“Okay,” Cole said. “If you keep things going here I’ll go check on Number Two Station. We might end up serving both of them, Baird.”
“Nothing to it, sir,” Baird said. “Just as long as our bloody captain can keep us away from those bloody bricks long enough to get these bloody things ready.”
“Amen to that,” Cole said.
When Cole saw number-two torpedo station it was a glimpse into hell. A supply party was trying to remove parts of the after-searchlight platform and engine room vents to get to the dead and wounded men scattered on the deck. So much blood covered the deck that the men of the supply party had difficulty standing. They worked rapidly, cutting away the entanglement with torches, huge bolt cutters, and hacksaws, trying to get to the poor bastards who lay dying in a grotesque spider’s web of destruction.
Ignore it, ignore it, Cole thought, forcing himself to look away from the carnage. He climbed aboard the tubes, carefully inspecting each one as he walked to the cockpit. The sounds of the rescue, the screams of the men, the horrific thunder of exploding shells, and the sledgehammer beat of his own heart; he ignored them all. He was looking for shrapnel holes. If the tubes were pierced, then the torpedo was pierced and it was useless. If the hole was aft on the tube, then it could have pierced the compressed-air chamber and the tube was useless.
Clear, he told himself with satisfaction. They’re all clear. He moved to check the cockpit when he saw the sailor. Half a sailor. He had his right arm and most of his torso, but the head, shoulder, and left arm had been sliced off. Cole walked gingerly to the cockpit, careful not to let his foot slip off the curved combing of the tube, and wondered why he didn’t feel sick, or horrified, at the sight. Here was a man, what was left of a man, mutilated beyond comprehension, by a hunk of metal going a thousand miles an hour. Why don’t I feel anything? Cole thought.
Once he reached the cockpit he steadied himself on the back of the shield and tried to read the gauges. It was impossible. They were covered with blood. He spotted a sailor who had just cleared a piece of twisted metal from the deck.
“Hey, buddy?” he called. “Give me a hand, will you?”
“Right,” the man said and joined Cole. “God help that poor soul,” he added, looking at the remnant of the sailor. “I suppose you’ll be wanting him out of there, sir.”
“Yeah,” Cole said. “I’ve got to check the gauges.”
“Stand back a bit, will you, sir? Bill? Marcus? Come and lend a hand.” Two other sailors joined Cole and the four of them managed to remove the body. Cole wiped the blood off the compressed air gauges and rapped them with his knuckle to make sure that the needles were free to read. Three registered; the gauge for the fourth tube remained at zero. The tank was ruptured, a line was cut, the compressed-air chamber was pierced, the gauge simply didn’t work — it could be anything. He looked at the supply party frantically trying to remove the wreckage. Until they had most of that cleared away to allow him access to the tanks and hoses he couldn’t be sure what it was. Firedancer had three weapons at her disposaclass="underline" her speed, her agility, and her torpedoes. The first two were defensive, the last offensive, and she could not afford to lose any portion of the meager weapon that remained to her.
Chapter 30
“Hits on the cruiser!” an excited Oberleutnant zur See called out.
Kadow hung up the telephone. “Foremast reports several hits from the secondary battery on the destroyers. Frey confirms at least one hit on the cruiser from the main battery, somewhere forward of the bridge.”
“Where are your concerns now, Kadow?” Mahlberg said.
“Perhaps they were unfounded,” Kadow replied, certain that the concerns were still valid.
“Kapitan?” a Kapitanleutnant said. “Radar room reports possible target bearing two-five-four, distance eighty kilometers.”
Mahlberg turned. “Prince of Wales?”
“He can’t be sure, Kapitan. The radar equipment is being shaken about by the gunfire. At this range, lookouts can’t make out anything in the haze.”
Mahlberg grinned triumphantly at Kadow. “It’s her. It has to be her. We have her now, Kadow. Prince of Wales. Winston Churchill and lesser dignitaries. Contact hydrophones and see what they can tell me. I want confirmation immediately. Tell radar that they are not to lose contact with the target. Order them to maintain contact. I won’t be denied my victory. Sea Lion’s victory.”
Cole pulled himself up the bridge ladder to find Land ordering another group of lookouts and signalmen into position and Hardy giving sharp orders into the voice tubes. He was taking Firedancer in a wild, twisting race through the sea, and frantically trying to stay out of reach of Sea Lion’s guns.
“Captain?” Cole said. “Number One Torpedo Station is ready with three tubes. Maybe we can get four. Number Two Torpedo Station is damaged, sir. We’re repairing it now.”
“Oh, are we?” Hardy said in a blustery manner that Cole had gotten used to. “Well, we are still in shit up to our necks, Mr. Cole, torpedoes or not. Eskimo and Prometheus just took a hard knocking from Sea Lion and I can’t see a damned thing for all of this smoke. I can’t hear much of anything as well. Can you fire those bloody bastards when I tell you?”
“Yes, sir,” Cole said.
“Good. Sea Lion’s change in course gave us a chance to get ahead of her a bit, so perhaps we can reposition ourselves for another go at her. Considering that we didn’t get the first go.”
“Signal from Prometheus, sir,” a lookout called. “‘Severe damage forward. Many dead, wounded. Eskimo reports damage. Can you make smoke? Will turn away in preparation.’”
“‘In preparation’?” Hardy said. “What the hell is he talking about? Preparation of what?”
“Message continues, sir,” the lookout said. He dropped his glasses with a puzzled look on his face.
“Well,” Hardy said. “What is it, man?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the lookout said, peering through his glasses again. “I don’t think I got it right the first time—”
“What the bloody hell was it?” Hardy exploded.
“Sir,” the lookout said, “it is ‘Remember the Athenians. ’ I’m sorry, sir. I must have read it wrong.”
Cole saw shock on Hardy’s face.
Land stepped forward in concern and said: “Sir?”
Hardy came to. “Signalman,” he said sharply, “make to Prometheus, ‘Message received and confirmed. Here’s one for Old Amoss.’ End message. Number One, you will have the engine room give me all the power and smoke they can when I call for it. They mustn’t keep back an ounce of either, do you understand?”
“No, sir,” Land said, “but I’ll do as you order.”
“Good,” Hardy said. “Signalman, make to Eskimo. They will make a hard turn to port and commence making smoke immediately to cover Prometheus. Mr. Cole, you may return to your station and prepare to engage the enemy. I’ll signal from the bridge whether it’s to be port or starboard, but that’s all that I can do.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” Cole said and hurried down the bridge ladder.