Trott yelled, ‘Get away from there, Mason! It’s my decision! You stay out of it!’

  Irons looked at Oxley and grimaced. ‘Christ! He’s getting in a panic!’

  ‘Keep trying to replace that torpedo, Trott.’ Jermain sounded too calm, Oxley thought. ‘There is another ship closing from starboard. You must get that tube sealed! I can’t afford to open the whole space. If it flooded the boat would dive for good!’ His voice hardened. ‘Now take it one step at a time!’

  A sonar operator snapped, ‘Ship closing fast from green one one zero! Bearing steady!’

  Oxley breathed out slowly. ‘God, we’re right amongst them!’

  Vaguely he heard Jermain order another increase of speed. The Temeraire was now logging about twenty-five knots! That would give the bastards up there something to ponder over! Just a while longer and the deception could be finished. Temeraire would dive deep, and the attackers could think what they liked. They could either carry on with a fruitless search, or claim the boat sunk with all hands! He found that he was smiling openly, like an idiot.

  Irons stared up at him. ‘Sir, I’ve just realised something. We can’t dive deep! Not with that tube unsealed!’

  Even as their eyes met, the thrashing screws of the attacking ship sluiced over the deckhead. It was more muffled by the distance, but none the less deadly.

  The charges exploded together near the port beam, so that Oxley felt the pain in his lungs as if he had received the blow himself. The lights faded away, and the men cried out in terror as lamps and gauges shattered overhead and showered them with fragments of glass.

  Obediently the emergency lighting came into force, and Oxley stared aghast at the littered compartment, the shocked and bleeding men around him. He gazed blankly at the buckled depth gauge and realised that the boat was porpoising towards the surface. He could feel himself falling backwards in his seat, could sense the sudden change of pressure on his breathing.

  Irons croaked, ‘Two ships closing fast, sir! Bearing red four five!’

  Oxley closed his eyes for a few seconds to search for his inner control. A double attack, with the submarine already shooting towards the surface. It was nearly over. They were finished.

  Then he heard Jermain again, level and precise above the roar of the approaching ships. ‘Emergency dive! Take her down to eight hundred feet! Steer one six zero!’

  The depth gauge quivered uncertainly and then began to move slowly forwards. Oxley stared at the needle, willing it to move faster. Praying that Jermain would be in time.

  The roar of depth-charges rolled around the hull and shook the compartment with murderous contempt. More lights shattered, and in the semi-darkness the men clung to any fixed object to stop themselves from being hurled against the treacherous steel.

  From far, away someone reported, ‘Diving correctly, sir! Seven hundred feet!’

  Oxley swung round and stared at the intercom speaker as Trott’s voice cut through the other sounds and reached out to every quarter of the hull.

  ‘Sir! I can’t close the tube! The water’s pouring in! For God’s sake, stop the dive!’

  From the control room Jermain sounded empty of emotion. ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘It—it’s pouring in!’ Trott was gabbling, the words mixed up and confused in sudden terror. In the background Oxley could hear the mounting hiss of pressurised water as it ripped past the torpedo and scythed into the small space beyond. He pressed his hand to his forehead and brushed the clammy sweat from his eyes. Once past this depth the water would force into the circular space at the rate of one hundred thousand pounds per minute!

  As if in a dream he heard Jermain say, ‘Watch the trim!’ Just three words, but Oxley knew he was telling the men at the diving controls to make allowance for the tube space filling with water. It was a matter of slide-rule precision. Cold and without feeling. Trott and his six men were already written off, like so much extra ballast in the bows!

  Oxley made himself look at the depth gauge. Already the planesman was levelling out towards eight hundred feet. He felt suddenly and uncontrollably sick.

  A young sonarman stared at a voice-pipe and croaked, ‘Sir! He’s calling you!’

  Even from his seat behind the panel Oxley could hear Trott sobbing and pleading through the emergency voice-pipe which connected him with the sonar compartment.

  Then over the intercom he heard Mason’s voice again. Devoid of emotion, it sounded calm and quite controlled. ‘Now then, lads! Stand fast! You know we can’t get the door open!’

  Oxley looked away. Dear God! He could picture Mason with his back to the oval door which led aft, away from the spurting water. Mason, the ordinary, run-of-the-mill petty officer who was now calming his handful of men to stand still and wait for death without panic.

