Chapter 2 - The Journey.

Within the sub things went into their usual automatic mode when submerged, with submariners running along corridors and sliding down stairs and swinging through bulkhead hatches all to the rhythmic ping of the sonar.

The captain, one Captain Hand ran a relaxed ship where everyone knew their job and got on with it. Each crew member had a kind of inner knowing that all things in the ship were taken care of and he just needed to do his own bit well and everything else went on around him. Carruthers found the Captains’ name a great source of hilarity and made frequent jokes about going ‘cap in hand’, clearly thinking he was the first to have thought of it. Cap’n Hand settled back into his very own chair in the middle of the bridge. He had had that chair since his very first commission and was the only thing that had been saved when it was rammed by a German battle cruiser in the Dover Straits. It had become a kind of lucky mascot for him and his crew. Soon into the journey a worrying second ping came very loud and clear from the sonar, yet the operator seemed unable to get a fix on it. Cap’n Hand changed course to try and get a better angle on it but still the second ping refused to go away or reveal its true whereabouts. Cap’n Hand began to take on a more serious demeanor as he ordered the sub to rise to periscope depth. A quick look around revealed no unexpected ship in sight and yet the ping seemed to become louder and even vary its sound occasionally.

Starting to recall some of his wartime tactics, Cap’n Hand ordered battle stations and dived down till the sub was nearly sitting on the bottom of the English Channel where he ordered all engines to stop. The entire crew waited with baited breath, listening for the next ping. Some of the crew were even said to be listening for the depth charges to be dropped. Perhaps the ruddy Ruskies were on to them already and were trying to destroy England's latest secret weapon before he left English coastal waters!

In the eerie silence at the bottom of the ocean a team of men waited whilst the sonar operator struggled to identify the second ping. As suddenly as it had started, the second pinging stopped, to be replaced by a stifled giggle and then by uncontrollable laughter. A quick search of the bridge revealed Carruthers with tears of mirth running down his cheek and a milk bottle in one hand and a spanner in the other, hiding in the dark corner beside the sonar. Juliana was summoned from their cabin to escort her colleague back with strict instructions that she should keep a better eye on him.

As those long legs strode through the length of the sub, seamen descended into a kind of disorganised blob of testosterone and after retrieving her charge and partner her return journey had a very similar effect coupled with a mixture of lust and envy, and sheer disbelief that she had chosen Carruthers as her bed mate. Carruthers of course was oblivious to the effect that he and Juliana were having, albeit for entirely different reasons, on the crew of the sub as he lumbered ape like through the corridors.

Carruthers was again firmly ensconced in the arms of his lover within the safety of their cabin. The safety implied, related more to the crew and the English Channel than it did to Carruthers although, as it turned out, the English Channel was not going to prove a particularly safe place to be.

The radar room was soon suspected of once again being the target of Carruthers mischief as another unexpected sonar return pinged around the room. A thorough search of the room relieved Cap’n Hand somewhat as no sign of Carruthers was found and a quick glance through the curtain into Carruthers and Juliana’s cabin revealed a very large hump in the middle of the bunk considerably bigger than the lithe form of Juliana could have created and discretion forbade the submariner from searching further. Soon, a further return pinged around the sonar room and again faded into the distance as had the first. Then another followed the same course and another and another. This was quite unlike anything that Cap’n Hand had ever encountered in twenty years occupying that eerie and unseeable world of the submarine. The First Mate was called from his bunk to see what he made of the strange returns being heard from the sonar. Likewise, he could not make head or tail of what they were hearing as yet another return was heard pinging its way into oblivion. Again Carruthers was suspected of somehow being behind the strange anomaly but another look behind the curtain into Carruthers and Juliana’s bunk again revealed a very large bump in the middle of the bunk and discretion once again forbade further investigation. However when the search party returned to the bridge some of the seats were missing! They had been gone for only minutes so where had the seats gone? The question had only the briefest time span at the forefront of their minds before their attention was caught by further sonar returns, this time on both sides of the submarine. What were they and where were they coming from? Some kind of answer was offered when the galley reported the loss of a large quantity of kitchen equipment. Was the reported loss of growing quantities of equipment connected to the sonar returns plaguing this mission? Cap’n Hand stood up and paced the half lit bridge, his hands rubbing his bearded chin thoughtfully as he did so whilst he tried to make some sense of what was happening. The First Mate was somewhat surprised to peer over his desk and see nothing but the Cap’n’s feet waving above the furniture where only moments before the Cap’n had been standing. Jumping up to the assistance of his friend and idol discovered the reason for his predicament. His chair, the one which had been with him since its rescue after the ramming of his first commission by a German battle cruiser, was missing and had become so in a time window brief enough to have only allowed Cap’n Hand to have taken just a few steps whilst he pondered over the matter in hand.

