The telephone from the asdic cabinet broke the silence. The Captain's arm shot out. "Forebridge."
The asdic officer's excited voice came to him: "Strong hydrophone effect on port bow."
"Bearing?" the Captain snapped.
"Difficult to say, sir. I'd say red three-oh to right ahead."
The Captain looked at his First Lieutenant. "How's her head?"
"Passing two-one-oh, sir."
Captain to asdic cabinet: "Bearing now?"
Asdic cabinet to Captain: "Seems to be crossing the bow, sir. Approximate center bearing red oh-five to green one-oh. Getting much louder, sir."
Captain to First Lieutenant: "How's her head?"
"Passing one-nine-eight, sir."
Captain down voice pipe to the wheelhouse: "Stop port."
From the voice pipe: "Port engine stopped, sir."
Captain to asdic cabinet: "Bearing now?"
"Green oh-five to green six-oh."
By the record of their instruments the torpedoes had crossed the bow and were speeding into the barren wastes of the sea. But one could never be quite certain unless one's eyes could confirm the tale told by the clever electrical machines.
"Captain, sir! Captain, sir!" The bridge lookout on the starboard searchlight platform was pointing desperately toward the starboard beam. Hurrying across the bridge, the Captain leaned over to follow the lookout's finger. There, lying across the now blue and sparkling water, were two long white shafts that undulated as the waves crossed their path.
The Captain came back to the compass platform. He felt good. He felt grand. He went to the voice pipe that led to the plot. "Pilot, give me a course to a position on two-one-oh three miles from where she dived."
A moment's wait and then from the pipe the navigator's voice: "Two-oh-eight, sir."
"Thank you." The Captain turned to the First Lieutenant. "Bring her back to two-oh-eight. We've drawn his fangs."
The order was passed. The First Lieutenant's blue eyes were laughing in his tanned face. "I bet the Herr Kapitan is hopping mad."
"I hope so. It may get him rattled — but I doubt it. He's the fighting type or he'd never have sent those kippers after us. He'll give us a run for our money."
Willis, the yeoman, approached. "Message to the Admiralty passed, sir. Johnson told me to tell you it took four minutes ten seconds, sir."
"Thank you. Yeoman. Pass the word to Johnson that I'm very pleased indeed with the time."
The Hecate was heeling again as she turned back to starboard after her enemy. Astern, her wake was a gigantic S, the turns almost half a mile in diameter. Leaning against the voice pipe to the wheel-house, the Captain could hear snatches of conversation not meant for his ears.
"What I want to know is how the Old Man knew they would try to kipper us."
" 'Cos he's got a head on — same as you. The difference is he uses his. That's what he draws his pay for."
Laughing, the Captain flicked down the cover of the voice pipe. The bell from the asdic buzzed. "Forebridge."
"Submarine echo bearing two-oh-eight, sir. Going away, extreme range."
"Nice job, Hopkins. Keep the plot informed."
After he had clipped down the heavy lower conning-tower hatch, Oberleutnant Schwachofer jumped the last four rungs to the deck and steadied himself by holding onto the ladder. The boat's bow was sinking as they submerged and the deck inclined downward. The clatter of the Diesels had gone, and in its place was the soft purr of the big electric motors.
The Kapitan came from the wardroom doorway — unshaven, his hurriedly donned coat unfastened. "What is it?"
"A British destroyer, Herr Kapitan."
"Nonsense! Did you sight her?"
"Indeed I did, sir. I fear, Herr Kapitan" — Schwachofer was going cautiously — "that she has been tailing us since just after eight o'clock last night. We thought it was a ghost echo."
"Impossible." The veins were standing out in the Kapitan's neck and he shivered as he fought for mastery of his temper. "Stupid oafs. All of you. Almost ten hours. One hundred and forty miles you have brought the enemy. You know how important is our mission, and you lead him to our rendezvous."
"I'm sorry, Herr Kapitan."
"Mistakes cannot be rectified in war. Please God the Britisher makes a mistake. Bring the boat to periscope depth at once."
Both officers glanced at the depth gauge, which already showed sixty meters. The Kapitan's standing order was that, at the crash-dive signal, the boat should be taken down to eighty meters.
The Executive Officer issued sharp orders. The hiss of high-pressure air stowed in the big bottles under the deck could be heard expelling the water from the ballast tanks. The needle of the depth gauge stopped, hovered and began to retrace its steps — slowly at first, and then more quickly.
The Kapitan buttoned up his coat as he watched the gauge. One hand stroked his chin. He wished he could have been given time to shave. Twenty meters. The needle crept more slowly now.
"Course two-one-oh. Four knots. And be prepared to dive deep."
The hiss of the hydraulic rods that brought the big attack periscope from its well sounded through the control room. The eyepiece with its handles appeared above the deck. Bending, the Kapitan seized them. His back unbent as the periscope continued to rise. His eyes were fixed in the rubber eyeshield.
"Ten meters." Schwachofer spoke crisply. He watched von Stolberg's feet move flatly, gripping the deck, which was feeling the effect of the surface waves.
The Kapitan spoke: "She is not astern." A pause — then: "Ach — I have her now, bearing green one-six-oh. A Western Approaches destroyer. She has the white and light-green camouflage. Converted for escort work. One of the forward, one of the after guns and the torpedo tubes have been taken out of her so that she may carry more depth charges."
"She was astern," Schwachofer volunteered.
"Then she makes her big mistake." The Kapitan's voice was gleeful. "Her Captain thinks to work out on my beam before he comes in to attack. But, Schwachofer, I shall sink him. Kunz, start the attack table."
"Jawohl, Herr Kapitan." Kunz started the complicated electrical device which, when fed with the enemy's course, speed and range, would provide the angle of deflection that would enable the torpedoes to be aimed just the right amount ahead of the target so that target and torpedoes should arrive at the same place at the same time.
"Muller," the Kapitan called to the torpedo petty officer. "Prepare numbers five and six tubes; set torpedoes to run at three meters at forty knots."
"Jawohl, Herr Kapitan." The man disappeared aft.
"Kunz. Enemy's bearing green one-five-five, course two-four-oh. Speed one-five knots. Range eight thousand five hundred."
The hush of excitement settled on every man in the boat.
"Deflection two-five degrees left, Herr Kapitan," said Kunz. "Muller reports numbers five and six ready, Herr Kapitan."
"Gilt." Through the periscope the Kapitan was sweeping the horizon on either side of his target. "The poor fool. He forgets that he is alone. For once — just for once — I have a British escort in my sights, and I do not have to worry whether another is about to attack me. Port ten, Coxswain, let her come round slowly. Ah — das ist gut — I enjoy myself. Stand by to fire. Fire six!" The boat lurched as the torpedo sped on its way.
"Torpedo running," Braun, the hydrophone operator, reported.
"Fire five!" the Kapitan ordered, and again the boat lurched.
"Torpedo running," Braun repeated.
The Kapitan, his eyes glued to the periscope, answered: "Tell me when the first fish has been running for a minute."