s gone now. Some sort of giant tadpole. It had legs and arms and it swam.’

One or two of the lower-deck ratings looked un-easily at Sub-Lieutenant Mitchell. In an emergency a Naval officer is not supposed to start seeing imaginary ‘giant tadpoles’. He is expected to issue orders and do things.

Then the vista of water on the monitor screen went black because the searchlights had cut out. Ridgway swung round to the petty officer in charge of the electricity circuits. ‘Get those lights working again!’

The petty officer hurried away to check the fuses. ‘We’ve steadied,’ said Mitchell, still watching the depth dial. ‘We aren’t going down any more.’

‘I should think not,’ said Ridgway. He took it as a personal affront that so many things had gone wrong at the same time. He ’phoned back to the engine-room. ‘
How’s it going, Chief?
’

‘
We can’t trace the trouble,
’ said the engine-room Chief, ‘
but we’re checking everything, sir,
’

Ridgway put back the ’phone. ‘Now where’s the sonar maintainance kilick—’

He stopped in mid-sentence because of the tapping sound from outside. The sound echoed through the submarine, causing every man to turn and look up for’ard.

‘We’re grating against a wreck,’ said Mitchell. Every submariner was aware that there were three wrecks somewhere on the sea-bed at this point.

‘Let’s hope it doesn’t puncture us,’ said Ridgway.

The sound was repeated. This time there was nothing irregular or vague about the tapping. Instead, there was a regular metallic thudding.

‘Divers?’ said Mitchell. ‘That’s impossible at this depth.’

Ridgway only listened for another moment. Then he gave the order: ‘Close all for’ard bulkheads! Sound action-stations!’

Ratings ran down the corridor leading for’ard. The action-stations’ klaxon hooters set up their staccato sound throughout the length of the submarine.

In the general hubbub, Mitchell asked Ridgway: ‘But what do you think it is?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Ridgway. ‘Whatever it is, I think it’s trying to get into this submarine.’ He turned to Petty Officer Summers who was on navigation control. ‘I want someone up top. Will you volunteer?’

‘Aye, aye, sir,’ said Summers.

‘I meant a volunteer,’ said Ridgway. ‘You don’t have to do it.’

‘I’ll do it,’ said the petty officer. ‘I’ll get ready.’ He went to the locker where they kept the emergency escape gear.

The ratings who had gone for’ard started to return. ‘We’ve closed up, sir,’ one of them told Ridgway. ‘But there was something like a blow-lamp starting to cut through from outside!’

‘I believe you,’ said Ridgway. ‘I’m beginning to believe anything.’ He turned to Sub-Lieutenant Mitchell. ‘Summers is going to need an R/T unit.’

Mitchell had already thought of that and was checking over a special radio-telephone unit capable of functioning after submersion in water. By now Petty Officer Summers had strapped on to his back a small oxygen tank, and had got rid of his heavy boots and cap. Emergency escape from a submerged submarine involves a man climbing into the upper part of the conning tower, closing behind him its lower hatch. When he opens the upper hatch the air inside the top of the conning tower automatically escapes upwards, and the man shoots up to the surface in the bubble.

‘As soon as you surface,’ Ridgway told Summers, ‘use the R/T to send out a May Day.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Summers, taking the R/T unit from Sub-Lieutenant Mitchell.

Ridgway continued, ‘Wait until you have been picked up by Naval personnel before you say that someone seems to be boarding us.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Summers. ‘Can I ask why, sir?’

‘The Lords of the Admiralty might not want the world to know exactly what’s happened,’ said Ridgway. ‘Now get on your way, and good luck.’

Summers started to climb the ladder towards the lower hatch of the conning tower. He reached up and tried to turn the opening handle. It would not move.

Ridgway called up to him, ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I don’t know, sir,’ said Summers. ‘It’s stuck... And it’s getting warm.’ He whipped his hand away from the handle, ‘I mean—hot!’

‘Come down immediately,’ Ridgway called, and turned to Mitchell. ‘Small arms.’

Mitchell got out the one key he never expected to use in a real emergency. It unlocked the special cupboard where rifles and revolvers were kept.

Ridgway called, ‘Every man get a gun!’ He looked up at the hatch. The whole centre of the hatch had now been cut out with heat; it fell and clanged on to the deck.

‘Guns at the ready,’ he shouted, getting for himself a revolver. ‘Hold your fire until I give the order.’

They waited. Something up in the conning tower was moving around. To attack them it would have to come down the ladder, and that would make it an easy target. But then the unexpected happened. A green scaly arm came down through the hole in the hatch, and in the hand was something like a flashlamp.

‘The tadpole,’ said Mitchell. ‘I told you!’

The thing like a flashlamp suddenly blazed red, and the scaly green hand moved it from side to side. Four ratings screamed, dropped their weapons and fell dead.

Ridgway shouted, ‘Fire!’

