The young man nodded and immediately left to find his colleague.

“Do you think weapons are really necessary?” Jake asked. “I know this is a military vessel, but, you know, ‘no more enemies’ and all that?”

“Can’t be too careful. If they turn out to be friendly, then there’s no harm done eh?”

They continued to the conning tower in silence. Jake couldn’t help but feel a sense of excited anticipation at finding a sign of life, the first since seeing the Ambush rise majestically out of a Norwegian fjord. Who knew what stories the survivors would have to tell? How had they escaped death? What could they learn from them?

“After you then, sir!” Coote said jovially. They had reached the ladder that led to the hatch at the top of the tower.

Jake began to climb. At the top he knocked a couple of times. The hatch was kept closed while they were sailing, to keep spray out. Seconds after knocking, it popped open and Brian’s face peered inside. Jake mounted the final few rungs and clambered out onto the top of the fin with Coote following.

They spotted the raft immediately. In the time they had taken to get outside they were almost upon it.

“Ah, here come the boys now,” Coote said as Eric and Ewan emerged from the top of the tower. “Right then, shall we? Eric, you take the lead, Ewan can follow us up. Bring a rope hook with you.”

The first submariner clambered onto the walkway connecting the two vessels and made his way to the middle. Coote and Jake followed.

“Are you sure this is going to hold all four of us?” Jake asked, nervous once again.

“How many passengers have you seen piling down this ramp when you’re docked?” Coote asked, chuckling.

“Crowds of them. But never with the ramp stretched over such a distance.”

“Relax, it will be fine. And anyway, we’re hardly moving now. If it gives way, we won’t have far to swim!”

It was true that they had almost come to a complete stop. Jason’s instructions were clearly spot on. They were lined up in such a way that they were going to straddle the raft. It was already level with the bow of the Spirit of Arcadia. As the ship slipped slowly and silently through the water, it was as if they were scooping the raft out of the sea.

“Ready, chaps? Stand by with that hook!” Coote called.

“Over the top…” Jake said to himself.

“Indeed, old boy! Indeed!”

The raft was now almost directly under the walkway. The photonics mast on the submarine was turning slowly, watching its progress, Jason no doubt relaying directions to the bridge of the ship. There was a sudden roaring sound of propellers reversing, sending a jet of blue-green wash streaming up to the surface and towards the bow. The bubbling water sent the raft away from the walkway, but as momentum carried the ship forwards further, it bobbed back towards them.

“Ewan, it’s all yours!” Coote shouted to make himself heard over the sound of the last remnants of propeller wash.

The young submariner leaned out over the walkway as far as he could, the rope hook extended. He shuffled sideways, back towards the Ambush, and with a well-practiced and deft swipe, hooked the top of the bright orange canopy that covered the raft.

“Good shot, old chap, well done! Let’s bring her alongside, see who’s in there.”

The three other men rallied around Ewan. Eric held a rifle at the ready, just in case. Jake was getting worried; still nobody had emerged from the canopy. Whoever was inside was either immobile, unconscious, or just plain scared.

Brian had watched the rescue effort from his position on the conning tower. He grabbed another rope hook and climbed down the ladder on the outside of the massive fin, positioning himself just under the walkway. Only the tower and the very top of the submarine were exposed, so he was almost at sea level. As Ewan brought the raft close in, Brian grabbed it with his own hook and pulled it alongside. Within a minute the rest of the team were standing with him. Still, nobody had emerged from the canopy.

“Hello? Anyone in there? I’m Captain Coote of HMS Ambush. Terrible name, don’t let it put you off; we’re a friendly bunch really. Do come out and say hello!”

They waited, but the only response was silence.

“Ewan, perhaps you would do the honours?” Coote said. “Eric, you know what to do.”

Jake instinctively moved out of the way, letting Eric aim his rifle directly at the split in the canopy. The submariners nodded to each other, and Ewan extended his rope hook and carefully peeled open the bright orange fabric. All five men leaned in to see who, or what, was inside.

• • •

Excited voices chattered in the passageway. Scott tried to make out what they were saying, but he was too far from the cabin door to hear properly. Besides, the layers of conversations piled on top of one another, making it impossible to pick any one out and follow it. One word kept being repeated, and that word was ‘raft.’ He had no idea why a raft would cause such confabulation, and neither did he care. People were outside, and that meant help was at hand.

“Help me! Please, somebody help me!” he shouted as loud as he could, expecting assistance to burst through the door any second.

Nobody came.

Whatever this raft business was about, it was holding the attention of anyone and everyone who might possibly hear his cries. Doors were banging as people returned to their cabins, or went back outside to see what the fuss was about. He feared that he didn’t have long before the corridor would once again fall quiet. With a firm grip on the arms of the chair in which he was seated, he pulled himself forwards until he tumbled out and came crashing to the floor. The deep blue carpet was designed more to last the wear and tear of a thousand pairs of feet than for comfort, or soft landings, and Scott knew he’d have bruises in the morning. He tried pushing himself onto his hands and knees, but his legs refused to respond. Spurred on by the decreasing sound level, he thrust his arms out ahead of him and began to pull himself along the floor, legs dragging uselessly behind him.

“Erica? Andrea? Someone? Anyone! Help me, please help me! I’m in cabin 849. Please, help!”

The room wasn’t much bigger than the two beds which dominated it, and although Scott had felt a flush of disappointment upon first entering it at the beginning of the cruise, now he was thankful for its diminutive proportions. Still hauling himself forwards by his fingertips, he soon made it to the door. He reached up and found the chrome handle. The door fell open, and with a grunt he heaved his way through.

The hallway was quieter but there were still people milling about. Passengers were exchanging theories and stories about other survivors. Scott wasn’t interested in listening though, he was crying out urgently, waiting to be noticed.

“Please! Someone help me!”

“Gosh, do you think that man has had too much to drink?” he heard a young woman say.

“I’d like to know where he got it if he has. I’m sick of orange juice and desalinated seawater!” another voice replied, provoking a chorus of agreement.

“Daddy! What’s wrong?”

Scott heard his daughter’s voice cut through the hubbub, but couldn’t see her. Then an elderly couple were pushed apart, and Erica burst through the crowd, running towards him.

“What’s wrong, Daddy? I’m scared! What’s wrong?”

“It’s okay, my angel, daddy’s just a bit sick. I need you to be a big, brave girl for me. I need you to find the doctor. One of these people will help you,” he said, raising his voice, the people around no longer able to ignore the scene playing out on the floor.

“Help my daddy! Somebody help my daddy!” Erica shrieked. The sound of the stricken child finally provoked action, and within seconds a crowd had rallied around to assist Scott at last.