Jeffers said calmly, ‘It’s no use, sir. The skipper’ll be too busy to care about us.’

  Colquhoun made another effort. In a strangled voice he said, ‘I’m sorry. I won’t let you down.’

  ‘’Course you won’t.’ Jeffers was grinning. ‘Just keep with me. I’ve killed more of these bastards than you’ve’ad’ot dinners, sir!’

  Colquhoun shook his head dazedly. These bastards? They did not know who they were fighting yet. But Jeffers’ tough confidence was acting like raw alcohol.

  He said quickly, ‘They must all be up there. There’s been no firing from anywhere else.’

  Jeffers gripped his wrist like a steel claw and swung his Stirling across the coaming. ‘Still! not a bloody word, sir!’

  The men around them froze and waited, each man fingering his gun and trying to pierce the darkness with his eyes.

  Colquhoun heard the slow, scraping movement on the other side of the deck below the bulwark, but as Able Seaman Rider jumped forward with his Stirling raised, Jeffers snarled, ‘Get back, you twit! It’s one of our lot!’

  They pulled the crawling man to safety and turned him over on his back. He was a sturdy, square-faced man in officer’s uniform, his head swathed in a rough bandage, the front of which was soaked in blood. In the strange light from the sky overhead the blood glinted on the bandage like black paint.

  The man stared up at them, his eyes wide and unblinking. For a second Colquhoun’s reeling mind imagined that he was already dead, then he muttered, ‘The Navy! For Sweet Jesus’ sake, the Navy!’ He sounded as if he doubted his own reason.

  Jeffers shook him gently. ‘Take il easy. Just tell us what’appened!’

  The man winced as a shot whined down from the bridge and ricocheted out over the sea. It was met by a savage volley from the watching sailors.

  He said slowly, ‘I’m Duncan, first mate. We were jumped a day ago just after we had made our signal to the port of destination.’ Even dazed and in pain he seemed unable to free his mind from normal, routine phrases. ‘There are about twenty of them. Most of’em were included in the crew.’ He grimaced. ‘One of the bastards was the steward. He was the only one allowed on the bridge at sea, and he lobbed a grenade right amongst the watch! Killed the old man and most of the others, too!’

  Jeffers asked, ‘Are you the only one left?’

  The mate shook his head. ‘The bosun is just below the bridge back there, and I’ve got seven more lads up forrard behind the winch.’ He pulled a big, obsolete Webley from his belt. ‘Like me they’re down to their last few roundsl’ He tried to grin. ‘But I’ve fixed ’em!’

  Colquhoun stared over the man’s body and tried to see some small movement on the bridge. He heard the mate continue with sudden venom. ‘This is a coal-fired ship, y’know. I just happened to be down aft when they rushed the bridge, so I was able to organise a few of the crew myself. Not that they’re much use. The usual sweepings. Chinks mostly? He shuddered. ‘I heard them pull the second mate from his bunk. He was screaming like a pig. It sounded as if they were hacking him to death with an axe!’

  Jeffers persisted. ‘You said you’d fixed them?’

  The mate relaxed slightly. ‘I closed all the engine-room vents. The bastards will suffocate or blow the bloody boilers now! Either way they can’t keep up steam!’

  Jeffers nodded. ‘So that’s it. That explains the loss of speed.’

  ‘What of the passengers? Conway?’ Colquhoun felt sick.

  The mate shrugged. ‘They are in no-man’s-land. Their cabins are up there below the radio room. So long as you can keep the bridge isolated they’re reasonably safe.’ He added grimly, ‘Unless they’re already butchered!’

  A huge Malay in a torn singlet and shorts wriggled around a ventilator and rolled his eyes in the gloom like two marbles. ‘Lawd be praised!’ He peered at the armed sailors. ‘My prayers is answered!’

  The mate grinned ruefully. ‘This is my bosun.’

  Jeffers said urgently, ‘The sky’s gettin’ bright, sir. It’ll be dawn shortly. They’ll pin us down in the daylight and knock us off like bleedin flies!’ He peered at Colquhoun warily. ‘What about it, sir? Shall we make heroes of ourselves?’

  Colquhoun fought for time. For just a few seconds to clear his brain and make the nightmare recognisable. ‘Who are these people? What are they?’

  The mate shrugged. ‘God knows. Pirates maybe. But they’re well organised.’

