There was an additional compass on its tall wooden stand at the rear of the tiny deck, and von Steiger climbed up on to the scrubbed steps from which the officer-of-the-watch could take bearings and fixes under happier circumstances. Apart from the masthead man, he was now higher than any other person aboard. He was slightly below the lip of the funnel, and found that when he raised his glasses his vision was clear and unimpeded.

  The white cloud was still there, motionless.

  The sea had already changed colour and had allowed the early sunlight to flow down into the deep troughs and glittering gullies. It was a fine, unspoiled blue, broken only occasionally by a brief whitecap and the aimless crowd of gulls which still spiralled hopefully above the ship’s taffrail.

  He stood for several long minutes, his eyes sore from strain, yet unwilling to shut out the picture of that pale cloud.

  He was about to step down from his uncomfortable perch, even if only to wipe his eyes, when the Vulkan ploughed into yet another of the long swelling rollers which moved easily across the empty sea in quiet, dignified columns. By a chance freak a similar roller, probably one which had long before lifted the raider’s keel, passed beneath the other vessel. Imperceptibly, the horizon’s sharp edge was broken by a faint but definite black triangle. Then it was gone again, and only the mocking smoke remained to stain the bright sky.

  He stepped slowly from the compass platform, his mind making rapid calculations. That had been a tripod mast, it was useless to think otherwise. No other superstructure was visible as yet, which indicated that the warship was pointing straight towards him. He stared through Ebert’s questioning face and past the swinging tube of the range-finder. Allowing for the haze and the height of the other vessel, we must be about eighteen miles apart. He frowned as the pounding vibration of the engine intruded on his thoughts. She was already going at full speed, and he doubted if they could give him even another knot, no matter what the emergency. He climbed rapidly down the ladder, his thoughts dropping into place as he moved.

  ‘It’s the cruiser, no doubt about it!’ He saw the hope fade in their eyes. ‘Allowing a mile, more or less, she is about eighteen miles clear, but we will check with the range-finder as soon as the haze breaks.’ He smiled as if at some secret joke, and continued: ‘H.M.S. Waltham is a fairly new ship. She has twelve six-inch guns and the same number of smaller weapons.’ He walked to the vibrating chart-table, aware that so far none of his officers had voiced a reply. ‘The Waltham’s speed is the problem. It is listed at twenty-one knots, but I imagine she will go much faster if the hounds pick up the scent!’

  He pushed the brass ruler across the chart and steadied the pencil against the quivering paper. ‘Alter course, Heuss. Steer south seventy-five east.’ He walked to his chair and stared at it with dislike. ‘Dehler, pipe all hands aft. I want the whole ship’s company, gunners as well, under the poop. Their extra weight will lift the bows a little and add to our speed.’ He saw the man’s face blanch as the telephone buzzed once again.

  ‘Masthead reports the warship, sir. Dead astern now. Range about seventeen miles.’

  Von Steiger smiled. ‘He’s guessing!’ He saw Heuss’s taut features relax into a grin, and added, ‘If it had not been for Pieck, I fear we would already be hard-pressed!’

  Heuss peered astern at the unmoving white cloud. It was so sinister, so permanent, that he found himself standing on tiptoe as if to see the invisible ship. The cruiser’s guns, he knew, had an effective range of about eight miles. But a fluke shot at an even greater range could be just as disastrous. He remembered the great screaming salvoes of shells which had plummeted down from the sky at Jutland. But there at least they had had armoured decks. The Vulkan, apart from a few extra sheets of hardened steel about her superstructure and sandbags jammed around the sheltered gun-mountings to protect the gunners from flying splinters, was much the same as the day she was launched. He bit his lip. The guns, too, were mainly mounted in the forepart of the ship. It had been assumed that she would be chasing, not being chased. The twenty-two pounder on the poop was as much use against an armoured cruiser as a hatpin against a charging elephant.

  He listened to von Steiger rapping out his orders in that sharp, clear voice which had become the centre of their little world.

  ‘Pass the word to the galley to take the men’s breakfast aft to the poop. And tell Petty Officer Weiss to get his concertina. I have heard him play quite well, and it will take their minds off our new companion if they can sing a few of their bawdy songs!’

