In the cold early evening light of Autumn, we stare out across the hostile battle ground. Constantly changing , always in motion. One minute your friend, the next a greater enemy than your foe.
Somewhere out there ahead of us in the immense grey mountains lies the foe. Not lying in wait, but running hard with the wind behind them. Intent on reaching safety before they can be caught.
Three adversaries, identical in every way. One, the young bull charging, pushing hard, a desperate need to win. The other determined, ruthless and tireless; an athlete used to long hard races. Of the two the more determined foe.
As for us, we are the hunter force, biding our time, closing quietly and with extreme prejudice. Our skipper; wise beyond his years, a strategist and helmsman extraordinaire. The Mate; Young, dynamic and driven. A great combination; energy and drive, control and empathy.
We, the crew; conscripts, a mix from every walk of life yet the same really. Excited, frightened, anxious and ready to serve and support these two warriors of the sea and their cause. Driven on by a desire to win the respect of the previous crew, we will not submit but will fight to the end.
Petrels patrol the skies in fighter pairs. Skimming low, flying between the waves then up, banking this way and that way – effortlessly.
“Torpedo starboard quarter” goes the shout. “and another.” Two trails of light and foam streak towards us out of the gloom. 30 metres. 10metres. Then at the last minute these dark shapes trailing phosphorescence in their wake turn; flash past us then draw alongside. A fin breaks the surface. A few clicks and squawks reach our ears, our dolphin escort is back.
We feel safe. Indescribable pleasure comes from watching these creatures of beauty and grace. They play and frolic in our wake for a while. Hopefully they gain as much pleasure from their rendezvous’ with us as we did them.
Just like us these hunter- killers of the deep have a greater purpose and their sleek beauty cloaks their fit for task. They peel off to the south in search of another encounter. Maybe with our foe, who knows? Perhaps they too deserve some moments of pleasure. To change their thoughts from those of complacency and /or dread when they look over their shoulder at the dark shape astern.
“Steer 090. Distance to target 43 miles and closing” “I love the smell of porridge in the morning ... smells like victory!”
GMP
October 2002
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