  Oxley remembered with sudden clarity that Mason had been the witness to the argument between Colquhoun and the first lieutenant. He recalled too how embarrassed he had been when his small son had been christened in the depot ship’s bell back in the Gareloch. He had made an awkward, clumsy speech, after which he had been happy to sink back into the obscurity of his companions.

  The sonarman beside the pipe clasped his hands together and said, ‘My Christ! Look!’

  Oxley stared at the water which already seeped through the open voice-pipe, gathering force and power with each dragging second.

  In a harsh, strangled tone which he did not recognise he said, ‘Close the vent! Shut it, man!’

  Irons pushed the man aside and clamped the tube with one savage movement.

  For a long moment they all stared at the voice-pipe and listened to a strange hollow danging overhead. With no hands to still them, the hoisting chains swung gratingly against the projecting torpedo, the sound carrying through the trapped water like the tolling of a funeral bell.

  Far away, booming and dull like distant thunder, the baffled depth-charges kept up their steady accompaniment. But throughout the Temeraire there was complete silence, but for the steady clanging condemnation from the torpedo space.

  *  *  *

  ‘Eight hundred feet, sir.’ Petty Officer Jeffers managed to keep his voice calm, but his eyes stayed fixed on the hydroplane telltales, and the knuckles of his hands shone white above his brass wheel.

  Jermain took a pace away from the plot table and then stared down at his feet. His shoes crunched on a thick layer of broken glass and metallic dust, and he realised dully that he had hardly moved throughout the whole nerve-racking attack.

  Drew cleared his throat and reported, ‘I’ve compensated for the extra weight forrard, sir.’ He faltered then continued, ‘I think we should retain these revolutions for the moment to give better control.’

  Then he turned his head, and Jermain saw the naked misery in his eyes.

  ‘It was my fault, sir!’ He could not hold it back any longer. ‘I should have told Trott what to expect!’

  ‘You can’t allow for everything.’ Jermain felt empty and drained. ‘He should have known.’

  A telephone buzzed and Mayo stood with the handset cradled against his jacket. ‘It’s the chief, sir.’ He watched Jermain’s face with a mixture of anxiety and pity. ‘He wants a word with you.’

  Jermain took the receiver and tried not to listen to the hollow echo from the chains. ‘Yes, Chief?’

  ‘That last pattern, sir.’ Ross was crisp and normal. ‘I think it must have damaged the screw. Nothing vital, but when I went aft I did notice a new sound.’ He seemed to be considering the matter. ‘It’s either a chip out of one of the blades, or maybe one of them is buckled. It will add quite considerably to the noise factor. If you intend to maintain speed I would suggest you run deeper for a while. That is, until the chase is well clear.’

  Jermain found that he was weighing each word, dragging every syllable across his aching mind for painful examination. It was difficult to think any more.

  He answered slowly, ‘Any more trouble with that seepage, Chief?’

  Ross said reluctantly, ‘No, sir. Nothing to write home about now.’

  Jermain bit his lip and stared fixedly at Drew’s bent shoulders. How typical, he thought. The one thing which had nagged him since coming out here, yet it had been the unforeseen which had struck without warning. Maybe the bow door on the torpedo tube had been faulty all the time, an overlooked detail from the hasty trials. Now they might never know.

  Ross continued quietly, ‘I’m sorry about Trott and the others. No one should have to make the decision you did.’

  ‘Keep checking on the screw, Chief.’ Jermain dropped the handset and stared emptily at the depth gauges.

  The Temeraire had pulled it off. By now the American boat would be well clear of the Valley and on her way to safety. He tried to hold on to that fact and ease the pain of the cost to the back of his mind.

  The Temeraire had suffered with her crow, but her faults could be rectified.

  Mayo said, ‘Shall we run deep, sir?’

  Jermain turned on him. ‘Yes, we’ll dive to nine hundred feet until we’re dear of the area. Then we’ll go up to periscope depth and start the high-power pumps in the tube space. We have a damaged screw, and the sound will attract attention unless we are very careful.’

  Mayo continued, ‘At periscope depth we’ll be more vulnerable, sir.’

