A soft thunder came to Bond and Gala. Louder. Louder. The tiled floor began to tremble under their feet. A hurricane scream. They were being pulverized by it. The walls were quaking, steaming. Their legs began going out of control under their teetering bodies. Hold her up. Hold her up. Stop it! Stop it!! STOP THAT NOISE!!!
Christ, he was going to faint. The water was boiling. Must turn it off. Got it. No. Pipe’s burst. Steam, smell, iron, paint.
Get her out! Get her out!! Get her out!!!
And then there was silence. Silence you could feel, hold, squeeze. And they were on the floor of Drax’s office. Only the light in the bathroom still shining out. And the smoke’s clearing. And the filthy smell of burning iron and paint. Being sucked out by the air-conditioner. And the steel wall is bent towards them like a huge blister. Gala’s eyes are open and she’s smiling. But the rocket. What happened? London? North Sea? The radio. Looks all right. He shook his head and the deafness slowly cleared. He remembered the soap. Gouged it out.
“… through the sound barrier. Travelling perfectly right in the centre of the radar screen. A perfect launching. Afraid you couldn’t hear anything because of the noise. Terrific. First of all the great sheet of flame coming out of the cliff from the exhaust pit and then you should have seen the nose slowly creep up out of the dome. And there she was like a great silver pencil. Standing upright on this huge column of flame and slowly climbing into the air and the flame splashing for hundreds of yards over the concrete. The howl of the thing must have nearly burst our microphones. Great bits have fallen off the cliff and the concrete looks like a spider’s web. Terrible vibration. And then she was climbing faster and faster. A hundred miles an hour. A thousand. And,” he broke off, “what’s that you say? Really! And now she’s travelling at over ten thousand miles an hour! She’s three hundred miles up. Can’t hear her any more, of course. We could only see her flame for a few seconds. Like a star. Sir Hugo must be a proud man. He’s out there in the Channel now. The submarine went off like a rocket, haha, must be doing more than thirty knots. Throwing up a huge wake. Off the East Goodwins now. Travelling north. She’ll soon be up with the patrol ships. They’ll have a view of the launching and of the landing. Quite a. surprise trip that. No one here had an inkling. Even the naval authorities seem a bit mystified. C-in-G Nore has been on the telephone. But now that’s all I can tell you from here and I’ll hand you over to Peter Trimble on board HMS Merganzer somewhere off the East Coast.”
Nothing but the pumping lungs showed that the two limp bodies in the creeping pool of water on the floor were still alive, but their battered ear-drums were desperately clinging to the crackle of static that came briefly from the blistered metal cabinet. Now for the verdict on their work.
“And this is Peter Trimble speaking. It’s a beautiful morning, I mean-er-afternoon here. Just north of the Good win Sands. Calm as a millpond. No wind. Bright sunshine. And the target area is reported clear of shipping. Is that right, Commander Edwards? Yes, the Captain says it’s quite clear. Nothing on the radar screens yet. I’m not allowed to tell you the range we shall pick her up at. Security and all that. But we shall only catch the rocket for a split second. Isn’t that right, Captain? But the target’s just showing on the screen. Out of sight from the bridge, of course. Must be seventy miles north of here. We could see the Moonraker going up. Terrific sight. Noise like thunder. Long flame coming out of the tail. Must have been ten miles away but you couldn’t miss the light. Yes, Captain? Oh yes, I see. Well, that’s very interesting. Big submarine coming up fast. Only about a mile away. Suppose it’s the one they say Sir Hugo’s aboard with his men. None of us here were told anything about her. Captain Edwards says she doesn’t answer the Aldis lamp. Not flying colours. Very mysterious. I’ve got her now. Quite clear in my glasses. We’ve changed course to intercept her. Captain says she isn’t one of ours. Thinks she must be a foreigner. Hullo! She’s broken out her colours. What’s that? Good heavens. The Captain says she’s a Russian. I say! And now she’s hauled down her colours and she’s submerging. Bang. Did you hear that? We fired a shot across her bows. But she’s disappeared. What’s that? The asdic operator says she’s going even faster under water. Twenty-five knots. Terrific. Well, she can’t see much under water. But she’s right in the target area now. Twelve minutes past noon. The Moonraker must have turned and be on her way down. A thousand miles up. Coming down at ten thousand miles an hour. She’ll be here any second now. Hope there’s not going to be a tragedy. The Russian’s well inside the danger zone. The radar operator’s holding up his hand. That means she’s due. She’s coming. She’s COMING…. Whew!