officer to maintain a special chart from now on. Positions, possible sightings, distances, anything which might help us to get the
feel
of the raider’s movements.’
He swung round and added sharply, ‘Tell the engineroom, less revs at present.’ He saw the harbour pilot’s shoulders relax slightly and added, ‘She may be a cruiser, but she reacts like a destroyer.’
The man grinned thankfully. ‘You can say that again, Cap’n. She’s quite a handful.’
Blake raised his glasses and trained them on the shore. On the last jetty he saw a parked car. In the back he recognized the shape of Captain Quintin, but beside it he saw the Wren officer, leaning against the door, her arms folded as she watched the cruiser turning slowly clear of the other shipping and towards the Bay.
Fairfax asked, ‘Shall I fall out harbour stations, sir?’
‘Yes. We will exercise action stations the moment we have dropped the pilot.’ He saw the surprise on Fairfax’s tanned features. ‘Everything. I want the new hands especially to get their confidence, their bearings.’ He gave a sad smile and touched Fairfax’s arm. ‘We’re back in the war, as of now.’
Blake felt a hand on his shoulder and in seconds was awake. For a moment longer he looked around the small sea cabin, getting his bearings, putting his mind in order once again. How different from those other times, he thought wearily, and it was still impossible to accept the vastness of this ocean, the emptiness.
In the Mediterranean there had rarely been an hour, let alone a day, without an aircraft sighting, a bombing attack, a rescue attempt for some poor, battered merchantman.
He turned and looked at Moon’s face, pale in the small light above the bunk. A cup of tea vibrated gently in his hand.
Moon said, ‘Dawn comin’ up, sir. Very quiet. As per usual, as they say, sir.’
The door closed silently behind him, but not before Blake heard the shipboard sounds which were part of his life. Shoes shuffling on deck and at gun sponsons, lookouts feeling the morning chill and their own frailty after hours of watchkeeping.
Blake put his feet on the scrap of carpet and felt
Andromeda
’s heartbeat pulsing up through each deck and flat, magazine and cabin. She was making nearly twenty knots, which after her short refit was asking a lot. If Weir was worried he was careful not to show it. He knew what was required and would speak out if he thought necessary.
Ten days out of Williamstown.
He sipped the scalding tea and thought about it. Just three days after the
Argyll Clansman
made her frantic call for help there had been another. An old Greek freighter named
Kios
, which but for the needs of war would have been in the breaker’s yard long since. She had lost her screw and had forgotten all the rules about security. She had been alone, stopped and helpless. There was not much her skipper could have done but fill the air with his calls for aid.
Then the signal had changed. Blake had been in the W/T office with Fairfax while Lougher, the Australian chief petty officer telegraphist, had tried to hold the feeble contact to the end. It was much like the last one, Blake thought. The
Kios
’s position, she was being attacked, then nothing. He tried not to think about the old freighter’s final moments, the terrible realization that the oncoming ship was not help but an assassin. He concentrated instead on the bare facts. That the Greek’s position was nine hundred miles east of the
Argyll Clansman’s. Nine hundred miles in three days.
That would put the raider’s speed at some fourteen knots. But what was the point of it? The German had no way of knowing ifassistance was already on its way to the Greek, so why the uneconomical dash, the waste and wear which would be alien to any commerce raider?
He put down the cup and stood up, immediately aware of the ship’s regular rise and plunge as she maintained her course and speed. He could even picture her like the old
feel
of the raider’s movements.’
He swung round and added sharply, ‘Tell the engineroom, less revs at present.’ He saw the harbour pilot’s shoulders relax slightly and added, ‘She may be a cruiser, but she reacts like a destroyer.’
The man grinned thankfully. ‘You can say that again, Cap’n. She’s quite a handful.’
Blake raised his glasses and trained them on the shore. On the last jetty he saw a parked car. In the back he recognized the shape of Captain Quintin, but beside it he saw the Wren officer, leaning against the door, her arms folded as she watched the cruiser turning slowly clear of the other shipping and towards the Bay.
Fairfax asked, ‘Shall I fall out harbour stations, sir?’
‘Yes. We will exercise action stations the moment we have dropped the pilot.’ He saw the surprise on Fairfax’s tanned features. ‘Everything. I want the new hands especially to get their confidence, their bearings.’ He gave a sad smile and touched Fairfax’s arm. ‘We’re back in the war, as of now.’
Blake felt a hand on his shoulder and in seconds was awake. For a moment longer he looked around the small sea cabin, getting his bearings, putting his mind in order once again. How different from those other times, he thought wearily, and it was still impossible to accept the vastness of this ocean, the emptiness.
In the Mediterranean there had rarely been an hour, let alone a day, without an aircraft sighting, a bombing attack, a rescue attempt for some poor, battered merchantman.
He turned and looked at Moon’s face, pale in the small light above the bunk. A cup of tea vibrated gently in his hand.
Moon said, ‘Dawn comin’ up, sir. Very quiet. As per usual, as they say, sir.’
The door closed silently behind him, but not before Blake heard the shipboard sounds which were part of his life. Shoes shuffling on deck and at gun sponsons, lookouts feeling the morning chill and their own frailty after hours of watchkeeping.
Blake put his feet on the scrap of carpet and felt
Andromeda
’s heartbeat pulsing up through each deck and flat, magazine and cabin. She was making nearly twenty knots, which after her short refit was asking a lot. If Weir was worried he was careful not to show it. He knew what was required and would speak out if he thought necessary.
Ten days out of Williamstown.
He sipped the scalding tea and thought about it. Just three days after the
Argyll Clansman
made her frantic call for help there had been another. An old Greek freighter named
Kios
, which but for the needs of war would have been in the breaker’s yard long since. She had lost her screw and had forgotten all the rules about security. She had been alone, stopped and helpless. There was not much her skipper could have done but fill the air with his calls for aid.
Then the signal had changed. Blake had been in the W/T office with Fairfax while Lougher, the Australian chief petty officer telegraphist, had tried to hold the feeble contact to the end. It was much like the last one, Blake thought. The
Kios
’s position, she was being attacked, then nothing. He tried not to think about the old freighter’s final moments, the terrible realization that the oncoming ship was not help but an assassin. He concentrated instead on the bare facts. That the Greek’s position was nine hundred miles east of the
Argyll Clansman’s. Nine hundred miles in three days.
That would put the raider’s speed at some fourteen knots. But what was the point of it? The German had no way of knowing ifassistance was already on its way to the Greek, so why the uneconomical dash, the waste and wear which would be alien to any commerce raider?
He put down the cup and stood up, immediately aware of the ship’s regular rise and plunge as she maintained her course and speed. He could even picture her like the old
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