Maxwell’s voice came over the bridge speaker, detached and toneless. ‘Starboard battery stand by.’
Lindsay dropped his gaze to the fore deck and saw the two starboard guns moving their muzzles slightly, like blind things in the swirling smoke. Further aft de Chair’s marines would have to remain inactive for the present. Their starboard gun could not bear on the target if Lindsay’s calculations were correct. If; if, if. The word seemed — to hammer in his brain as if someone had shouted it aloud.
Slivers. of spray spurted over the bows, and he knew that Fraser’s gauges were well into the danger mark now. The old ship was shaking and groaning to the whirling screws and the whole bridge seemed to be quaking under the strain.
Maxwell’s voice cut above the other sounds, as if he had the handset right against his lips. ‘Submarine on the surface at Green two-five! Range oh-eight-oh!’ -
Lindsay gritted his teeth, willing the smoke to clear so that he could see what Maxwell and his spotters had sighted from their precarious position above the bridge. -
There was a brief flash beyond the smoke and seconds later the sound of a shellburst. For an instant longer he imagined the enemy had already anticipated his move, was even now slamming a shell towards Benbecula to make her sheer away and present a perfect target for torpedoes.
Through the smoke there was another flash, the sullen bang of an explosion.
Lindsay glanced at Stannard and said, ‘He’s shooting at the ammunition ship!’
When he turned his head again he saw the U-boat. Even at four miles range her austere silhouette was exactly as he had pictured it in his mind. The dying sunlight seemed very bright on the slim conning tower, so that it looked as if it was made of pure copper.
Then the bells rang below the bridge and both six-inch guns fired in unison.
It seemed an age before the shells reached the narrow target. Then as Lindsay jammed his glasses against his eyes he saw twin columns of bursting water astern of the U-boat, very white against the darkening horizon.
‘Over. Down two hundred.’ Maxwell could have been at a practice shoot. Lindsay had never heard him so cool.
He watched the sudden reaction on the U-boat’s fore deck, holding his breath. She was turning, steering almost on a converging course now. But she was still high on the water, the bow-wave creaming along her rounded saddle tanks as she completed the slight turn.
The bells sounded once more and both guns lurched back on their springs, the shockwaves rattling the bridge screens like gale-force winds.
Lindsay bit his lip as both shells ploughed into, the sea to the right of the target.
There was an answering flash from the U-boat’s deck gun, and he felt the hull-shudder as the shell ploughed alongside and exploded, hurling up a great column of water and smoke as splinters clanged over the bulwark.
Lindsay felt very calm. Whatever happened in the next few moments would decide the fate of his own ship and that of the damaged Demodocus. But one thing was certain. The German captain could not dive, nor could he use torpedoes. He would have done both by now it it was humanly possible. Lindsay could imagine the consternation on that conningtower as Maxwell’s six-inch shells ripped down on them, getting closer with each agonising second. And it must have all looked so easy. Just two more stragglers from a convoy and not an escort within miles.
Smoke funnelled back from the bows, and Lindsay heard the screeching crash of a shell exploding between decks.
‘Range oh-six-two.’
He banged the teak rail by the screen with his clenched fist. The U-boat showed no sign of turning and her gun was firing with even greater rapidity than before. Just one good shot and Benbecula could be slowed or stopped while the German manoeuvred to a more favourable position. Right ahead of the bows where not a single gun would bear.
A shell ripped past the bridge and exploded somewhere astern. It made a terrible sound, like tearing canvas, and so close that a gyro repeater on the starboard wing exploded like a small bomb, the fragments thudding into the door and steel plates overhead.
Lindsay heard a man cry out and Maxwell snap, ‘First aid party on the double!’
Stannard yelled wildly, ‘We’ve straddled the bastard!’ He was almost sobbing with excitement as two waterspouts bracketed the U-boat, burying her after casing beneath tons of falling spray.
Two tiny figures pitched from the bandstand abaft her conning tower, where a four-barrelled Vierling pointed impotently at the sky, and vanished into the falling deluge of water. One of the shells must have exploded close enough to rake the stern with splinters.
Stannard said tightly, ‘She’s turning, sir!’
The bridge speaker intoned, ‘Target has altered course. Moving right. Number Three gun stand by to engage!’
Lindsay said, ‘l think his steering is damaged.’
The U-boat’s forward gun flashed once more, and he felt the deck jump beneath him as a shell exploded inside the hull.
From the boat deck an Oerlikon opened fire, the tracer drifting like lazy red balls towards the U-boat before pitching down into the darkly shadowed troughs.
Maxwell sounded furious. ‘Number Three Oerlikon cease firing!’
Lindsay could imagine the lone Oerlikon gunner losing his self-control. Even the knowledge that his gun was almost useless above a thousand yards, his training and Maxwell’s discipline were re not enough under — such circumstances. Just to see the enemy. To watch him in the sights and be doing nothing about it was too much for any man.
He flinched as the two forward guns belched fire yet again: He had-.lost all idea of time and distance covered. His brain and hearing seemed lost in the crash of guns, the blasting returns from the U-boat.
A tall waterspout shot skyward beyond the German’s hull and the other shell exploded directly against her side. It must have hit a saddle tank just beneath the surface, and for several seconds Lindsay imagined she had been blasted apart. As spray continued to fall he saw the black hull sliding clear, heard Stannard gasp, ‘Oh, the bastards! They’re still afloat!’ -
Lindsay steadied his glasses, waiting for some sort of reaction to take hold of him. He heard himself say, ‘She’s going over. Look, Pilot, the gun’s crew are baling out.’ Why was his voice so flat? So empty of excitement?
He moved his glasses very slightly to watch more dark shapes tumbling from the — conning tower which was — already tilting towards him. The way was off the hull and gigantic air bubbles were exploding on the surface alongside, like obscene glassy creatures from the depths.
‘Reduce to half speed. Starboard ten.’
He swung around as the second gun on the well deck lurched inboard, the shell exploding alongside the Uboat’s listing hull like a fireball.
Lindsay shouted, ‘Cease firing!’ He lowered his eye to the gyro. ‘Midships. Steady. Steer zero-four-five.’
That last one had been more than enough. The Uboat’s bows were lifting very slowly above the dotted heads in the water. Greedily the sea was already clawing along her buckled after casing, dragging a corpse with it as it advanced.
Lindsay, watched without emotion. The Atlantic was having another victory. It was as impartial as it was ruthless.
Dancy called, ‘Damage control reports flooding in Number Three hold, sir. There’s a fire on B deck, too.’
Lindsay kept his eyes fixed on the submarine. In the powerful lenses he could see the weed and slime on her exposed hull. She had probably been at sea for weeks, months. Maybe she would have been on her way home by now but for her commander’s determination. The sight of two helpless, ungainly targets.
Almost distantly he asked, ‘Is Number One coping?’