The Hecate was turning now, parallel to the U-boat's new course. "High-speed hydrophone effect," Hopkins' voice reached him, together with a clattering roar from the bridge loudspeaker that grew louder each second.
So that was what the fellow was doing at a shallow depth — firing angled torpedoes by instruments! There was only one course open: turn bows toward the U-boat in order to make the target as small as possible.
"Starboard thirty. Half-astern starboard engine. Full ahead, port."
But with a running time of only a fraction over a minute, the torpedoes would probably arrive before his ship had begun to answer his command.
The First Lieutenant had jumped onto the platform of the starboard signal lamp. The Captain had leapt to the platform on the opposite side. The ship vibrated wildly as her starboard engine began to run astern and her port one full ahead. Her bows were swinging rapidly over the sea, hauled around by thirty thousand horsepower.
"Torpedo passing clear on the starboard bow," the first Lieutenant's shout reached the Captain's ears. A moment later he saw the undulating wake of the second as it appeared across the bows going away to port. Between the two that they had seen, there should have been two more — and they would have torn out the vitals of his ship. Where were they?
"Half-ahead both — one-five-oh revolutions. Asdic hut, range and bearing of target, please."
The Hecate swept into attack once more, but her charges, set to kill the U-boat at torpedo-firing depth, did little more than annoy it; for it was already plunging downward.
"So he tried to kipper us?" It was the Doctor speaking.
"He did indeed," the Captain answered. "And we were very lucky. My bet is that he fired his four bow tubes and the two center ones failed to run because of the hammering we've given him."
"When are you going to attack again, sir?"
"Unless anything fresh happens, at seven thirty, eleven thirty, and three thirty — and the last one at dawn tomorrow. I've only four patterns left."
"He'll begin to hate you."
"I expect he does that already."
Von Stolberg did indeed hate the Captain of the destroyer that was persecuting him, particularly because he had just noticed that both the attack at midday and the last one had been made just half an hour before the watch would normally be changed. The thought that the Britisher was timing his attacks at regular intervals drove the German frantic. It made what would otherwise have been a respite into nothing but an agonizingly drawn-out prelude to the next attack.
Did this give him time to reload? If the hypothesis was correct, then he would have the necessary quiet period. But he could never be quite certain. What ill fate had put this bloody man on his trail? Driven deep, the sting of his torpedoes drawn, the air getting fouler every hour, and his batteries running low, von Stolberg knew himself to be in his tightest corner yet.
Up above them the sun would be setting in the west. Perhaps in the dark the destroyer would lose contact — for her men must be as weary as his own. When next the destroyer attacked he would use his last two remaining Pillenwerfer and see if he could slip away before the tired men in the destroyer were aware of his escape.
Schwachofer moved from the corner, where he had been resting weary legs by leaning against the bulkhead.
"Herr Kapitan, shall I warn the hydrophone cabinet?"
"Of what?" Von Stolberg spun round.
Schwachofer looked down at the watch on his wrist. "That the enemy may attack, Herr Kapitan."
The knowledge that others had detected a pattern to the action of his enemy only added fire to the Kapitan's anger. The whole boat would have the jitters if he were not careful. He looked his burly junior coldly in the eye. "I see no reason to suspect any particular time of attack. Such a supposition would be highly dangerous and, Herr Oberleutnant, very bad for morale."
"Herr Kapitan," the voice from the hydrophone cabinet called. "The destroyer is increasing speed." The operator, Braun, sounded desperately weary.
"Muller, stand by Pillenwerfer."
Schwachofer turned away to face the big depth-recording dial. He smiled a little ruefully to himself. In von Stolberg's cold blue eyes he had detected both the anger and the lie.
The U-121 turned to port as the destroyer passed above her. And to port again as she ran in a second time.
"Release two Pillenwerfer."
They were gone — his last attempt to muddle and defeat the enemy. The two bubbling cones hung in his wake.
Braun's voice again: "Destroyer reducing speed, Herr Kapitan."
Were they going to creep away? The whisper of the asdic lash on the hull seemed less. But that could be just their own imagining — or possibly the blanketing effect of the Pillenwerfer.
Swish — swish — the lash never left them. It grew stronger again as the destroyer followed them through the disturbed water — followed them into the clear sea beyond.
There was not a man in the boat whose face was not set and grim.
"Destroyer attacking," Braun announced.
All through the night the Hecate hung onto her adversary. Cups of steaming cocoa were carried around to her men, who were lying down, huddled in duffle coats or oilskins, alongside the weapons they served. Three times during the night they had attacked. Now only one pattern of depth charges remained.
The first hint of dawn showed in the east as the navigator climbed the ladder to the bridge carrying his sextant.
"Morning stars?" the Captain asked, stirring stiffly.
"Yes, sir."
"I wonder if we ought to push out another signal?" The Captain was thinking aloud. "We're almost a hundred miles from the position we reported at dawn yesterday."
Yeoman Willis appeared as if by magic at the Captain's elbow. He had a nose for a signal as sensitive as that of any retriever for a fallen bird. "You wish to make a signal, sir?"
In spite of the tiredness that almost overwhelmed him, the Captain laughed. "Willis, I was considering the possibility — only considering. Don't look so disappointed: I think I will do it. After the next attack make to Admiralty, repeated C-in-C, South Atlantic: Still in contact. Enemy course unaltered. Depth charges expended, and get the position from the navigator."
"Aye aye, sir."
Navigator and yeoman went down the ladder. The Captain called after them: "Pilot, let me know as soon as you've got a position." He turned to receive hot cocoa from the bo'sun's mate. "Gosh — this is good. Feeling tired, Number One?"
"Not so bad as I might be, sir." The officer was holding his chilled hands around his warm cup.
"Neither am I. I seem to have got my second wind. Just a tight feeling around my head as if my cap was too small, and a terrific heat under my eyelids when I shut them."
"How much longer will it go on, sir?"
"No one can tell. But if I were the U-boat commander I'd try my cannon. After all, he's a terribly small target for us, and our semi-armor-piercing shells will just bounce off his inch-thick pressure hull. He's got a target ten times as big to aim at, and the whole area is to some extent vulnerable — a destroyer is so packed with stuff that she can hardly take any damage without losing some important part of her fighting efficiency."
"Forebridge." The voice came from the plot.
"Yes, Pilot?" the Captain answered. "What was the position?"
"Five north, thirty-two west."
"Exactly?"
"As near as can be, sir."
"Sounds just the sort of place their staff office might pick for a rendezvous — I wonder if we have arrived. Dear, oh, dear, the Herr Hun will be cross if we've tagged along to his trysting place. Let's attack him now. I'm not going to carry out a dummy run this time. I'm just going straight in to attack with four hundred and fifty feet on the charges. We may catch him napping, particularly as he won't be expecting us for another hour. Tallyho, chaps. Range and bearing, Mr. Hopkins, please?"