  Damrosch said uncertainly: ‘What will the enemy do, sir? Have they seen us yet?’

  ‘It is better to assume that they have seen us. They might be following us by accident, but I doubt it. I expect they are checking all craft in this area and want to have a talk with us. When they discover that they are not overhauling us, they will begin to get suspicious.’

  ‘Perhaps they have guessed already.’ Damrosch tried not to look astern.

  Von Stelger shook his head. ‘It is too quiet. No frantic wireless messages, nothing. If I know the Royal Navy, the Waltham’s captain will have sent his men to breakfast first. “The strange ship can wait until after that!” It is a good rule, too. A man can always fight better on a full belly!’

  He shaded his eyes against the shimmering glare on the water. To himself he added: A full day of empty water and clear sky. If I can keep clear of those guns until dusk I have a chance. If not . . . He shut his mind to the other choice, and called to Reeder, ‘My breakfast, if you please!’ He walked towards the sea cabin, keeping his movements slow, even casual. ‘I shall have my food now, Heuss. As the British respect their own appetites, they can at least do the same for me!’ He saw Heuss relax and Damrosch’s stiff face break into a shaky smile.

  But when the door was closed behind him and Reeder had gone, he could not even bear to look at the breakfast on the silver tray. He was so conscious of the threat which followed his ship, and, once alone, he could think of nothing else. He felt, too, a sense of failure and a helplessness which his victims must already have known and understood.

  He rested both hands on the edge of the table and closed his eyes so tightly that little lights jumped within the darkness. The strain of always having to be right is killing me as surely as any shell. Every command I give must leave no room for uncertainty, and any decision could be final. He opened his eyes and stared emptily at the trembling table. Final, indeed, he thought.

  * * * * *

  For two nerve-stretching hours the Vulkan continued along her set course, the hull and superstructure shaking so violently that several plates began to work and strain in the lower part of the vessel, and above the thunder of the engine could be heard the monotonous clank of the power-operated bilge-pumps as the engineers dragged themselves from one warning leak to another.

  Von Steiger had resumed his place on the port wing of the bridge, his glasses resting on his forearms as he steadied them on the screen. Dehler joined him in the hot sunlight, his face haunted. ‘We must slow her down, sir! She’s shaking herself to pieces!’

  Von Steiger watched the telltale smudge of smoke on the horizon. ‘Alter course and steer due east, Dehler. If the cruiser hauls off I shall order a reduction of speed. If not,’ he shrugged wearily, ‘the slow destruction of this ship will have to continue.’ His voice suddenly heated, he added, ‘Damn all those fools who sit in their offices and make such decisions and issue the orders which will send a ship like this to war!’

  Dehler did not answer, but he heard him pass the order and felt the firm but gentle pressure of the screen against his chest as the charging ship responded to the alteration of course.

  Minutes dragged by, and every glass was trained on the faraway wisp of vapour. The angle of sight increased with agonising slowness, until the smoke-trail seemed to merge with the shimmering edge of the horizon itself. An hour passed, and the miles grew between the two vessels, and it took great skill to find the warship’s position, once you had lowered your glass for a second.

  Von Steiger stared doubtfully at the empty sea. It was small comfort to lose the cruiser, but it would have to suffice. The least sign or suspicion could bring her dashing back at a speed which could overwhelm the Vulkan’s with ten knots to spare.

  Ebert left his range-finder and joined the others on the bridge. In a voice clearly audible to the lonely figure on the port wing he exclaimed: ‘He’s done it again! Lost that cruiser when the Tommies could have had us by the tails!’

  Damrosch said! ‘What was the matter with the British? Why did they let us get away?’

  ‘Who knows; They probably sighted another ship and wanted to investigate. After all, there is nothing more harmless than a ship apparently steaming from a “safe” country!’ They were still laughing when the telephone buzzed and cut the humour dead in the air.

  Heuss said: ‘Masthead reports two ships, fine on the starboard bow, Captain! Two freighters, well down in the water and on a converging course!’

  Von Steiger frowned. ‘Why did he not report them earlier? If we had ten masthead lookouts I suppose they would all be gazing after that cruiser!’

