Paths of Courage (12 page)

Hugging the rugged south Chilean coastline in the shoals, 150 nautical miles and fifteen hours later, K449 cautiously approached the narrow stretch of water between Penin and Brecknock Islands at the western end of the sixty-mile long, gently curving, doglegged Cockburn Channel. It was deemed necessary from here on in to make way at periscope depth to see where they were going and to lessen the use of active sonar to detect underwater objects in their path. Since his encounter with the American submarine, Captain Kamani worried that even in these back channels and waterways, enemy submarines could be lurking. He worried too that American military satellite coverage may even exist in these more remote regions to detect the wake of the periscope as it sliced through the cold, grey waters. However, the likelihood of submarines outweighed the presence of satellites.

“Proceed to periscope depth,” he ordered.

Minutes later, “Up periscope.”

The hiss of hydraulics faded and the viewer came to eye level. Captain Kamani lowered the bar grips and looked through the lens for the first time on leaving Heard Island.

Morning sunshine bathed the green slopes of the two islands to the fore and beyond them the white-capped mountains filled the lens in a blue grey-haze as they rose majestically out from the sea. This was indeed a stark and beautiful land, lost in splendid isolation and a far cry from the brown desert regions where he was born.

“Come left 2 degrees. Reduce speed to five knots. Keep her trim,” said the captain as he lined up K449 to go through the centre of the narrow channel between the islands. He was thankful he had more than 400 feet of water below him and would have much more once he was through.

Fifteen minutes later, they came out of the 1,000-foot wide stretch of water into the main Cockburn Channel without a hitch and continued on a westward course at periscope depth, increasing speed to ten knots. Before them, the channel widened to three miles or so. Steep slopes of the surrounding mountains formed a corridor dominating the scene, plunging straight down to the channel floor some 1,400 feet below the water's surface. The charts gave no indication of dangerous land formations below the surface, but nevertheless Captain Kamani was taking no chances. He ordered intermittent use of active sonar to ensure no underwater rocky outcrops lay in their path. The deep waters created a confusion of currents, strong and treacherous, and course corrections had to be continuously made. Both the captain and his XO shared the periscope making sure they kept to the middle of the channel at all times. However, as they progressed down the stretch of water, becoming more accustomed to the tidal currents, they allowed themselves to relax a little and even enjoy, to a certain extent, what they could see of this foreign land through the periscope lens.

Several hours later, after bisecting the southern Andes, K449 reached the dogleg three quarters of the way through the Cockburn Channel. Captain Kamani ordered left full rudder to proceed on a northerly course into a broadening stretch of steel-grey waters as the evening shadows began to dim the horizon. The lens displayed fading sunlight, illuminating the snow-capped peaks of Mount Hurt on the starboard side and Mount Vernal to port. Once past these craggy sentinels, K449 would enter the much broader reaches of the central Magellan Strait.

Three hours later they entered the Strait from the south, opposite the Brunswick Peninsular some twenty miles in the distance, with the large Dawson Island one mile to starboard. Here at the bottom point of the Magellan's own dogleg, where the narrower arm to the Pacific joined the much broader arm stretching northeast, K449 turned into the broader arm that led to the Atlantic. The Portuguese explorer Ferdinand Magellan discovered the Strait in 1520. Once a popular trade route for sailing ships from the Atlantic into the Pacific as an alternative to navigating the dangerous waters around Cape Horn, it was now used mostly by scientific expeditions and tourist cruisers.

After sharing time between the Magellan maritime charts and the periscope, Captain Kamani and Lieutenant Zaha now studied the charts together.

“One hundred and eighty miles to the Atlantic,” said the captain. “At fifteen knots, we should be there in less than twelve hours.”

“The narrows here could be a problem,” said the lieutenant, pointing to a neck one mile wide and six miles long, two-thirds the way up the Strait between broad stretches of water. These were named St Phillip Bay and De Lomas Bay, the latter being at the mouth leading into the Atlantic.

