He heard himself yelling as the gun vibrated against his armpit, and through the drifting smoke he saw the figures crumple away from the conning tower like discarded puppets as the four Stirlings poured a deadly fire amongst them.

  Colquhoun swung the wheel and sent the boat careering towards the grey hull, which even now was pulling away, the surprise giving way to trained reaction. The conning tower was already tilting, and across the gap he could hear the water roaring into her tanks as she started to dive. Two or three bodies floated free from the empty bridge, and as the sea cascaded over the periscope standards they twirled and pirouetted in a macabre dance before being sucked down to oblivion.

  Colquhoun reloaded his gun and stared at the disturbed water. The submerged submarine would either move clear to fire her coup de grâce, or she might wait for the smokecloud on the horizon to come to her aid. Either way, there was nothing more to be done. He rested his chin on his forearm and watched the place where the enemy had dived.

  *  *  *

  The atmosphere in the Temeraire’s control room was so charged with suppressed tension that it was almost unbearable. Beside the chart table the navigator’s yeoman busied himself aimlessly sharpening a pencil, until Mayo’s glare quelled him too into silence. Jermain stood with his fists deep in his jacket pockets, his eyes on the clock. It seemed as if the hands were welded to the face, and he had to stop himself from checking with his own watch.

  Oxley reported, ‘Stronger diesel H.E. on same bearing, sir; Closing.’

  Mayo let out a slow breath. ‘Damn!’ He glanced at Jermain’s impassive features. ‘A patrol boat, do you think?’

  Jermain said, ‘Check the range again!’

  ‘Ten thousand yards, sir. The second vessel is moving fast. Around twenty knots. Still closing.’

  Jermain felt the admiral at his side. He said quietly, ‘It seems as if we might have to act fast, sir.’

  Sir John Colquhoun stared at the plot table. ‘This second ship. Do you think it’s after the fishing boat?’ He sounded strained to breaking point.

  ‘We don’t know for sure that the other one is our fishing boat, sir.’ Jermain added gently, ‘I’m going up to take a look round.’

  Oxley’s voice came like a slap in the face. ‘More H.E. bearing green one six zero, sir! Range fourteen thousand yards! Fast diesel engines. Closing!’

  The plot table hummed into life, its lights winking malevolently.

  Jermain said slowly, ‘One ahead and one astern. This second one might be the A/S boat we sighted earlier. She seems to be coming back for something.’

  As if to confirm this Oxley snapped, ‘Second H.E. sounds like the other A/S craft, sir. Still closing!’

  Jermain made up his mind. ‘Take her up to sixty feet! Make it as slow as possible.’ He lifted his arms as the deck tilted very slightly. ‘Up periscope!’ He crouched down with his head against the pad, his eyes staring into the churning panorama of sunlit water as the lens glided towards the surface. Hardly daring to breathe he swung the handles on to the given bearing and waited for the spray to clear from the glass. The others around him saw his mouth tighten with satisfaction.

  ‘It is our boat!’ He watched the little vessel move slowly into the cross-wires, her bows throwing up a tremendous moustache of white foam. The periscope was at full power, but with the heavy surface heat haze to contend with it was still difficult to obtain a hard picture. But it was the same boat. There was no doubt about it.

  He swung the periscope round in another half circle and stared fixedly at the new menace astern. Here there was no haze, nothing to hide or soften the outline of the fast-moving ship. But she still had a long way to come. There was still time.

  He turned back to watch the fishing boat. From the corner of his mouth he said, ‘Where’s the other ship now, I can’t see anything!’

  Oxley said, ‘On the same bearing, sir. Closing fast!’ He sounded unusually edgy. ‘She’s there all right!’

  Jermain blinked his eyes and pressed his head harder against the rubber pad. Even allowing for the haze he should be able to see something. The sun was behind him, and the water was as calm as a millpond.

  He cursed inwardly as spray twisted the little picture into interminglings of blue and silver. He could imagine Wolfe and the others watching each horizon, hanging on to hope, and yet not daring to take it for granted.

  Then he tensed as the fishing boat’s deck was further distorted by a drifting cloud of smoke. There were sudden, vicious pin-pricks of light too, matching the sunlight with their brilliance. Even as his mind grappled with this unexpected turn of events he saw the submarine. She had been in a direct line with the fishing boat, but now as the latter swung on some crazy collision course he could see the conning tower, the shine of spray on the smooth steel.

