"It now seems fairly clear," says the submarine captain, "that the explosion lifted up our stern... we struck the wreck of one of the ships which were bombed and sunk around here earlier in the war... we've lost thirty-six of our mates, we're holed forr'ard and aft and I believe we're now resting on top of the wreck after crashing into her superstructure."
Such is the situation of S.14 in the English Channel a year after the start of World War II. She has evidently been struck by 'a new type of anti-sweeping device,' and having landed on a previous wreck is now lying in eighty-seven and a half feet instead of one hundred and twenty feet. How are the surviving officers and men - including the captain, the engineer, and the doctor - to get out of this sunken death-trap? Meanwhile, ashore, Commander Gates, in command of the Flotilla, is telephoning all over the place to get salvage ships and gear. Is the case urgent enough to warrant breaking a wartime regulation?
But this is not a play about Naval regulations or Naval technicalities: it is a play about men face to face with death, and their reactions to that terrible situation.
(Stephen Williams)