“Better than when we entered the Cockburn Channel,” said the captain.

“I agree, but the chart indicates depths of only around 200 feet.”

“Lieutenant, we have no alternative but to go through,” Kamani said sharply. “Our problem will be entering the Atlantic in about the same depth of water.”

The XO shrugged. “That depth could expose us to anyone on shore; the eastern end is far more populated than the more remote west. The map indicates it is the closest point to the mainland from the island of Tierra del Fuego. Ferries must operate here and ferries mean people.”

The captain replied with finality. “We're going through.”

The lieutenant nodded acceptance and looked back down at the chart.

“There is a large township here,” Zaha said, pointing to a position halfway up the northeast arm on the western side.

“Punta Arenas,” shot the captain. “The most southerly city in the world; population: about 150,000.”

“Could mean surface activity.”

“Probably; the Strait is twenty miles across at that point. We will stick to the centre. When we pass, it will be in darkness. I doubt if there will be any activity at that time.”

“Deep water runs out at that point too,” shot Zaha. “Depths range from 600 feet to 150 at the mouth.”

“Let us hope an American sub is not waiting at the mouth. 150 does not leave much cover and even less to manoeuvre.”

The two men lapsed into silence as they continued to study the chart, then a few minutes later, the captain rubbed both eyes with the heel of his hands and said, “I will rest now; wake me when we reach the city.”

In a little over three hours, Kamani was back in the control room. He was rested as much as a man could be after a series of catnaps. He ordered the periscope up. In the distance, on the port beam, he could see the twinkling lights of Punta Arenas above the moonlit surface of the Strait. He then swung the scope 360 degrees slowly, the lens displaying land and sea in shades of darkness caught by the light of the full moon. He concluded that all was clear with nothing impeding their path. In approximately eight hours, they would be in the Atlantic.

Through the wide stretch they cruised at fifteen knots, fifty feet below the surface, on past Elizabeth Island, sweeping right into a narrow seven-mile wide channel that ran for some fifteen miles, before broadening out once again into St Phillip Bay. Here in this much more open expanse of water, Captain Kamani increased speed to twenty knots, heading direct for the narrowest part of the entire Strait twenty-eight miles dead ahead.

At the increased speed, K449 soon reached the one-mile strip of water separating Chile from Tierra del Fuego, reduced rate of knots to seven and promptly entered the narrow channel on a middle course. Dawn had all but broken as Captain Kamani ordered the periscope down and prepared to wait out the six-mile run.

“Captain – sonar. Go active.”

“Aye, sonar.”

The hollow pinging sound of the sonar, seeking underwater obstacles that may be in their path, rose above the quiet murmurings of the crew as they went about their business guiding K449 down the 150 to 200-foot deep channel.

Then, when they were one third along the narrows,

“Surface contact. Bearing zero-four-five. Range five miles. Speed fifteen knots.”

Captain Kamani leapt from the command seat.

“Up periscope.”

Seconds later he had eye to the viewer and in the cold light of a clear dawn, he observed a cruise liner, lights ablaze, coming straight at him down the centre of the channel from around the starboard headland. He guessed it to be 40,000 tons, or more, with a probable draft in excess of forty feet. That kind of depth would create a major underwater surge, sufficient to do them damage if the ship came too close in this relatively narrow channel. He quickly calculated they had less than ten minutes to get out of the way.

“Left 3 degrees. Increase speed to ten knots. Take her down one hundred.”

“Aye, sir,” said the helmsman, then repeated the order.

K449 responded immediately and began to descend on the course change.

Two minutes later the helmsman called, “Seabed rising. One hundred… Seventy-five… Fifty.”

“Level off!” Kamani ordered urgently.

They were now so close to the shoreline the seabed was rapidly rising to meet it.

“Captain – sonar. Contact course two-two-five. Speed unchanged. Range 1,000 yards and closing.”