  Ebert said ruefully: ‘What rotten luck! Two fat freighters and we can’t touch them! That beats everything!’

  Von Steiger perched himself on his chair and wound down the big window in front of him. ‘Clear for action, Lieutenant Ebert! We will engage both ships together!’

  The words dropped like boulders in a quiet valley. Dehler could not check his disbelief. ‘You can’t mean that, sir?’ His eyes were popping from his head. ‘You have not forgotten there is an armoured cruiser just beyond the horizon?’

  Heuss said nothing, but watched the Captain’s set face, seeing the fleeting shadow of surrender in his gold eyes.

  Von Steiger twisted suddenly in his chair. ‘Do you imagine that I shall let them escape? If we are sunk immediately after these ships, at least we shall have something to justify our existence! Now, do as I say!’

  Dehler sweated visibly but stood his ground. His heavy face was fearful but determined. ‘But what about the men, sir? If they knew what you were doing they would turn on you!’

  Von Steiger sighed and stared past Dehler’s head towards the twin columns of greasy black smoke which lifted lazily over the skyline.

  ‘At any other time such consideration for the crew’s welfare would be highly commendable, Dehler. But what you are saying now is akin to mutiny. Do you understand that?’

  Heuss stepped forward. ‘I agree with the Captain!’ He met Dehler’s glowering face calmly. ‘We have been deluding ourselves, I can see that now. We have to sink these ships, Dehler. If we start running away we are done for.’

  They jumped as von Steiger dragged a match noisily across a box and lighted a cheroot. He had apparently dismissed them all and was patiently waiting for results.

  Dehler turned towards the bridge ladder, his eyes downcast, even ashamed. ‘I hope I know the meaning of duty, Captain! I think I have done my share!’ Then he was gone.

  Heuss wiped his brow with a soiled handkerchief and spread his hands to Ebert. ‘These chaps are so jumpy! I don’t like to say it, but anyone who comes from the lower deck, no matter which service, will never make a good officer.’

  Ebert pulled down the peak of his cap and placed a foot on the bottom rung of his ladder. He stared intently at Heuss. ‘I hope you are wrong, Max. I came from the lower deck, and, as a matter of fact, I am rather proud of it!’

  Heuss walked to the centre of the wheelhouse, his face resigned. He stared at von Steiger’s firm shoulders, and in spite of his feeling of humiliation, grinned at himself. I shall never learn, he thought. I have been so wrapped up in myself that I have never considered making a decision which might put me in one category as against another. Now I have offended Karl, the one man who has tolerated my moods and bad temper for so long. He sighed, and lifted his glasses towards the approaching black shapes.

  Von Steiger said calmly: ‘You acted wisely then, Heuss. Another second and Dehler might have said something stupid, which I could not have overlooked. Perhaps you should have been a politician?’

  Heuss watched him carefully. How does he do it? He looks so controlled and unimpressed, and yet I know he is wound as tightly as a gun-spring. I hate him for his arrogance, his godlike superiority and his utter ruthlessness. Yet I would do anything for him because of his humanity and complete integrity.

  ‘Would you have ordered an attack on these ships, Heuss?’ The sudden question startled him, and he tried to gauge the Captain’s real motives for asking.

  ‘I think it is important, sir,’ he answered slowly, his eyes fixed now on the black smoke and small dark shapes on the glittering water. ‘A combined effort is important in this war, but I think perhaps that the individual acts are the more telling in the end. We are like a branch of a great tree, or even like one of its twigs. Small but important to the whole. And all over the world ships and individuals, even men like Fleiuss, are doing what they think best for their country.’

  Von Steiger turned and smiled at Heuss’s serious face. ‘Very well put. Unfortunately, if someone cuts down your tree at its roots, the twigs are not much use!’

  A voice distorted by a mouthpiece said, ‘Range ten thousand yards!’ And another, ‘Both ships appear to be British!’

  Von Steiger’s smile faded. ‘It will have to be quick! In fifteen minutes signal them to heave to and abandon ship! Give them another three minutes, and then open fire!’