  ‘God, I know that, Pilot!’ His voice seemed to affect Mayo like a blow. ‘But I want the tube space pumped dry and inspected for damage, do you understand? If we are challenged again I intend to have something with which to hit back!’

  He swung on his heel and looked at the admiral. ‘With your permission, sir, I would like to discuss the next phase of this operation.’

  The admiral followed him into the chart-room without a word. Once inside Jermain slid the door into place and then said, ‘I have carried out the text of my orders, sir. But the damaged screw makes any sort of silent approach extremely difficult.’ He made himself speak in a clipped, almost matter-of-fact tone, and he saw the look of stunned disbelief in the admiral’s pale eyes.

  The latter said thickly, ‘What do you want me to say, Jermain? You’ve had it your way, and it can be said that the whole operation was a success,’ He looked away. ‘Your decision to dive the boat was the right one. If you had been in the tube space at the time you would have expected nothing different!’

  Jermain clenched his fists. Don’t say any more, for God’s sake! One more piece of consolation, one further word of alleged understanding and I will break!

  Coldly he answered, ‘You are in charge of the operation, sir. You must decide if you think the Temeraire should make straight back to base.’

  The admiral gasped. ‘But the fishing boat, Jermain! My son and the others are still back there!’

  Jermain’s voice was relentless. ‘The decision is the same as mine, sir. Are you prepared to risk the safety of this boat for the sake of a few more men? If it was not your son back there, would you still want to risk disaster?’

  ‘That is unfair!’ The admiral began to pace back and forth, his arms swinging in time with his words. ‘What are you asking me to do?’

  ‘I am in command of the Temeraire, sir. I am not God! The area will be alive with ships by now, and the noise of the damaged screw might well attract attention. I can’t even fight back until I’ve pumped out the tube space.’ He leaned against the chart table and felt the weariness spreading through him like a drug.

  The admiral replied quietly, ‘You once implied that I was old fashioned in my thinking, Jermain. Perhaps you were right.’ He looked up, his eyes suddenly bright. ‘You stuck out to save the Pyramus because they were depending on you. On your faith in your men and in your own judgement. I can see now that their faith was well-founded!’

  Jermain dropped his eyes. ‘You are telling me to go back, is that it?’

  ‘No, I am not, Jermain. I am telling you that this is still a decision which only you can make. Must make!’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Don’t worry, I will promise you my support either way. This time there will be no recriminations from me!’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Jermain saw the admiral’s hands trembling. ‘In that case I would like to return for the others immediately.’

  The admiral thrust his hands beneath his jacket and nodded firmly. ‘I pray that it is what I would have done in your position.’ He sat down heavily on the chart locker and stared fixedly at the deck. Then with something of his former strength he barked, ‘Now just leave me alone for a few moments, will you!’

  Jermain glanced at the chart and then opened the door. In a firm voice he said, ‘Bring her round to two eight zero. Fall out Action Stations!’

  Behind him he heard the admiral whisper, ‘Thank God! Thank God!’

  Griffin appeared in the control room as the men on watch were relieved. He looked around at the litter of shattered gauges and splintered paint, and then said evenly, ‘I’ll be standing by when you need me, sir.’ He gestured forward. ‘We’ll take the bodies below once we’ve got them out.’

  Jermain faced him savagely, his nerves screaming. What the hell did Griffin think they were? So much dead meat to be hidden away for later disposal?

  Then he saw the deep concern on the young doctor’s face, and all he could bring himself to say was, ‘Take care of them, will you?’

  Without another word he walked quickly to his cabin and shut the door behind him.

  *  *  *

  ‘Time to get up, sir. The sky’s getting brighter already.’ Leading Seaman Haley placed a metal mug on the deck and rubbed his hands noisily. ‘I got the woman to heat some tea for us.’

  Colquhoun threw his legs over the edge of the dinghy and staggered to his feet. His body felt bitterly cold, and he realised that his clothing was wet through to his skin.

  He took the mug and cradled it gratefully in his hands. ‘God, it’s cold, Haley! I never thought it would be like this!’

  The seaman grimaced. ‘If this is the Sea of Japan, you can keep it!’