  The bosun nodded. ‘We killed a few of’em, sir. Just a few.’ He groped behind him and pulled a sacklike object around the coaming. In the dim light Colquhoun could see the thing’s teeth bared in a savage grin, could smell the sweet stench of death. He retched:

  Jeffers pushed the corpse away with his foot. ‘Well, this one’s got a few friends waitin’ out there.’ He gestured towards the hidden sea. ‘So we ain’t got much time.’

  Colquhoun said in a small voice, ‘What do you think is best, Jeffers?’

  The petty officer smiled in the gloom. ‘Like I said, sir. It’s not easy.’ He peered up at the dark bridge windows and was immediately met by two swift shots. He ducked and cursed as the bullets screamed past his head and slammed into the deck. ‘Nasty,’ he said.

  Rider wriggled across on his stomach, his Stirling like a toy in his big hands. ‘They don’t have any more grenades, else we’d have got’em by now!’

  Jeffers’ voice was biting. ‘That’s a bloody big help!’

  The seaman laughed quietly. ‘No good sittin’ like a blue-arsed fly, P.O. We gotta do somethin’!’ They both looked at Colquhoun.

  The wounded mate said, ‘On the starboard side there’s a ladder. I had it lashed up the side of the bridge two days ago ready for a bit of red-leading.’ He sounded doubtful. ‘If you could get a man up there…’

  Jeffers rubbed his chin. ‘Jiist the job, mate. We’ll’ave a go!’

  Colquhoun said desperately, Til go.’

  Jeffers eyed him quietly. ‘Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but I think not.’ He chuckled. ‘Well, let’s face it, sir, officers is officers. They gives orders, they don’t go dashing about like bloody marines!’ Without waiting for a reply he added in a sharper tone, ‘I’ll be goin’ for the ladder, got it? Rider and’is mob will rush the port side as soon as I open fire. Porky Bruce can cover me and bring up in the rear.’

  Bruce bared his teeth. ‘Mind I don’t blow your manhood off with me gun, P.O.!’

  Colquhoun wiped his face and shuddered. They were joking. Actually joking about almost certain death. He felt Jeffers touch his arm.

  ‘You keep with Bill Rider, sir. ’E’s only an A.B., but ’e’s more used to this sort of thing. Out in Alex I saw’im clobber three coppers with a bottle an’ go on to smash up a Wog cafe single’anded!’ He grinned. ‘’E’s a good bloke in a rough ’ouse!’ Then he was gone, and Rider yelled, ‘Open fire, you canteen sailors!’

  The Stirlings started their maniac chatter once more and the bullets ripped’ and whined across the bridge like hornets, bringing down shattered woodwork and broken glass like rain on their heads.

  Rider gasped, ‘Don’t forget, sir! This is for real! Don’t stop to argue with’em! Kick their bleedin’ faces in!’

  Colquhoun nodded numbly. He could picture the little petty officer climbing over the rail and up the flimsy paint ladder beside the bridge. If he was wounded, or even slipped, he would fall straight down into the sea below.

  I should have been there! I should be showing these meo what to do!

  It was not like that other time with the trapped wire on the rudder. Then he had been more afraid of showing fear than of fear itself. This horror was altogether different.

  There was a burst of automatic fire from a high angle and Rider yelled, ‘The Casing King has made it! Come on, lads! Up them bleedin’ stairs!’ Then they were all running and screaming like maniacs, their guns firing with neither aim nor care as they tore up the ladder and plunged across the wing of the bridge.

  Colquhoun was knocked sideways as his whooping men poured into the crowded wheelhouse. In the growing light he saw several crouching figures outlined against the shattered windows and more sprawled across the littered deck. The air was filled with banging guns and the gasping cries of terror and fury as the two sides came to grips. Here a knife flashed home, cutting short an animal scream of agony. In another corner Colquhoun saw a tall seaman kicking a cowering man in the chest before pouring a full volley into his writhing body. There was blood everywhere, like some ghastly mural, and Colquhoun almost fell as he skidded on a mutilated corpse wearing a captain’s uniform.

  Through the other side of the bridge Jeffers peered across his smoking Stirling. ‘Anyone hurt?’

  Rider turned over a body with his foot. ‘Nah. Just O’Toole.’Is guts is playin’ up by the smell of it!’

  The sailors laughed wildly. As if they were drunk. As if it was all one huge joke.