  * * * * *

  The two travel-stained freighters steamed in line ahead about half a mile apart. Both were well down in the placid water, and as the Vulkan bore down on them the watching officers could see the clean white crates stacked on their crowded decks and the tattered British ensigns which hung limp and unmoving from their gaffs.

  A cluster of signal flags soared upwards to the raider’s yards, and simultaneously the big, crisp German ensign flapped out over the bared guns. ‘Stop immediately! Abandon ship! This is a German cruiser!’ Signal-lamps clattered on either side of the bridge to finalise the fate of the two unprepared merchantmen.

  Von Steiger watched the bow-waves die away on the two freighters, and saw the decks suddenly blossom with scurrying figures. A lifeboat moved jerkily in its davits and began to slither down the nearest ship’s rusty side. Then another, and on the other ship he could see the crew following suit. He reached for his megaphone and strode out on to the sun-bathed starboard wing as the raider moved in a cautious semicircle round the bobbing lifeboats. The two freighters already looked abandoned and wretched in their stillness.

  The Vulkan stopped her engine and glided towards the nearest boats, her great black shadow falling across the upturned faces and motionless oars. ‘Where is your captain?’ His voice was metallic and eerily distorted on the gently heaving water.

  A man in a white shirt stood up in the nearest boat, shading his eyes with his hand. He did not answer, but merely stared at the high bridge and the officer with the megaphone.

  ‘I am taking you aboard, Captain! I will give you your position, and the boats can make for the Brazilian coast! It is safe enough for them!’ The man still stood silently swaying in the boat, and von Steiger called sharply, ‘What is your ship?’

  The voice was husky but strong enough to show its anger. ‘S.S. Pitcairn, outward bound from Pernambuco!’

  A rope ladder was thrown down the raider’s side, and the boat idled nearer. Heuss, standing close by von Steiger’s side, saw the upturned, sun-reddened faces, the hastily seized possessions and the mixed expressions of hatred and anxiety. One man in the bow of the boat held a small black-and-white cat cradled in his brawny arms. The English captain seized the swaying ladder and stepped from the boat. He turned and smiled at his silent men, and one of them gave him a thumbs-up sign.

  The Vulkan moved slowly forward towards the other group of boats. The second ship was the seven-thousand-ton Dover Light, also from Pernambuco and bound for England. Her captain shook his fist at von Steiger and seemed about to refuse to leave his boat. A seaman poked his rifle over the raider’s rail and gestured with nervous impatience.

  The master, an elderly, grey-haired man in an old tweed coat, glared at the rifle and the line of heads along the rail. His voice cracked as he yelled hoarsely at the watching ship: ‘Don’t shoot! Let my men go, you bloody murderer! I thought women and children were more in your line!’

  He grasped the ladder and began to climb. Heuss threw down a small canvas bag containing the course and position for the stranded seamen, and turned to watch von Steiger’s chilled face.

  ‘Did you hear that, Heuss? Do you hear what they are calling me?’

  The two captains were brought to the bridge and stood in silence as von Steiger finished rapping out a string of orders.

  He turned and faced them, his eyes hard ‘I have to sink your ships! It is war. I do not like to destroy any ship, but it is my duty!’

  The captain of the Dover Light moved as if to step forward, but a levelled bayonet dropped across his chest. The man stared at von Steiger’s outstretched hand and sucked in his breath in astonishment.

  ‘I’ll not shake your hand, Captain!’ His chest was heaving in a mixture of fury and misery. ‘I would feel unclean for the rest of my life! I’ve heard about you! I’ve read of your sort of duty! Wounded men in a hospital ship, unprotected merchantmen and the rest! Why not shoot us too, you bloody butcher!’

  Heuss tore his eyes from von Steiger’s stony face. ‘Silence! You are speaking lies! The Captain has never . . .’

  ‘That will do, Heuss!’ The voice was tired. ‘Take them below!’

  Heuss’s outburst was finished and overthrown by the sudden shattering roar of the forward guns opening fire. The first shells exploded on the waterlines of the wallowing ships, and the second salvo settled their fate. Together on passage, the two ships slowly sank in company, their deck cargoes breaking free and crashing across the listing decks and smoking superstructure.