The mystery was, that no-one else had entered or left the bridge, let alone carried a chair with him.

Another return from the sonar faded into the distance as the sub powered its way into the Straits of Dover. Being a busy stretch of water and not always the deepest around, everyone needed to be on their most watchful and attentive behaviour and distractions like they were currently experiencing would not be helpful. Ahead they could hear the steady throb of the ships engines of one of the new cross channel ferries and a heightened state of awareness spread across the bridge. The distinctive sound of a torpedo being unleashed sent a shudder through the entire crew and then another. Cap’n Hand bellowed in an uncharacteristic show of temper, “Who gave that bloody order?!”

On board the channel ferry was a veteran of several war campaigns who had bitten the anchor as far as he was concerned and taken what he described as a shore based job. Twenty odd miles each way was no distance to a man whose previous existence had seen him on voyages measured in weeks rather than miles. This had been left far behind him when he took this job and Hitler had cancelled the war due to lack of interest. But a casual glance out of the starboard window of the bridge had revealed a spectacle not entirely resembling a peaceful sight. Heading for the side of his ship was what for all the world appeared to be not one but two trails in the water not dissimilar in any way to those left behind by a torpedo! And it was heading for the side of his ship!

On board the crossing were a group of clergymen heading on a pilgrimage to Lourdes. Lead by Father Andrew who had been keen to take advantage of his proximity to the channel ports when taking part in wishing Carruthers bon voyage, had summoned a few of his former ecclesiastical college friends and were heading off on a kind of Sunday school outing. Father Andrew was dragging his now customary barrel of holy water round from table to table in the lounge area and was currently trying to douse a lady of considerable social standing in holy water. Although to be fair, social standing would be the only kind she was currently capable of, being a little the worse the wear for drink. A condition which from the reactions of the bar staff and her own valet would be one she was well accustomed to. Father Andrew always being one who was up for a challenge whenever he felt the good Lord placed one in front of him rose to this one and began by throwing large quantities of holy water over the troubled lady. This, perhaps expectedly, produced a less than favourable response from his victim which Father Andrew had chosen to see as being the devil within reacting to the Holy Water currently raining down upon it and proceeded to carry out the first ever exorcism on a cross channel ferry. The lady concerned was taking particular exception to Father Andrews apparent attempt to rape her and began screaming wildly and incoherently as she thrashed about trying to rid herself of the clutches of this most rampant and persistent of rapists.

On the bridge the Captain’s instinct took charge whilst all around him there was panic and swung the ship hard to starboard trying to aim the bows straight at the missiles. Throwing a large vessel such as this hard anywhere whilst traveling at full speed was always going to be one that would have a destablilising effect on any on board at the time, none more so than a clergyman and his victim during a particularly strenuous attempt to evict Lucifer from a drunken old lady! Outside, due to the Captains quick thinking and experience the two torpedoes passed harmlessly either side and embedded themselves deep into a sandbank doubtless to cause further mayhem when they were re-discovered at a later date. Inside however was a little different; the sudden healing over of the ship and equally sudden righting of it had thrown both Father Andrew and the lady to the floor. Father Andrew was flat on his back screaming at the top of his voice “Unhand me Satan!” brandishing his cross and frantically trying to reach for his bottle of holy water. The lady on the other hand was sat astride the cleric jumping up and down and wriggling about frantically shouting at the top of her voice, “Rape, rape!” Given the position of the pair of them none of the bystanders were quite certain whether she felt she was being raped or was doing the raping and wanted everyone else to witness the act. Security was summoned and the pair were dragged apart. Father Andrew for his part, as soon as he had been released lunged for his barrel of holy water and tipped the entire contents over himself. The lady, apparently a distant cousin of The King and somewhat more sober for her little experience, stood up, albeit with a wistful smile across her face and announced to the world that, “The vicar just raped me, you all saw him attack me and throw me to the ground and forced me to sit astride him. You all saw him do it!” Whilst she was shouting out all the graphic details as she had seen them, and the ships security guard was frantically scribbling the detail down and dribbling form the corner of his mouth, Father Andrew was equally frantically signing the cross in the air in front of him.

