Lindsay clenched his fingers to steady himself. Fifteen miles. It might as well be double that amount.
Stannard was by his side again. ‘We’re a lot closer than I calculated, sir.’ He seemed to sense Lindsay’s despair and added, ‘We might still be. able to help.’
Another bright flash against the unmoving backcloth. This time it seemed to last for several minutes so that they could see the underbellies of the clouds shining and flickering as if touched by the fires below.
Out there ships were burning and men were dying. Lindsay stared at the shimmering light with sudden anguish. It had been so well planned, with the methodical accuracy of an assassination.
The fire vanished, as if quenched by a single hand.
Lindsay looked away. If she was in that ship, please God let it have been quick. No terror below decks with the ship falling apart around her. No agony, of scalding
steam, of shell splinters. Only the freezing sea, just for this once-being merciful.
Stannard took the handset from a messenger before it had stopped buzzing. ‘To us from Admiralty, sir. Convoy has divided. The two personnel ships with the commodore aboard have turned north. The tankers and remaining escort have headed south.’ He sounded surprised. ‘Enemy has ceased fire.’
Lindsay stood up and walked slowly across the violently shaking gratings. Of course-the German had ceased fire. He had destroyed two or more in the convoy. The U-boats would be waiting for the tankers now. The raider could take his time. Follow the two helpless ships as far as the ice, and then….
He swung round, his tone harsh: ‘Come to the chart room, Pilot. We’ll alter course immediately.’
‘Are you going after them, sir?’
Lindsay looked at him. ‘All the way.’
Ritchie watched them leave the wheelhouse and then crossed to the gyro, straddling his legs as the ship crashed violently in the heavy swell.
‘What d’you think, Swain? Will we make it?’
Jolliffe’s face remained frozen in the compass light like a chunk of weatherworn carving. ‘I’ll tell you one thing, Yeo. If we gets stuck up there in the,bleeding ice it’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel.’
Dancy heard his words and walked quickly to the forepart of the bridge. He watched the spray rattling against the glass and thought of men like. Jolliffe and Ritchie. Professionals, yet they were worried. He gripped the rail and shivered uncontrollably. Knowing he was at last afraid.
Down in the ship’s damage control section Goss sat in a steel swivel chair, his hands on his thighs; his head jutting forward as he stared grimly at the illuminated ship’s plan on the opposite bulkhead. This compartment had altered very little since her cruising days, and apart from additional titles and new functions, the plan, the various sections throughout the jiull had not changed. Coloured lights flickered along the plan showing watertight compartments and bulkheads, stores and holds, the complex maze of passageways and shafts which went into the body of a ship.
The damage control parties had been at their stations for hours, and behind him Goss could hear some of the.stokers and seamen chattering together, their voices almost lost in the pounding rumble of engines and the whirr of fans.
In another seat at the far end of the plan sat Chief Petty Officer Archer, his head lolling to the unsteady rolls, his cap tilted to the back of his head as he waited with the others for something to happen.
Goss did not like Archer, and already there had been several flare-ups between them. With Tobey, the ship’s boatswain, who had been drafted to more important duties, as the dockyard had explained, Goss had got on very well. Not on a sociable level, of course; but professionally, which was all Goss required in any man. Tobey was a company officer, one who had served in the line for many years, most of them in the Benbecula. He knew the ship, every rivet of her, like his own skin, and had nursed her over the thousands of miles they had steamed together. Being sparing with paint and cleaning gear, avoiding waste in materials by keeping an eagle eye on the seamen to make sure a proper wire splice was used instead of merely signing a chit for a whole new length of it. But at all times he had kept the ship perfect, a credit to the company.
He darted a glance at Archer. He on the other hand was a regular Navy man. He knew nothing of making do with meagre resources, with a clerk in the company office checking every item and expense. He had lived off the
taxpayer for too long, and cared nothing for economy. When Goss had gott on to him about the constant increase of-rust streaks on the superstructure, Archer had merely ordered his men to slop on more paint. Hide it, cover it up, until somebody else made it his business to deal with properly. Someone else, in Archer’s view, was the dockyard, any dockyard. He was not concerned.
He sat bolt upright in his chair as the deck and fittings gave a sudden convulsion, and above the engines’ confident beat he heard a drawn-out, menacing roar.
A seaman called, ‘What was that, Chief?’
Archer looked at Goss, his eyes anxious. ‘I’m not sure.’
Goss listened to the sound as it faded and then stopped altogether. ‘We must be pushing through some drift ice.’
He licked his lips. The captain must be stark, staring mad to drive the ship like this with ice about.
Archer said quietly, ‘Well, I expect they know what they’re doin’.’ He did not sound very convinced.
A door opened and aa seaman staggered into the compartment carrying a huge fanny of cocoa. Feet scraped and mugs clattered as the men hurried to meet him, their concern temporarily forgotten.
Goss glared at the clock. It was six in the morning. Nine hours since the bridge had reported sighting gunflashes and had rung down for full speed. The old Becky must have covered nearly a hundred and forty miles in that time, and it was a wonder the boilers hadn’t burst under the strain. A further scraping roar echoed around the hull, and he gripped the arms of his seat as he pictured the surging slabs of ice dashing down the ship’s flanks, fading into the wash astern.
He could feel his palms sweating, and knew from the stricken silence behind him that the others were watching him.
He said gruffly, ‘She can take more than this, so get on with your bloody cocoa!’
Goss tried to shut them all from his mind, close them out, as he often did when he was worried. He thought back to that last cruise, before the war had changed everything. Even by looking at the damage control plan he could bring back some of it. The passengers had often come down here on one of the little conducted tours which had always been so popular. The ladies in the silk dresses, with tanned shoulders, the men in white dinner jackets wafting the scent of rich cigars as they listened to some earnest junior officer explaining the ship’s safety arrangements. It had all been a bit of a joke to them, of course. Like the boat drill, with the-stewards taking as many-liberties as they dared when they assisted some of the younger women with their lifejackets. But Goss had never looked on it as anything but deadly serious. He had been in one ship when fire had broken out and the lifeboats had been lowered with minutes to spare. An ugly episode. He looked along the plan, his eyes dark. In those days, of course, one of the main points to be watched was the watertight door system. It did not actually say anything about it on the plan, but Goss had known that if Benbecula had begun to sink it would have been his job to ensure the emigrants and other poorer passengers were not. released by his system of doors until all the first class had been cleared into the boats. He had always disliked the tours down here, just in case some clever bastard had noticed the obvious.
He felt the chairback pushing against his spine and sa‘w a pencil begin to roll- rapidly from the table. The helm had gone over, and fast. He thrust himself forward and gripped the table, as with a grinding vibration more ice came roaring against the ship’s side. But this time it did not pass so quickly. Even as he staggered to his feet the whole compartment gave a tremendous lurch, so that men fell yelling and cursing amidst. the widening stain of spilled cocoa. An overhead light flickered and went out, and flecks of paint chippings floated down’ like a toy snowstorm. The deck shook once more and then the noise subsided as before.