  Colquhoun took a few steps to the low bulwark and stared around him. He could already see the boat taking definite shape and outline, as well as the flat, lapping water around it. The sky was much clearer, and there was a hint of the brightness to come along the vague horizon line.

  ‘Are the fishermen all right?’ The memories of the previous night came crowding back, and he added, ‘How is the injured one?’

  Haley shrugged. ‘Seems okay, sir. Probably got a head like a cannon ball.’ He peered at the uneasy water. ‘We’ll be getting the hook up shortly, I suppose. Then we can get under way and meet the old Black Pig. I’ll never complain about anything after this!’

  Colquhoun tried to stop his teeth from chattering. ‘Yes, I’ll go and find the first lieutenant.’

  Wolfe was sitting in one comer of the minute wheelhouse, his feet propped up on the wheel. He was red-eyed and unshaven, and hardly looked up at Colquhoun’s entrance.

  ‘It’s getting light, Number One.’ Colquhoun noticed that there was a half-filled tumbler of pale spirit at Wolfe’s elbow, and his heavy automatic pistol lay cocked beside it.

  Wolfe glanced at him indifferently. ‘So I’ve noticed.’ His eye fastened on the metal mug. ‘I see you’ve been crawling to those bloody gooks again!’

  ‘I thought we could do with something hot. I told Haley to fix it.’ Colquhoun did not know why he bothered to lie. Nothing he said seemed to make any difference to Wolfe’s animosity. ‘Shall I get Nettle to start the engine?’

  ‘When I say so.’ Wolfe reached beneath his seat and produced a full bottle. He slopped some of the bitter-smelling drink into his glass and held it up to the grey light. ‘Rice wine. Not too bad, provided you don’t inhale!’ He chuckled and took a deep swallow. ‘Better than your bloody tea, I can tell you!’

  Colquhoun said wearily, ‘When are we supposed to rendezvous?’

  ‘All in good time.’ Wolfe’s eyes flashed with sudden irritation. Then he added, ‘You worry too much, did you know that?’ He wagged his glass towards him and some of the drink spilled over his chest. ‘What you need is a good woman!’ He grinned broadly. ‘That’s exactly what you want.’

  ‘Look, Number One, if you don’t want to tell me …’

  Wolfe leaned forward and studied him intently. ‘Now, did I say something to offend you. Sub? I certainly wouldn’t want that. You might feel bound to put me under arrest, eh?’ He leaned back again and laughed loudly. ‘Yes, I think you should find yourself a nice, ambitious woman and settle down! Like me!’

  Colquhoun turned to go, but Wolfe shouted, ‘You dismiss when I tell you, got it?’ Then he became calmer. ‘Did you know I was married once, Sub?’

  Colquhoun leaned against the stained window and shook his head. ‘No.’ In spite of Wolfe’s even tone he was obviously drunk. Colquhoun was surprised to find that it hardly seemed to matter any more. It was just one more impossible obstacle.

  ‘Oh yes. I never wanted a girl so much in my whole life. I’d have done anything for her. Anything at all.’ His head lolled, but he pulled himself together with a jerk. ‘Just because I made certain rules, certain definite standards, she started playing around!’ He glared at Colquhoun, searching his face. ‘The little bitch! She thought I didn’t know! But I used to keep a check on her, watched her every move! Of course, I never actually caught her at it, but that was because of her brother, you see.’

  Colquhoun tried to follow Wolfe’s line of reasoning. ‘Whose brother?’

  Wolfe heaved himself to his feet, sending the pistol spinning to the deck. ‘Don’t you get cheeky with me, Mister Colquhoun! Just you pay attention!’ He was breathing heavily. ‘Her brother, the high and mighty Commander Jermain!’

  Colquhoun stared at him. ‘I—I didn’t know’

  ‘Oh, you didn’t know, eh?’ Wolfe slumped back on the seat. ‘I find that hard to believe.’ He took another long swallow and coughed uncontrollably. ‘Oh yes, they had it all set up between them. He was jealous of me. Always was, in fact. They thought I’d fight to keep the marriage going by contesting a divorce, knowing that it would ruin me in the Service.’ He was quite calm again. ‘So I played it by ear. I let them put their story of mental cruelty and all that rubbish across without a murmur!’ He smiled at some inner thought. ‘I’ve waited all this time. All this bloody time!’