  He straightened his back. ‘Down periscope! There is a submarine on the surface. Bearing red one zero. Same range as the fishing boat!’

  There was a momentary shocked silence, and then Mayo snapped, ‘Start the attack!’

  Jermain gave him a quiet nod. ‘Stand by tubes One and Two!’ To the control room at large he said harshly, ‘It’s the same sub. Right now she’s attacking the fishing boat, and it’s my guess she’s called up assistance.’

  He stood quietly as the ranges and bearings rattled through the intercom. Then he said, ‘Up periscope!’

  ‘One and Two ready, sir. Bow doors open!’

  He swung the handles very slightly from the previous bearing. The fishing boat was still afloat and unharmed, but the submarine seemed to have turned end on.

  Oxley shouted, ‘Diesels have stopped, sir! She’s diving!’

  ‘Down periscope! He watched the flickering lights on the plot table. ‘He’s either running away from Wolfe’s Stirlings, or he’ll haul off to fire a torpedo.’

  Mayo said, ‘More likely he’ll wait for the A/S ship to arrive. He’ll not want to waste a torpedo!’

  Jermain nodded. ‘That’s what I think.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘In that case we must rescue Wolfe’s party first. By the time we caught the submarine the surface ship would be here. Stirlings would be useless against her!’

  ‘Submarine has dived, sir.’ Oxley was in control again. ‘Bearing green two five. Her course is zero nine zero. Depth steady at about one hundred feet.’

  Jermain rested his hand lightly on Mayo’s shoulder. ‘Take over as Number One in the control room, Pilot.’ To Drew he added, ‘You get forrard. I want the torpedo department to run like clockwork if I give the order!’

  Drew slipped from his seat. ‘It will be a pleasure, Skipper!’

  Another glance at the clock. ‘Stand by to surface!’

  The’admiral said urgently, ‘What can I do, Jermain? I can’t just stand here. I’ll go mad!’

  Jermain picked up his glasses and checked their lenses. Quietly he said, ‘I would like you to stay right here in the control room, sir. When we get started in a few minutes I want my men to be able to see you.’ He let his eyes drop to the admiral’s bright rectangle of decorations. ‘They are all trained men, sir. But yours is the experience which will hold them together in a real emergency!’ He turned away from the admiral’s silent stare. He was not sure if the expression was one of pride or whether he was just grateful for being needed.

  Jermain let his eyes move slowly over the assembled men. Look-outs, handling party below the main hatch, and the attack team around the plot table.

  Then he knocked the clips off the lower hatch and started up the ladder. Over his shoulder he yeiled, ‘Surface!’ He noticed that his voice sounded hollow inside the steel tower, and he tried not to picture what would have happened if he had not seen the gunfire aboard the fishing boat. He would have surfaced right on top of the submarine’s sights. It would have been over very quickly, if they were lucky.

  He forgot everything else as he knocked off the second lot of clips and ducked his head as the spray splashed down over his cap. His hands and feet moved automatically, his voice too was crisp and expressionless as he climbed the last few rungs to the cockpit with the lookouts and messengers panting behind him.

  He swung his glasses to his eyes, searching astern for the approaching enemy. She seemed much closer, her bows high above a tremendous crescent of foam, upperworks glinting in the harsh sunlight. By comparison the little fishing boat still seemed a long way off.

  ‘Full ahead!’ He kept his glasses trained on her bows, and then breathed out with satisfaction as they began to swing towards him. ‘They’ve seen us at last!’

  He peered quickly over the screen as the Temeraire rose to her full buoyancy, her black flanks streaming with spray as she gathered speed and pushed harder into the clear water. There was weed on her plates too, and he could see a few bright scars left by the depth-charges. In spite of his inner anxiety the sight seemed to reassure him, and some of the watching lookouts saw him smile and run his hand along the top of the screen like a man stroking a great beast.

  Never before, even on trials, had the Temeraire mounted such a surface speed. The great bow waves creamed back from her rounded stem, high sided and steep like ocean rollers. The whole fin vibrated wildly, and long streamers of spray floated above their heads in ragged arrows.