A few hundred feet below, Cap’n Hand had ordered Carruthers and Juliana out of their cabin and onto the bridge suspecting that Carruthers may have been behind the whole series of incidents. But when Juliana rose from their bunk Carruthers was no-where to be seen and a further search of the torpedo room revealed Carruthers legs protruding from an air vent leading to the bilges of the sub. Behind the vent could be clearly seen Cap’n Hand’s old chair, safe, even if it did bear some evidence of its recent past floating around in the oily bilge water. It would seem that it was too large for Carruthers to drag it back through and put it into the torpedo tubes and fire it out the front of the craft as he had been doing with everything else that he had managed to pilfer throughout the ship. It seemed that he had discovered the torpedo tubes make a nice whooshing sound when he pulls the leaver with something inside it. Accordingly everything that wasn’t bolted down had been fired out of the ship and had been causing the extra sonar bleeps that had been causing so much confusion. With the apparent reluctance of Cap’n Hands chair to join all the other furniture in the torpedo tube, Carruthers had searched around for further ammunition and had found the torpedoes. Noticing that they were about the same size as the tubes he felt he ought to try and see if they fitted and ‘bingo!’ they were a perfect fit so he slid two into place and fired them at the same time to see if they made a better sound when done two at a time. The Cap’n couldn’t put a personal friend of the Kings in the brig, even if they had one, so all vents in Carruthers and Juliana’s cabin were welded down and two guards posted outside the door. Carruthers was warned that he must stay in his cabin and come out only for meals and bathroom breaks and even then only when escorted by two guards, although the Captain felt that Juliana was being a bit harsh there.

On the surface and aboard ship the purser had calmed the lady down with the liberal application of the Captains very own supply of rum. She had at first complained that it wasn’t her usual tipple but quickly accepted when the purser tried to take it back and rapidly passed an empty glass back for refilling and then suggested that he may as well leave her the bottle as there is only a little left. Apparently only a little could be construed as being just over half a bottle! Father Andrew was made to spend the rest of the journey in the purser’s cabin and had his head in his hands. No one was sure whether it was remorse for the shame now being heaped upon him over the alleged rape, or that he was now unable to bless the remainder of the crew and passengers with no freedom or holy water left or just that after pouring the contents of his barrel over himself his trousers may have been a little uncomfortable and had started to chafe a little on his legs. On arrival in France, the rest of the party of clerics left the ship whilst Father Andrew was told to remain on board, rejected by the French authorities as an ‘unwelcome alien’ and was being taken back to England! The Lady, by now incapable of standing unaided was wheeled down the gangplank by her butler as she wielded an empty bottle calling to anyone who would listen telling them, “I have been violated! Vive le difference! Whoopee!”

