In the film the sailors were down deep in their submarine<\/p>\n

Hunted hunters or hunting, it was hard to tell<\/p>\n

Under the water and oil and blood and fire<\/p>\n

If not honour. The destroyer was closing in fast<\/p>\n

Dropping depth charges, the twin screws churning<\/p>\n

The water above the submariners\u2019 heads,<\/p>\n

Cavitation whining, foreheads furrowed,<\/p>\n

Woollies on, tense glances while they had to keep silent<\/p>\n

Or they\u2019d never hear the ping on the hydrophones<\/p>\n

That would tell them who was where.<\/p>\n

It was just a film<\/p>\n

But it made me think of you and I and how<\/p>\n

When we met we were both quiet,<\/p>\n

Talking almost in whispers<\/p>\n

One voice loud enough for both of us to share<\/p>\n

When the pings of our sonar echoed back to each other faster<\/p>\n

And faster as we got closer until nobody could really hear<\/p>\n

Any difference in the two beats, the ping meeting the echo<\/p>\n

In one long high sound that almost hurt to listen to it.<\/p>\n

It never lasts long, that sound.<\/p>\n

They dived deep to get away from the ship hunting them;<\/p>\n

Only one option in the face of the evident danger.<\/p>\n

The ludicrous flaw in this whole arrangement<\/p>\n

The deeper you go the longer it takes for the depth charges<\/p>\n

To reach you but because of the pressure all around,<\/p>\n

Going deep, running silent, when they find you<\/p>\n

The bolts shear more easily and the red lightbulbs smash<\/p>\n

With the concussion, the rivets groaning as you look at each other<\/p>\n

And wonder looking, each knock -Is this it? Is this the end?<\/p>\n

Is that the tap on the hull that\u2019s going to crush this all around us?<\/p>\n

This blast of smashing cold that\u2019s going to take our breath away?<\/p>\n

And somehow it never is. It\u2019s just that now the hunt\u2019s over<\/p>\n

And there\u2019s so much time between each ping, each echo of you,<\/p>\n

The air getting stale somehow, the signal fading<\/p>\n

And so hard to even get a clear fix on your direction<\/p>\n

These days, these nights, I miss the sound of that one long joining<\/p>\n

Of that separated out again to two different pulses,<\/p>\n

Longer now between each one. And longer still each time.<\/p>\n

The sounds the ships make sinking, on the screen,<\/p>\n

Their bulkheads blowing as they make the last voyage to the bottom.<\/p>\n

It sounds like a scream. As if they had real feelings.<\/p>\n

Then the longer silences now and just the echo of you fading too,<\/p>\n

Contact broken, skipper. I think she\u2019s gone,<\/p>\n

However much I listen, my fingers twisting the dials,<\/p>\n

Still here in the quiet, searching, headphones on.<\/p>\n

Keep it down in the engine room. They can hear us miles away<\/p>\n

On a night like this. But I can’t really hear your echo at all.<\/p>\n

We can come up to the surface now. I think we\u2019re in the clear again.<\/p>\n