  A messenger shouted, ‘Sonar still in contact, sir! Submarine now bearing green four five! Range four thousand yards! Her present course is still zero nine zero!’

  Jermain banged his fist on the wet metal. The enemy commander must have heard the Temeraire by now. With all stops pulled and the damaged screw whining like a handsaw, she would be hard not to hear!

  He found himself smiling again. No wonder the other commander was clearing out of the area. For all he knew, the Temeraire might be after him!

  He shouted, ‘Continue tracking! He may decide to have a go!’

  There was a high-pitched whistle and he ducked his head as a tall waterspout rose lazily midway between the submarine and the fishing boat. ‘Port twenty!’ He craned his head to watch the orange flash from the pursuing ship astern. Again the sharp, abbreviated whistle close overhead. He could almost feel the rush of air, taste the foul bite of cordite as the shell exploded on the water beyond the swinging bows.

  ‘Steady! Steer two seven zero!’ He lifted his glasses to watch the other ship. If only they could fire one torpedo at her. But there were too many in the game for that now. There was no time. No time left:

  He snapped, ‘Signal the fishing boat to lower their dinghy! We’ll pick them straight out of the water!’ He heard the clatter of the Aldis, and marvelled that the nineteen years old signalman was keeping his head.

  He ducked his head again as another shell shrieked past the fin and ricocheted across the flat water before exploding with a sullen bang.

  Through his glasses he could see the fishing boat’s deck very clearly now. He could make out Haley’s tall figure struggling with the Temeraire’s dinghy abaft the wheelhouse, assisted by Nettle and Cowley. Colquhoun appeared to be at the helm, and he could see Wolfe sitting on the deck below the ladder. He was the only one not employed, and Jermain said aloud, ‘I think Number One must be wounded!’

  The gap narrowed rapidly. It was far enough. With half a mile still between them Jermain rapped, ‘Open the forehatch! Stand by deck party to take on dinghy!’ He saw one of the lookouts trembling uncontrollably and added calmly, ‘No point in leaving anything lying about, eh?’

  The man nodded and dragged his eyes from the last fall of shot. ‘That’s right, sir. We might as well keep the bastards guessin’!’

  Jermain leaned forward to watch the big hatch being jacked open. Now the submarine was really vulnerable. She could not dive. She was a sitting duck.

  ‘Watch out for aircraft!’ Then he cupped his hands. ‘I shall not stop the engine, so get ready to grab the dinghy!’ He saw the huddled deck party watching him anxiously, their bodies frail and vulnerable to the screaming shellfire. Jermain made himself speak slowly, ‘Remember all the practice you had with the C.N.D. dinghy! You should be able to do it blindfolded!’ Mercifully, someone grinned and waved up at him. He snapped, ‘Signal the fishing boat to bale out!’

  He watched Colquhoun lean from his wheelhouse and raise his arm in reply to the brief message. There was a splash, and he saw Haley leap down into the dinghy, his hands already groping for the outboard motor.

  There was a sharp crack astern, and the air was filled with screaming splinters. Jermain ducked his head as they clanged against the steel or thudded into the fin’s fibreglass covering. He heard a sharp cry and turned to see the young signalman slipping down the side of the cockpit, his eyes wide and frightened as he stared at the blood which poured from his shoulder.

  A lookout seized the boy and yelled, ‘First-aid party on the bridge!’

  The signalman looked dazedly at Jermain and said, ‘It’s okay, sir! I’m all right really!’ Then he fainted.

  Lieutenant Kitson struggled past the stretcher party and joined Jermain in the cockpit. He was carrying some glasses and peered quickly at the fishing boat. Between explosions he yelled, ‘All electrical circuits are working well, sir!’

  Jermain smiled. ‘You already told me! But you might as well stay if you want to!’

  Then he forgot Kitson’s excited face as one of the deck party called, ‘They haven’t left the boat yet, sir!’

  Jennain swore savagely. The shellfire was getting more accurate. It only needed one true hit to prevent them from diving. He levelled his glasses as Kitson said thickly, ‘It’s the first lieutenant, sir! He’s fighting with Colquhoun!’