Father Andrew, when back in Dover, filled his holy water barrel from the sea at the docks and sat on the dock wall sipping at a cup of tea whilst he contemplated how he would deal with the shame of being rejected from France and not getting to see Lourdes. After a while he picked himself up and walked slowly and thoughtfully to the station. So deep in thought was he, that he failed to find the need to bless two prostitutes who approached him as he neared the station. By the following morning he was clearly feeling much better as he was found banging on the door to get in to Lords Cricket Club demanding to be allowed to bless the wicket ready for the England match that afternoon. After a quick conference the groundsmen decided that he couldn’t do much harm and if anything it may even help given the recent form of the England team. So Father Andrew dragged his drum of holy water out onto the wicket and flicked it liberally over the entire square and returned with that look of self satisfaction from a job well done and an empty barrel. That afternoon the cricket square turned a strange shade of brown as the groundsmen looked on in disbelief. The kind of brown grass tends to go when exposed to salt water. Everyone suspected that it had to have been something to do with the cleric who visited them that morning but nobody actually had any idea who he was and it was eventually written down in the history of Lords as a sabotage attempt either by the agents of the visiting team or perhaps the Russians trying to undermine English morale. Father Andrew returned to the army camp from whence he had come and endlessly regaled his flock with his stories of his time in Lords omitting to enlighten anyone as to how exactly he was spelling it whilst the remainder of his party that actually made it to Lourdes merrily drank his share of the wine at meal times.

The sub had to make an unscheduled stop in Chatham to restock with items such as chairs, kitchen equipment and various other items of a size that would fit into a torpedo tube and for Juliana to restock Carruthers medication, depleted after her efforts of trying to keep Carruthers under control and in their cabin.

Chapter 1 - The Leaving

Morning Corporal!

Regimental life showed signs of returning to as near normality as those involved could allow. Gideon, in the absence of the recently deceased Brigadier, who was tragically taken from us after an unfortunate incident with a tram, had taken to using a kind of lottery system to decide who he should endeavor to stand beside with most effect that day. The late Brigadier had been distracted whilst in search of a chemist to purchase a little relief from the itching raging around his genitals. Which you may recall was contracted after having spent the entire journey to London sat on a less than sanitized lavatory seat; all in an effort to get away from Gideon and his incessant tutting and posturing.

Carruthers and Nurse Juliana, now officially known as Agents Carruthers and Juliana have now left any former comforts they may have enjoyed far behind them. Well, actually only about a mile really, before Carruthers found something to play with. Heading for Waterloo they had to cross the Thames where a sail barge was moored against a pontoon hoisting a brand new sail with a few lipstick marks upon it that looked suspiciously like the colour worn by Juliana. One Ned Purbey was busy about his barge readying himself to cast off and test his brand new sails for the first time after the last set were shot through by Carruthers with a ceremonial cannon dragged behind one of the Kings horses. The morning had been peaceful to that point for Ned; he was not one for rushing life generally and this morning was not intended to have been any exception. He was down below, making himself a mug of tea and filling his brand new clay pipe that had been supplied by the King to replace the one he bit in half when he came under fire from Carruthers, when silently his mooring ropes went slack and dropped into the river. His sails filled a little as they caught a breeze as his vessel drifted into the middle of the river whilst Carruthers stood on the pontoon looking a little disappointed that his intended toy had escaped him. Juliana gathered her companion and escorted him back onto the river bank as she nervously watched events unfold with a certain predictability. Ned's barge was warming to its task as it headed towards the raised Tower Bridge with gathering speed whilst the bridge keeper having let through his scheduled craft was busy lowering the bridge again. As the barge passed through, the bridge caught the mast like a massive pair of tweezers and held it fast. Ned, who was down below and had just finished making his mug of tea in readiness for casting off was taking his first puff on his new pipe when the sound of ripping sails and the splintering of wood as the mast snapped was followed by the extreme discomfort of a mug of hot tea spilling in his lap and the now familiar crack as he bit yet another pipe in two! Carruthers was on the bank whooping with delight at the sight of the barge caught fast in the clutches of the big bridge. Juliana was trying to escort her companion away quietly but Ned had already recognised the demonic whooping from the earlier incident with the cannon and new just who he was going to contact!

Carruthers and Juliana had made their way to Waterloo station with a certain sense of urgency on Juliana’s part. Eager to get Carruthers to Portsmouth and on that sub before he found any further toys to play with and before any of the earlier ones managed to catch up with them. When they reached the platform at Waterloo it bought an air of foreboding as Carruthers spotted the engine at the far end of the platform and was paying far too much attention to it! Juliana shepherded her companion onto the first class carriages which were at the rear of the train and farthest from the latest object of Carruthers attentions.

