The Good Shepherd by C.S. Forester Page B

broken off by some intervening condition. But it was important that they had made contact almost exactly at the point where contact was to be expected if the deductions he had made from the radar indication were correct. Then the U-boat had been on a course at a slight angle-to Keeling ’s, crossing from port to starboard. The likeliest possibility was that she was still maintaining that course after letting off a pillenwerfer; but there was also the chance that she had been moving very slowly across Keeling’s bows--slowly enough for the reported range to have remained constant for a time--and had then taken sudden evasive action, going deep and turning; turning in which direction? The sonar pinged on monotonously; minutes were passing, precious minutes. Five minutes meant that Keeling was at the last indicated position; it also meant that the U-boat was half a mile or more from it. It might mean, too, that she was aiming a torpedo for Keeling ’s vitals.
    “Sonar reports contact, sir. Port beam, range indefinite.”
    So he had been wrong in thinking she had continued her course to his starboard side; but there were no seconds to spare to think about it.
    “Left full rudder.”
    “Left full rudder,” repeated McAlister.
    The desire to increase speed was passionate within him; he wanted to hurl Keeling down along the bearing of the new contact, but that was inadvisable. Already at this snail’s crawl he was going as fast as the sonar would tolerate.
    “Report all bearings as relative,” he ordered. “Contact bearing port five-zero, sir.”
    “Very well.”
    Keeling was still turning; she had not come round far enough, when the echo returned, to be pointing straight in the direction of the previous one.
    “Contact starboard zero-five. Range twelve hundred yards.”
    Excellent. Keeling’s speed might be a snail’s crawl, but that of the submerged U-boat was slower still.
    “Contact starboard one-zero. Range twelve hundred yards.”
    The U-boat was turning too. Her turning circle submerged would be considerably smaller than Keeling’s.
    “Right full rudder.”
    “Right full rudder.”
    Speed above versus manoeuvrability below. But with the rudder hard over Keeling would lose speed; two opponents evenly matched. Green water crashed over Keeling’s low waist as she heeled on the sharp turn.
    “Contact starboard one-zero. Range steady at twelve hundred yards.”
    “Very well.”
    Turning exactly together. This high sea was reducing Keeling’s manoeuvrability; a moment’s smooth would give her the chance to come round more sharply, if only one would come.
    “Range eleven hundred yards.”
    They were cutting down on the U-boat.
    “Bearing?” snapped Krause, to regret the question instantly. The talker could only repeat what was coming to him through his ear-phones.
    “Bearing starboard one-zero.”
    “Very well.”
    Bearing constant, range growing less. Keeling’s greater speed was prevailing over the U-boat’s smaller turning circle. In time--in time-- Keeling would cut across the U-boat’s track, would pass over her, would destroy her.
    “Contact bearing starboard zero-five. Range one thousand.”
    Closer! More nearly ahead! Keeling must be answering her helm better. Victory was nearer than he had thought. Keeling was shearing through white water now. She was crossing her own wake, having turned in a full circle.
    “Contact bearing port zero-five. Range eleven hundred yards. Opening, sir.”
    “Left full rudder! “ roared Krause.
    The U-boat had fooled him. At the moment of the previous report she had been turning in the opposite direction. Now she was off on a different track entirely, with Keeling still swinging away from her. She had regained her lost hundred yards and would regain more before Keeling could come round again. McAlister was spinning the wheel round savagely. Keeling lay far over, took in another green sea, and staggered.
    “Contact bearing port one-zero. Range twelve