  Jermain watched the little drama and felt his elation changing to dread. He could see Wolfe’s mouth opening in a wild grin as he pushed Colquhoun back on the bulwark while the other sailors swayed helplessly in the dinghy.

  One of the seamen was holding a limp body on the side of the dinghy, and Jermain guessed it was Lightfoot. It was strange he had not seen him earlier. But perhaps he had died when the submarine had made her first attack.

  He felt the spray slashing over the bridge as another shell exploded astern. ‘Starboard fifteen! Steer two nine zero!’ When he looked up from the gyro repeater Wolfe had vanished, and then Jermain saw him slamming the wheelhouse door to seal himself inside. Colquhoun seemed to falter, and then as another shell filled the air with jagged splinters he leapt over the rail and cut the dinghy’s line.

  A messenger said urgently, ‘Sonar reports submarine contact is turning, sir! Now bearing green six zero! Closing!’

  Jermain gripped the screen with all his strength and concentrated on the small, gleaming dinghy. ‘Come on! For God’s sake, come on!’

  Kitson said, ‘Number One’s steering the fishing boat, sir! What the hell has got into him?’ Then he saw Jermain’s face and added quietly, ‘Poor bastard. It must have been too much for him.’

  Jermain lifted his glasses and watched the dinghy as it scudded towards the onrushing submarine. The faces of the men leapt into focus, so that he could see each line of suffering and fear. Colquhoun crouched by the bow, with one hand on the dead sailor beside him. Haley was sitting upright, with his fingers round the tiller, his eyes already gauging the approach.

  The other two were staring back at the fishing boat, which was still steaming on the same course, her diesel sending a steady plume of blue smoke over her wake.

  Jermain said heavily, ‘Slow ahead! Stand by on the forecasing!’

  He felt the tension sapping his remaining strength as the first grapnel missed its target. But the next fell beside Colquhoun, and as the line jerked taut the waiting seamen dashed forward to haul the dinghy up and over the curved hull.

  A messenger, who had been stooped intently over his microphone, rolled his eyes and yelled, ‘Sonar reports torpedoes approaching from starboard, sir!’

  Jermain dragged his eyes from the gaping hatch and the dinghy which was still being manhandled below. ‘Full ahead! Hard astarboard!’

  It would not be in time. He could feel the urgent thrust of the screw and the sluggish swing of the bows.

  Kitson seemed unable to take the glasses away from his eyes. ‘I can see them, sir! Two torpedoes running just below the surface! Jesus! They’re coming right at us!’

  There was a dull clang from the casing, and a messenger said in a broken voice, ‘Fore hitch shut, sir!’

  Jermain raised his own glasses and watched the twin parallel lines streaking through the glittering water towards him. So it had all been in vain. He had brought the Temeraire and every man aboard to this.

  He blinked as the left lens of his glasses hardened into a white, thrusting bow wave. Like a man in a trance he heard Kitson screaming, ‘It’s Number One! Oh Christ Jesus, look at him!’ He was sobbing uncontrollably as the little fishing boat steamed purposefully across the Temeraire’s swinging bows, her blunt outline blotting out the twin white lines as she passed.

  Jermain shouted, ‘Clear the bridge! Stand by One and Two!’ With his eyes still on the little fishing boat he pressed the diving button and heard the klaxon screaming below him.

  Once, as the sunlight glanced off the boat’s wheelhouse, he imagined that he could see Wolfe looking at him. He was standing quite still and relaxed, even as the two torpedoes bit into the frail hull and exploded in one deafening roar.

  As the Temeraire filled her tanks and plunged into a steep dive, Jermain threw himself through the hatch. Above, patterned against the bright sky, he could see the remains of the shattered boat falling like so much matchwood. They seemed to fall very slowly, as if unwilling to return to the sea.

  His feet thudded into the control room as the lower hatch was slammed shut. Colquhoun was standing beside his father, his eyes dull with fatigue.

  Jermain snapped, ‘Hold her at sixty feet! The submarine is at periscope depth!’ He waited, counting the seconds as the lights kept up their merry dance.

  The intercom barked, ‘Ready to fire, sir!’

  Jermain dropped his hand and the speaker intoned, ‘Fire One!’ He felt the slight thud as the torpedo left the tube. ‘Fire Two!’ Then the voice said, ‘Both torpedoes running, sir!’