Carruthers visit to the lavatories turned out to be a lengthy and protracted affair although Juliana had positioned herself nervously outside the lavatory door to avoid Carruthers getting too close to the hissing behemoth at the front of the train. After some time he emerged with a worrying grin on his face and not one brought on by wind! Eventually the guards whistle blew and Carruthers settled back in his seat with a satisfied smirk. The train lurched and shook and upset any coffee cups that people had on the table in front of them, but it resolutely refused to leave the security of the platform! Carruthers grin became broader and broader and turned into uncontrollable laughter as pompous looking officials started running around the platform blowing whistles. One couldn't help but wonder if his lengthy visit to the lavatory, the current mayhem on the platform and Carruthers mirthful demeanor were in some way connected. After the handbrake in the guard van, which had been wound up tighter than a drum, had been released the train puffed a great cloud of steam and smoke and chuffed energetically out of the station. Carruthers is now out in the wide world although one suspects that the world around Carruthers and Juliana is not going to be wide enough to give the rest of the world peace of mind.

On arrival in Portsmouth where our intrepid duo, or to be precise, the intrepid double agent Juliana and Carruthers, agent six and seven eights (cap size), were met by a detachment from the naval dock police, to escort them to the awaiting submarine which is to drop them on a beach off the Caspian Sea. As they entered the naval docks memories of a time when Carruthers struggled with a demon lurking deep within his soul started to surface. On the back of two tank transporters awaiting the ship to take them off to sunnier climes were a selection of tanks; all in working order and all with fuel and probably a certain amount of ammunition. Carruthers started to babble excitably at the sight as Juliana did her best to adjust his medication to keep his innate powers of confusion in check until they landed in her former motherland where his powers of destruction and apparent invisibility were really required. Carruthers, although seemingly firmly ensconced in the arms of his partner in their own bunk aboard the submarine may have been at work during the night. Great confusion went through the mind of seaman Splatter as he patrolled the dockyard that night. Where, on the previous wander round he had witnessed the submarine lying idly at the dockside was now just open water! Further confusion was felt by the crew of the apparently missing sub when they returned from their night ashore to find that the sub may have left without them. All of this confusion paled into insignificance compared to that felt by the captain of the vessel when he arose the next morning and made his morning mug of tea and tried to go on deck to enjoy the morning sunshine. His tea mug slopped most of the contents as he climbed the conning tower, but that was usual. As he tried to open the hatch it appeared unusually stiff and when he put his shoulder against it and gave it a good thump the reason became very apparent as his mug of tea was severely diluted with sea water. The hatch’s reluctance to open was caused by the pressure of about thirty feet of water which was above them as the submarine rested gently on the bottom at its original mooring. It would appear that Carruthers had taken a particular liking to the noises made when he opened some of the valves inside the sub which apparently reminded him of the noises he could make in the bath if the right kind of pressure could be applied. Amused by this particular kind of noise he opened all the other valves he could find that would repeat the experience and the sub slowly disappeared form normal view. When aroused from his bunk Carruthers had a strange smirk on his face as he declared his surprise at where they now found themselves.

I fear, Corporal that this could be a very long crossing to Russia for some if Carruthers has anything to do with it.

With the sub now returned to her original position at her mooring; that is to say on the surface, it showed great promise of being a pleasant day. The Captain was reluctant for him and his crew to put to sea until they had checked every valve on the vessel to be absolutely certain there would be no little surprises that Carruthers had left for them. Accordingly, it was decided that they would put to sea on the high tide the following morning. This allowed for a little more fresh sea air before the incarceration in the sub for the journey. Juliana had busied herself checking equipment and itineraries and going over their papers for one last time in case of any errors or oversight. Unfortunately that also meant that she had to take her eye off Carruthers for a short time. Father Andrew, having heard of the delay, took the opportunity to come and sprinkle holy water over the sub and her occupants and bless the voyage and our two agents for their mission. His arrival caused something of a stir as a portly priest tried valiantly to drag a five gallon drum up the gangplank and then up the conning tower, muttering some less than holy words as he skinned his knuckles trying to lower the barrel through the hatch watched by some very bemused seamen.