  Jeffers nodded and swung himself through the gap. ‘Right then. Mop up the other ones aft. They’ll be poppin’ put of the engine room soon, I should think!’

  Duncan, the mate, stood silently surveying the carnage. ‘Thanks, lads.’ He did not seem able to speak.

  Jeffers said easily, ‘Hold on, chum. We’ll get yer ship back for you!’

  Colquhoun swallowed the bile in his throat and pushed his way through the wheelhouse door. Outside the air felt cool and damp, and he was startled to see how light it had become in those short, terrifying minutes. Already the sea had lost its deep shadows and the gentle, undulating surface had changed to a pale milky green with a clinging haze hanging lazily above it. In his shocked eyes it seemed too remote, too beautiful and settled for reality. It was like some Japanese water-colour, and even the vague shapes of the motionless fishing boats hung in the distant haze with no more substance than the artist’s casual brush strokes.

  Jeffers said, ‘The mate’s put his bosun on the wheel, sir, but there’s hardly any steerage way on the ship now. The engine-room mob will be up directly to get a breath of air.’ He checked his magazine. ‘They’ll come shooting!’

  Colquhoun took a deep breath. ‘Put some men to cover the hatches.’ He stared round the deserted decks. ‘But we must find Conway and the others!’

  Jeffers barked off a string of orders which to Colquhoun’s ears sounded like so much gibberish. But the men seemed to come out of their state of crazed elation and pattered away in twos and threes on both sides of the Malange’s deck. The petty officer added, ‘You check the cabins, sir. I’ve given you two good lads to help you.’ He strode away, his cap tilted over his eyes like a visor.

  Able Seaman Bruce watched Colquhoun’s strained face and then said, ‘The cabins are in one block, as I see it. There’s one of our blokes on the far side by the lifeboats.’ He gestured with his Stirling. ‘You an’ me could go right through the central passageway and flush any stragglers out at the other end.’ He squinted at the sea. ‘How does that suit?’

  Colquhoun took a grip on himself. ‘Good idea, Bruce.’

  Bruce showed his teeth. ‘I’ll just nip round and warn the other chap.’

  He shuffled away, and once more Colquhoun was aware of the terrible silence. There was no sign of the submarine. The ship was alone but for the fishing boats. The latter too could have been deserted and forgotten by their lack of movement.

  Bruce came back, breathing hard. ‘Okay, sir.’

  Colquhoun entered the open door and walked slowly between the cabins which flanked the passageway. There was a deserted pantry, the dishes smashed and scattered on the deck. There was a smear of blood on the handrail, and some empty cartridge cases. Silent witnesses of the horror which had swept through the ship.

  Bruce spoke between his teeth. ‘Call out, sir! It can’t do no’arm!’

  Colquhoun’s voice echoed around the passage and seemed to mock back at him. He imagined that each cabin contained either a corpse or a waiting terrorist, that every second invited a new disaster.

  Then from the far end of the passage he heard Conway’s voice. ‘Who is that? Speak up or I’ll shoot!’

  Colquhoun opened his mouth to call, but as he passed another cabin his eye fell on the mutilated body of the second mate. It was hard to imagine that it had once been human. With a sob he fell against the door, retching uncontrollably.

  Bruce yelled, ‘It’s the Navy! Hold your fire!’ Ignoring Colquhoun, he ran forward as the door was pulled open, his small eyes darting from side to side and his gun at the ready.

  Colquhoun staggered after him and then halted, staring in the cabin entrance. The wooden panels on the far side were riddled with bullet holes and gun smoke hung trapped in the stale and unmoving air. Conway half lay against the lower bunk, a pistol cradled on his knee. A crumpled form in tom dungarees was lying under the table in a pool of drying blood, an axe still gripped in one clawlike hand.

  Colquhoun realised that Conway was wounded, but as he moved forward the big man gasped, ‘Help my wife, for God’s sake! I can last out!’

  The girl, who until now had been standing with her back to a splintered scuttle, stooped down beside her father. She was wearing a short nightdress which had been all but ripped from her body. Across one shoulder Colquhoun saw three deep scratches, like the imprint of an animal’s claws. She looked up at him, her eyes shocked but determined.

  ‘No! Leave her alone! She’s safe in the next cabin!’ But behind her father’s back she shook her head sharply, her eyes clouding with tears.