There was an explosion of rifle and revolver fire in the tiny confined space. The flashlamp again flared its brilliant red and three more ratings fell to the deck. Ridgway realised their position was hopeless.

‘Cease fire,’ he shouted.

The firing stopped. The scaly hand disappeared, the movement could again be heard from inside the conning tower.

‘It’s probably turning round,’ whispered Mitchell, ‘so as to come down the ladder. We can pick it off then.’ He levelled his gun at the top of the ladder.

In a strained voice Ridgway said, ‘Everybody lay down their guns.’

Mitchell stared at Ridgway. ‘Are you crazy?’

Lieutenant Ridgway shook his head. ‘Whatever that thing is, it’s not on its own. We’ve got to give in.’ He raised his voice again to the men. ‘I said, put down your guns!’

One by one the ratings put their guns on to the deck. Then the feet of a Sea-Devil appeared through the hole in the hatch. It clambered slowly down the rungs of the ladder, then turned round to face the humans.

‘You will now obey our orders,’ it said. ‘This vessel is under our command. You will take us to the Master.’

Trenchard strode along the corridor to the Master’s room. The prison officer on duty jumped to attention and unlocked the door. Before entering Trenchard paused to think exactly what his position was. Losing the Doctor and his friend probably meant ruination of everything. Trenchard was angry with the Master, very angry. Telling lies to Captain Hart was bad enough, but what really upset him were the lies that he had had to tell his own men. After the Doctor and Miss Grant finally escaped through the minefield, Trenchard had had to give some reason to his prison officers why he had let the prisoner out of his cell. ‘Tell them,’ said the Master, ‘that I am the Doctor’s friend, and you brought me along so that I could call upon him in friendship to give himself up.’ It was a complete and ridiculous fabrication, but that is what Trenchard had had to say to cover up his own guilt. Then there were those extraordinary monsters, and surely that was no coincidence. As he walked into the Master’s room he told himself the time had come for a reckoning.

The Master was calmly working on his mysterious black box, and barely looked up as Trenchard marched in.

‘You should stand up when I enter,’ said Trenchard.

The Master looked up for a moment. ‘Really? Why?’

‘Listen,’ said Trenchard, ‘I think this has gone far enough! You said it was foreign agents sinking those ships. You said we’d catch them. You lied to me.’

‘My dear Trenchard,’ said the Master, carefully adjusting a control on the black box, ‘if I’d talked about monsters, would you have believed me?’ Because Trenchard didn’t answer, the Master looked up again. ‘Well, would you?’

Trenchard tried to control his temper. ‘I sometimes think that you are the Devil. Now tell me the truth!—you had something to do with those disgusting lizards, didn’t you!’

‘Those creatures you saw belong to a race of intelligent reptiles with a deadly hatred for Mankind,’ explained the Master. ‘They have established themselves in the sea. Now they plan to emerge and conquer the world.’

‘How on earth do you know all this?’

The Master paused in his work and fixed Trenchard with his eyes. ‘Because I am the Master. Didn’t they tell you that I’m not human?’

Trenchard scoffed, ‘Oh, I can believe that!’

‘I mean it seriously, my dear Trenchard. I have two hearts, a temperature of only sixty degrees Fahrenheit, and, if you care to observe closely, my breathing rate is four breaths to the minute compared with your twelve to sixteen. Didn’t you check the prison doctor’s medical report that was sent along here with me?’

‘Don’t bother about those things,’ Trenchard blustered. ‘Couldn’t really understand it. But we’re getting away from the point. If what you say about those creatures is true, I must notify the Government immediately. I’ll leave you with your’—he looked at the black box—‘your toy.’

Trenchard turned to go. The Master jumped up, and put his hand gently on Trenchard’s arm.

‘I implore you, Mr. Trenchard, we must keep this to ourselves a little longer. Hasty action would ruin everything.’ He turned and pointed to the black box. ‘That thing you call a toy can draw these monsters out of the sea in their thousands!’

Trenchard moved back from the Master, positive now that he was in the presence of the Devil. ‘That’s
exactly
what we don’t want to do!’

‘You still don’t understand,’ persisted the Master. ‘We must trap these creatures. The whole of this part of England must be cleared of its civilian population. Then I—but we can let the world know it’s all being done by
you
—can draw these lizards out of the sea. Once they’re out in the open, the Army and Air Force can slaughter them.’

This made sense to Trenchard. ‘Where does the Doctor come into it? Why was he so interfering?’

‘He is one of my species,’ the Master answered, returning now to work on his black box. ‘Except that he’s a dangerous criminal. Somehow he has wormed his way into the confidence of the authorities. He can be destroyed all in good time.’

As though nothing more need be explained, the Master continued with his work. For some seconds Trenchard watched him, still wondering. ‘Just what does that thing do?’ he asked.

The Master said airily, ‘It emits a signal that these monsters will find attractive.’