Kemp looked up, his eyes rimmed with fatigue. ‘Just two of them?’
Aikman gave a grave smile. ‘It stands to reason that if two of them have gone to earth the other will be close behind.’ He shrugged. ‘If not, I imagine the Home Fleet can take care of that bugger!’
Kemp thrust the pad to-Squire. ‘You do it, will you?’
‘I said as much to Pilot.’ Aikman yawned hugely. ‘When he got me out of my pit at the crack of. dawn. Still, — there you are.’
He walked to a salt-stained scuttle and peered down at the leaping, jarring wave crests. It was just past noon, yet the sky was dull grey, like a London fog in winter. He watched the rivulets of spray running down the glass and freezing into small distorted worms.
‘Nasty. But I’ve seen worse.’
Behind his back Squire looked up and grinned. Pompous twit. Sounded like a proper old sea-dog. He lowered his head again and reached for his pencil. Squire had been a merchant seaman, but now that he was officially in the Royal Navy for the duration of the war was — as determined as Aikman to better himself. There the similarity ended. He was a dark haired seaman of twentyeight years, with the quiet good looks of a scholar rather — than a sailor. He had worked hard and had gained the coveted appointment as Stannard’s personal yeoman, astep, as the Australian had explained more than once, which would land him a bit of gold lace if he kept his nose clean. So there it was.
He paused, the pencil in mid air. He was too tired. Too worn out by the cold and damp of his endless visits to the bridge. He tried again.
As Aikman walked across the passage to visit the W/T office Squire said quietly, ‘These two Jerry ships, sir. How can they be in the Skagerrak?’
Kemp, who had been brooding about his father and their last angry confrontation, turned and looked at him warily. ‘Why not?’
Squire studied him thoughtfully. He liked Kemp, but as an officer he was bloody useless.
Patiently he said, ‘If three of them left Tromso last night, how can two have reached as far south as Denmark in that time?’ He put down the pencil. ‘It’s not possible, sir, unless they grew wings!’
Aikman’s voice was loud in the passageway and Squire said, ‘You’d better tell him, sir. It could be important.’
‘Tell him what?’ Aikman was back, smiling at them with assured ease.
Kemp looked at the signal pad. ‘The yeoman says that these ships could not have reached the Skagerrak so quickly, sir.’
‘What?’ Aikman was still smiling. ‘That’s bloody rubbish; lad.’ He crossed to the table. ‘If their lordships tell us they’ve got there, then who are we to question them, eh?’ He laughed. ‘Would you like me to make a special signal to the First Sea Lord? Tell him that Mr Midshipman Kemp and Acting Able Seaman Squire are of the opinion his information is all to hell?’
Kemp dropped his eyes. ‘I was only saying what Squire interrupted, ‘I think you should check the original signal, sir.’
‘Do you?’ Aikman felt a sudden twinge of alarm. They were all reacting wrongly. He was losing control. ‘As it happens, Squire, I do not require any advice on my department!V
‘Sir.’ Squire looked away, hurt and suddenly angry. What the hell was the matter with Aikman? He glanced at Kemp’s strained face. And he was little better. He should have spoken out, done the job Stannard had entrusted him with.
He said stubbornly, ‘When the navigating officer returns, sir, I shall have to tell him.’
‘You do that small thing, Squire!’ Aikman shot him a withering stare. ‘I may have some things to tell him, too!’ He stamped out of the chart room and slammed the door.
Kemp shrugged. ‘Phew, you’ve really upset him now.’
Squire did not look at him. The first thing he had done wrong. Spoken out against an officer. He must be mad. Even Stannard would be unable to wipe that from his record.
At that very moment Stannard was standing beside Lindsay’s tall chair, his eyes fixed beyond the bows and the steady panorama of cruising wave crests.
He said, ‘Well, sir, I have to tell you thatwe should make a turn. Even allowing for dead reckoning and little else, I’m sure we’re miles over our patrol line.’
Lindsay nodded slowly: Stannard was right, of course. All the forenoon as he had sat or paced the creaking, staggering bridge he had listened to the intermittent stream of incoming signals. The convoy had made another turn to westward, its commodore apparently satisfied the U-boats had given up the chase. There had been several reports of ice to the south and south-east of Cape Farewell from the American ice patrols, but every captain had to be prepared to take avoiding action in these waters.
He replied, ‘Well, if anything had happened we’d have been better placed to go and assist.’ It sounded as lame as he knew it was.
Aikman strode on to the bridge and reported, ‘Two enemy units have been sighted in their own waters, sir. The third is still unaccounted for.’
Stannard grinned. ‘That settles it then. I’ll go and lay off a new course.’
Lindsay glanced at Dancy. ‘Ring for half speed.’
He settled down again in the chair and thought of the convoy and the party of Wrens who were probably quite unaware of their momentary danger.
He realised that Aikman was still beside him, and when he turned saw his face was deathly pale, as if he was going to bee sick. ‘What’s wrong?’
Aikman spoke between his teeth. ‘There’s been a mistake, sir. Not important now as the enemy ships are back in safe waters, but Lindsay asked, ‘What sort of mistake?’
‘I was called here this morning and told to decode that first signal.’ He- was speaking mechanically, as,if he had lost control over his voice. ‘I was tired, I’d been overworking, you see, sir, and I must have confused the times of origin.
Lindsay gripped the arms of the chair. ‘You did what?’
‘Well, sir, it was just a small slip.’ A bead of sweat ran from under Aikman’s cap. ‘But the three German ships left Tromso twenty-eight hours earlier than I calculated.’
Lindsay saw Dancy watching him over the gyro, his face like a mask.
‘But two of them are back in their own waters.’ Lindsay forced himself to speak gently, knowing Aikman was near breaking. ‘Is that part right?’
Aikman nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
The sliding door at the rear of the wheelhouse crashed open and Stannard said harshly, ‘Own waters be damned! They’re in the Skagerrak, and that was how Squire knew he,’ Stannard pointed angrily at Aikman’s rigid shoulders, ‘had made a cock of the decoding!’
‘Easy, Pilot!’ Lindsay slid from the. chair, his mind working wildly. ‘This won’t help anything.’
Stannard crossed the bridge and said to Aikman, ‘You stupid bastard! Why the hell did you take so long to find out?’
Aikman faced him, his lips ashen. ‘Well, they’re back now, so what are you trying to make trouble for?’ Lindsay’s voice silenced all of them. ‘In twenty-eight
hours quite a lot might have happened.’ He looked at Stannard. ‘See what,you can find out about the convoy.’ Then he looked at Aikman. ‘I just hope to God I’m wrong. If not, you’d better start praying!’
Aikman walked from the wheelhouse, his eyes unseeing as Stannard came back from the W/T office.
He said quietly, ‘Convoy is now steering two-seven-five, sir. Fifteen knots. Should pass within fifty miles of our southernmost leg at 2000.’
Lindsay waited, knowing there was more.
‘A Swedish freighter reported sighting an unidentified ship in the Denmark Strait the night before last, sir. That is all the information: available.’
Lindsay walked past him and gripped the rail beneath a clearview screen. Almost to himself he said, ‘So while every available ship is out searching for the three from Tromso, one other slips quietly through the Denmark Strait. He’s been there, sitting patiently and waiting while the U-boats did the hard part for him.’ He swung round on Stannard and slammed one fist into his palm. ‘Like beasts to the slaughter!’