  Colquhoun said, ‘Let me have a look at you, sir. I think your wife is better left alone for a while.’ He tried to lift Conway’s hands from his lap, but felt the man shudder as a stream of bright blood spilled through his shirt and cascaded on to the deck.

  His mind tried to keep all the other horror at bay as he concentrated on what he had to do. Conway was badly wounded. Possibly in the lower stomach. His wife was obviously dead in the other cabin, and the girl must be near hysteria. He must get a signal to the Temercnre. Griffin would know what to do. If there was still any time left for Conway.

  Conway looked ashen. ‘Burst into the cabins during the night. Lucky I had a gun, God, I thought we were done for…’ He moaned. ‘Shooting all night long! Twice they tried to break in here. Lucky I woke up in time!’ He stared fixedly at Colquhoun. ‘My God! You’re one of David Jermain’s officers! I remember you!’ He broke into a fit of coughing and then muttered, ‘I’m so damned hot, boy!’ But his hands were like ice.

  The girl said, ‘The Temeraire? Is it really?’ The effect of her father’s words seemed to have shocked her more than her experience. ‘Tell me!’

  Colquhoun nodded. ‘Yes. The skipper sent me across to help.’

  Conway sighed. ‘I said to David when I saw him. You are like that young subaltern at Dunkirk.’ He leaned his head against his daughter’s breast and closed his eyes, all his reserves of strength used up. ‘A good boy. But not to be wasted.’

  Bruce leaned forward and dug his fingers into Colquhoun’s shoulder. ‘Sir! The door’andle! It moved,!’

  They all stared at the small door which apparently connected the cabin with the bathroom. The handle was of bright brass, and as Colquhoun concentrated his stare it seemed to swell and glisten like the sun itself.

  Then Bruce said thickly, ‘My Gawd! My magazine’s empty!’ He gestured wildly. ‘Shoot! Shoot, sir! Before the bastard does for us!’

  The tension and terror broke in Colquhoun’s mind like a fractured dam. He felt the gun jumping in his hands, saw the girl holding, her fingers over her ears as the staccato rattle filled the cabin with noise and smoke. The unaimed volley cut away the wooden door like paper and burst the lock and handle into flying splinters.

  Then the gun fell silent and, mesmerised, Colquhoun watched the shattered door as it opened slowly towards him.

  There was distant shouting and the sound of feet on the Udder, then Jeffers panted through the other door, his Stirling across his chest. ‘Heard the shootin’! Have you got one of the…’ His voice trailed away as the door swung inwards with a final jerk and the riddled corpse pitched forward at his feet.

  The bullets had tom across the chest and stomach like hideous stitching, almost cutting the man in half. The face was unmarked, and seemed almost peaceful compared with the horror below it.

  Jeffers wiped his face with the back of his hand and said harshly, ‘I think you’d better let me take the gun, Mr. Colquhcrun.’ He tucked the Stirling under his arm, his face expressionless as another seaman called:

  ‘I can see the Temeraire, P.O.!’

  Jeffers said, ‘That was the only time you fired, sir.’

  Colquhoun did not answer. He was still staring with shocked disbelief at the man on the floor. Able Seaman Archer.

  *  *  *

  Jermain ducked his head beneath the glass screen and wiped the lenses of his glasses as a tall curtain of spray lifted lazily from the bows and spattered across the front of the fin. The Temeraire was trimmed high in the water, and each thrust from the powerful screw pushed the stem harder into the calm sea and patterned the hull and fin with glistening diamonds of blown salt.

  As each dragging minute stripped away the darkness Jermain was conscious of the submarine’s vulnerability. On the pale green wateTj her whale shape outlined in bursting spray, she seemed huge and defenceless. Nevertheless, he allowed his mind to accept that his crude bluff had worked. The two warships which they had dogged all the way from the Chinese coast had swung away to the north, beyond the vague shapes of the fishing boats, as if startled by the unexpected arrival of the giant undersea craft.

  A lookout reponed, ‘Freighter, sir. Bearing green four five!’

  He levelled his glasses again. There she was. The old Malange, apparently drifting, with hardly a ripple beneath her high bows.

  ‘Starboard ten. Steer zero nine zero.’ He shifted the glasses along the freighter’s length, noting with cold relief the occasional figure of one of his boarding party and that of a uniformed officer on the bridge. But had he been completely in time?