Just as Mahlberg finished and the loudspeaker crackled off, there was a sharp clang and distant rumble as the turret gear was engaged and the turret began to move. At the same time Statz heard the pump motors engage and the wild hiss of hydraulic fluid being released so that the gun’s heavy breech slowly dropped, and her muzzle began to elevate.
Statz felt pride overwhelm him as the turret trained and the guns laid in a beautiful choreography of destruction. He dared not look at the others because he was the gun captain and must remain professional at all times; but think of it! Feel the movement of the turret and the majesty of the gun as it sought out its enemy, and how could a man not know that he was a part of something so powerful and awe-inspiring that God himself must have had a hand in making it?
“Starboard thirty,” Hardy ordered the helmsman in response to orders from Prometheus.
Cole felt the tension rising as Hardy concentrated on the scene unfolding before him. The captain dropped the binoculars from his eyes only long enough to bark an order.
“Prometheus wants us to go end around,” Hardy said. “She’ll have Eskimo and Windsor make smoke for her and then God only knows what Sir Whittlesey has up his sleeve. If he thinks that Sea Lion is going to be unnerved by Firedancer’s presence, he is being highly optimistic.”
Cole spotted Eskimo and Windsor turning hard to starboard. Suddenly black smoke began belching from their stacks. The engine room had been ordered to dump extra fuel oil into the burners — they were making smoke to shield Prometheus’s move.
“There’s the smoke,” Cole said.
“Yes. Lovely pattern at that,” Hardy noted professionally. “Let’s hope the wind helps out. Keeping a sharp eye on Sir Whittlesey, Number One?”
“Yes, sir,” Land said. “Nothing yet.” Hardy wanted both Land and Dove to watch the flagship for signals — less danger of missing any of Sir Whittlesey’s pearls of wisdom.
“Message from Prometheus,” Dove called. “‘You will demonstrate with vigor at the enemy’s stern.’ End message.”
“Acknowledged and received, Dove,” Hardy said in what Cole thought was a surprisingly calm manner. No explosions, no denunciations — very cool and professional. “Number One, I shall want the port engine up twenty revolutions and starboard fifteen on the wheel.”
“Yes, sir,” Land said, giving the commands to the helmsman and engine room.
“Any sea duty with the navy, Mr. Cole?” Hardy asked.
“A flush-deck destroyer,” Cole said, trying to watch everything.
“The old four stackers. First war vintage. What was your station?”
“Gunnery officer,” Cole said as he saw Prometheus turn hard to port. She was going to come in under the smoke that the destroyers were laying but from a different course than Sea Lion had observed her. Not much of a surprise to the enemy vessel but the only one that Prometheus had.
“Guns, were you?” Hardy said. “I’ll have the wheel amidships, Number One, and starboard engines up twenty.”
“Twenty millimeters aft of the well deck,” Cole said, focusing on the German ship. He dropped the binoculars and rubbed his eyes roughly. They were starting to feel the strain. “Seconded as the torpedo officer.”
“Windsor and Eskimo are just now pulling to starboard, sir,” Land noted.
Hardy acknowledged the observation with a grunt. “Prometheus will cross Sea Lion’s bow, drawing fire, no doubt. He’ll send Eskimo and Windsor in with torpedoes. Nicely done, Sir Whittlesey. All of this is textbook, Cole,” Hardy said. “Until the shooting starts.”
Cole swung his binoculars back to Sea Lion. There was an incredible flash that nearly covered her forward area and then a great mass of oily black smoke. Before he could say anything, Land shouted: “Sea Lion’s firing. A and B Turrets.” Cole turned his head to one side, the only way to see shells in flight, an old gunner had told him. Look out of the corner of your eye, don’t look directly for them, and you’ll be able to catch them as they head for their target. Now, of course, the gunner told him wryly, if you’re the target, you’ll get a real close look at them anyway.
“Thank you, Number One,” Hardy said with some irritation. “I am perfectly aware of this latest development.”
Cole began calculating, his mind frantically working the puzzle — fifteen-inch shells can travel 25,000 yards in fifty seconds. But these are sixteen-inch shells and I have no idea how far away they are. How many thousands of yards separate Sea Lion from Prometheus? Speed. Sea Lion’s eating up the distance at twenty yards a second and Prometheus is closing as well but with an angle of deflection. What happens when one of those shells strikes Prometheus? What about two shells? Not this quickly, they can’t find the range this quickly.
“The ball has started, Mr. Cole,” Hardy said grimly, “and we are hardly dressed yet.”
“Hits,” Land said. “Beyond the destroyers. My God, those columns must be a hundred feet tall. It’s high explosives all right. Their fall is over by a thousand yards.”
The telephone next to Cole’s shoulder jangled urgently as the thunderous sound of Sea Lion’s guns reached Firedancer. Cole jumped at the sound of the telephone and then cursed softly at his own nervousness.
“Masthead reports, Captain,” Land said with the receiver in his hand. “X Turret is training on us.” It would have been Dora — the British were unimaginative in designating their turrets. Instead of Anton and Bruno forward, and Caesar and Dora aft, it was A, B and X, Y. The name was of little consequence; the fact that Sea Lion had singled Firedancer out as a recipient for upwards of six tons of high explosives was a matter of some concern.
Hardy flipped open the voice tube cover to the wheelhouse. “Quartermaster, Bridge. Port thirty and make it lively.”
“Masthead reports,” Land said. “Y Turret is training on us.”
“Has she reduced her speed?” Hardy said.
“No, sir,” Cole threw in. “She hasn’t backed down an ounce.”
“Thank you for that report, Mr. Cole,” Hardy said. “You may now consider yourself a member of the crew.”
“She’ll have a hard time judging our speed and course,” Land said, joining them.
“All she need do is get close with those big monsters and our speed and course will be the least of our worries,” Hardy said.
“There’s another salvo, sir,” Cole said as Sea Lion flashed brilliantly. She was trying to knock out the destroyers. Windsor and Eskimo were just separating to launch a torpedo attack and they made just as enticing a target as Prometheus. And if one or both of the destroyers were disabled, Prometheus could not call on them for smoke and she could not return to the smoke that they had just lain down, because the oily plumes that had obscured her position were dissipating. Prometheus would have nowhere to hide from Sea Lion.