“Captain, aye,” acknowledged Kamani, now seriously concerned that the liner had changed course to come closer to the shoreline that he was running parallel with. If the liner kept on coming, it would effectively squeeze him up against the shore. He calculated there would be less than 500 feet between them if the liner remained on its present course, and he could get no closer to the shore at the time that they were passing.

“Come to periscope depth – all haste. Rise with the seabed. Keep your depth ten feet clear. Maintain periscope depth.”

One minute later, “Up periscope.”

“Captain – sonar. Contact course unchanged. Speed unchanged. Range 500 yards.”

The periscope hissed into position; Kamani grabbed at the cross grips and hurriedly looked through the viewer, heart leaping upon seeing the big liner fill the lens; it was almost upon them. They were now so close into the shoreline with no more room to manoeuvre in the 1,500 feet that separated the two vessels. If he did not react immediately to the danger, K449 would effectively be crushed against the steeply rising channel bed.

“Flank speed!” he all but screamed, praying the seabed rose evenly and had no uncharted obstacles along its course.

K449 surged forward at full speed like a startled fish, her hull scraping the seabed in the frantic effort to escape the fast narrowing confines, wobbling sharply as the underwater turbulence of both ships met when the liner passed only 200 feet away to starboard.

They made it to safety, but only by the smallest of margins.

“Reduce speed to ten knots,” ordered a relieved Captain Kamani once out of the narrow channel and into De Lomas Bay. “All sections check and report on damage.”

Those on the bridge of the cruise liner had noticed the sudden surge of water forming a bow wave to starboard for no apparent reason. The duty officer duly logged it and continued his watch, wondering if perhaps that could have been a sub, but immediately discounted it on the grounds that it was unlikely for one to be here in the Strait and so close to the shore.

Soon reports came back to Captain Kamani that no damage had occurred to K449 and all was intact, apart from superficial damage to the hull, which in no way weakened its structural integrity according to the monitoring equipment. The captain was again relieved and thanked Allah for their good fortune. However, he would have preferred a visual check of the hull, but there was no time for that. He worried too that someone on the liner may have seen the swell caused by the sudden burst of underwater speed so close to the surface.

De Lomas Bay was the last stretch of water before entering the Atlantic forty miles eastwards through the seventeen mile wide mouth between Point Catalina on the south side and Point Dungeness on the north. According to the charts, water depth there ranged from between 150 to 200 feet. If the mouth was patrolled, and Kamani had no reason to believe otherwise based on what they had experienced at the other end, they could expect a passage fraught with danger and this time there would be no alternative route to take.

“We will go in as close as we can to the northern shore and creep around this head at no more than five knots,” said the captain to his XO, running his finger over the chart and placing it down on Dungeness Point. “And pray to Allah we get lost in shore noise to anyone listening.”

Four hours later, K449 arrived without mishap at Dungeness Point and edged slowly around the headland, two miles offshore, heading north into the Atlantic and keeping as close as she dared to the coastline. Once well away from the mouth, a sense of profound relief overcame Captain Kamani and his crew, knowing that they had come through the Magellan Strait and into the Atlantic Ocean unscathed. They gave thanks to Allah for deliverance and the heightened opportunity now to strike at the very heart of the infidel for the glory of Islam.

From a well-concealed vantage point overlooking gulag Camp 19, Ryder focused his binoculars on the oblong-shaped camp below, enclosed by a double line of five-yard high mesh fencing topped with barbed-wire. From what he could make out, the compound covered a very large area surrounded by dense forest. The smell of sewage and wood smoke hung heavily in the air. Lines of single-storey rectangular army-style barracks were laid out in a regular pattern for as far as the eye could see. To the left, on the shorter western end immediately below them stood the main gate, the administration buildings and what Ryder assumed to be a large hall. In the early evening light, from their elevated position, they could clearly make out inmates milling around the timber huts, guards at the entrance and a group of fifteen to twenty inmates being herded into the hall. One of them had been set upon by several guards and was being beaten mercilessly.