Whilst Father Andrew busied himself dowsing everything inside the sub with liberal quantities of holy water mumbling about the lack of room inside the infernal machine every time he hit his shins on a bulkhead door, outside was like any other post war day in a British naval dockyard; peaceful! In fact since hostilities had ceased not a shot had been fired nor a battle stations sounded. On a warm and sunny morning such as this the lookout was a prime job to be given and Seaman Splatter had fully intended to make the best of it. Armed only with a tin mug of tea, his paper and his baccie tin he shuffled off to relieve the early watch and do the crossword. At precisely ten o clock the clock began chiming out across the dockyard, the last chime took on an altogether more sinister sound as it appeared to be more like the ‘wump’ of a shell being fired. Seaman Splatter put down his crossword and nervously peered over the top of the lookout wall. He could not believe what he was seeing as the depressingly familiar sight of the fountain of foaming water from an exploding shell spewed forth from an otherwise calm flat sea. Screaming at the top of his voice, partly with excitement and terror at what was unfolding before his eyes and partly because he had just spilled the contents of his tin mug down his leg, "Incoming!" "Incoming!" The sirens screamed out battle stations across the tranquil sea. Seaman Splatter, in his panic to defend King and country, actually it was just blind panic really but it sounded better that way, jumped into the gun house and unleashed three rounds from the big fourteen inch guns on the battleship, aimed with pin point accuracy at nowhere in particular. Then another three, and another as he fought single handedly to defend his country against this foreign invasion, always at the front of his mind was whether this would bring about a commendation and promotion back to the ranks he once enjoyed and away from his much ridiculed name and rank. As others joined in, firing other guns on other ships at anything that dared to be on that stretch of water, it became a quite incredible sight as shells arced across the morning sky in a maritime volley of fire unparalleled in peace time. After the cease fire had been sounded whilst everyone searched the horizon for even the smallest inkling as to where the original shell had come from a stifled giggle was heard to come from what was felt to be one of the tanks on a trailer just inside the dock gate, and was that a little wisp of smoke that could be seen coming from the end of the barrel of the same tank?

A squad of guards arrived and surrounded the tank and a long stand off began with megaphone commands being barked from behind suitable shelter, "Give yourself up!" "Come out with your hands up!" "We have you surrounded!" They tried for half an hour, first in English, then in German and Russian and as a last result Venezuelan. There was no particular reason for that last choice other than the translator was trying to show off. But there was no sign of any mad gunner. After warnings of their imminent entry, in four languages, one hapless Seaman Splatter was sent forward to open the tank turret. His CO telling him it was in punishment for his firing all the big guns out to sea when the real problem was very obviously behind him; although he chose to ignore his own contribution to the affray from the shore battery. So Seaman Splatter was sent forward to open the hatch pointing his gun nervously into the blackness inside trying his best to sound aggressive when commanding the occupant or occupants to come out with their hands above their heads. The overall effect was a little diluted by the stream of urine running down his leg in fear. Still no one appeared, so Seaman Splatter climbed nervously inside only to emerge moments later to report that apart from a spent shell casing the interior was empty. Carruthers was watching the little drama at the tank from a deckchair on the deck of the sub and was applauding loudly when Seaman Splatter emerged from the tank.

Inside the sub, Father Andrew was busily flicking holy water over everything in sight. This was fine and quite harmless until he got to the radar room. With a loud bang and a sort of fizzing sound a small cloud of smoke puffed lazily from the open hatch on the deck and followed by a smoke blackened clergy man. Juliana appeared on deck to enquire as to why all the lights had gone out on board and when seeing the blackened clergyman gave Carruthers a withering stare of accusation although that was the one thing in the past twenty four hours that he genuinely wasn’t responsible for! By sundown the fuses had all been replaced and all valves checked and the King had arrived unannounced to wish his new friend well on his mission and so the decision was made to leave on the evening tide, more for the safety of Portsmouth than for any other reason I suspect. The sub slipped her moorings and left the safety of the harbour and had soon submerged and disappeared from view.