“Jesus!” spat Chol. “Those fuckers are animals.”

The others murmured in agreement, except Grace, who could not bring herself to watch.

“Could that group be going out tonight?” Bom questioned.

“Maybe,” Ryder answered. “If they do, we'll follow. In the meantime, we wait.”

“Risky – could be hours, even days,” said Chol.

“We have no choice. We must stay close and hope that group leaves tonight.”

“Greg's right, boss, we can't afford to hang around,” pressed Song.

“We wait,” Ryder snapped, hoping like hell it would be short-lived. Food was low and it would present a high risk of discovery to wait too long.

As light began to fade, they watched the camp inmates settle in for the night. They had a clear view of the entrance and the detention centre, and could observe all movements in that particular area, especially the side of the centre where the inmates entered and left. Dusk soon settled over the gulag, bathed by a near-full moon and pools of yellow light from flood lamps. It was warm with a gentle breeze ruffling the trees. Ryder stood first watch whilst the others tried to get what rest they could.

One hour into the watch the doors to the centre suddenly opened, spilling out yellow light and a group of thirty inmates. They were made to line up in two columns not far from the entrance. Relief washed over Ryder. He awoke the others and they quickly gathered up their belongings and followed him down the slope.

Once at the bottom, concealed in the bush near the gulag entrance, they silently waited to see what would happen next. The two lines of inmates had not moved since coming out of the detention centre; they just stood obediently to attention under the lights and watchful eyes of the guards. Could this be a punishment of some kind? Or maybe an exercise for the sadistic pleasure of the guards? Ryder hoped and prayed it was to move them out of the compound to a lab somewhere in the surrounding hills.

A frail woman collapsed in the front line. The man behind bent down to help and was brutally beaten for his compassion. The woman, too, suffered the boot severely as she lay on the ground. Ryder and the others winced at the severity of the beatings. It ended when an officer emerged from the nearby administration building, barked orders and the two lines marched out through the gates. The woman was left where she lay.

Could they be heading for some subterranean laboratory? The location at least was in the right area, according to the briefing. The odds of two bio-labs, separately established in the same vicinity, seemed unlikely. Was their luck holding?

The group stealthily followed in the thick bush, keeping a safe distance from the two columns flanked on both sides by guards. Song led the group whilst Ryder remained at the rear to ensure Grace kept up in the darkness and did not fall foul of unseen obstacles. She had endured much in the way of danger, privation and gruelling activity since landing on the beach with hardly a complaint and, as each day passed, his admiration for her tenacity and courage grew. No matter how much he felt protective towards her, she could soon be on her own facing a far greater danger than he could possibly imagine.

After roughly four miles, the columns suddenly turned onto a spur road hidden by trees that formed a tunnel along a short but shallow valley before coming to an abrupt halt in front of a sheer rock wall.

The group ventured as close as they dared and in the soft moonlight filtering through the tree canopy they could just make out arched wooden doors set in the rock face about four yards wide and six yards high. They waited to see what would happen next.

“Can this be it?” Chol whispered, his rounded features taut and focused intently on the doors.

“Trees block the sats – the cunning bastards,” Bom spat.

Less than a minute later, a door inset into the larger one opened and a uniformed man stepped out and went over to the officer in charge. A few quick words were exchanged and he raised an arm.

The two doors slowly slid open. Once they had fully parted, the two columns were marched through.

From where they hid, Ryder could see from the yellow light within the entrance cavern a series of small huts, which he guessed were the guard house facilities. Beyond these, a narrow passage led down to what appeared to be a further set of double doors in the distance. The front doors began to close. Ryder decided it was too risky to hang around so close to this entry, so he quietly led his team deeper in amongst the trees to be swallowed up by the blackness of the forest.