For a moment longer nobody moved. Then Maxwell asked, ‘But, sir, why?’
‘It may give us,’ he paused, recalling the deserted restaurant, the gross Turk at his table, ‘it may give us time.’
Maxwell shrugged. Without another word he pressed his thumb hard on the red button.
Dancy rubbed his forehead with a handkerchief. In spite of the bridge air ducts it was stifling.
He asked quietly, ‘Do you reckon anything will happen?’
Stannard glanced at the commodore’s bulky shape in the chair, at Lindsay who was standing just outside the starboard door.
‘I dunno. This waiting makes me sweat a bit.’
The ship had been at action for two hours, although it seemed much longer.
Without warning the commodore heaved himself from the chair and snapped, ‘Chart room.’ He waited until Lindsay had followed him and added, ‘You, too, Pilot.’
In the chart room it was even hotter with every scuttle and deadlight clamped shut.
The commodore said, ‘Nothing.’
Stannard looked at Lindsay. He seemed very composed, even calm.
‘The lookout was certain about the plane, sir.’ Lindsay watched him across the table. ‘He is an experienced rating.’
‘I see.’ The commodore’s’hands fluttered vaguely and then came to rest on the chart. ‘What do you suggest?’
Lindsay relaxed slightly. ‘If I’m right, sir, it would be inviting disaster to make a radio signal for assistance. One, we know the Freetown ships will not make contact before tomorrow at the earliest. Two, if there is an enemy ship out there, it might be in total ignorance of our position.’
‘Well?’
‘I suggest you should alter course to the east’rd, sir. Or turn one hundred and eighty degrees and then call for assistance. Increase to maximum speed. It would give us time and room to manoeuvre.’
‘Do you know what you are asking?’ Kemp’s voice trembled. ‘For me to run away from a shadow! You must be out of your mind!’
Lindsay said patiently, ‘That aircraft was probably catapulted from its parent ship. If so, you can expect the worst.’ He added with sudden sharpness, ‘What is the alternative? Head on into destruction?’ He spoke faster as if to prevent interruption. Stannard saw his hands clenched into fists against his sides, could almost feel the effort he was making to break Kemp’s resistance. ‘Think, sir, of the effect it will have if we allow this convoy to be decimated. Quite apart from damage to morale on top of the Singapore disaster, the actual losses would be terrible. These troops are vital for the next few months, and for all we know, so too are the supplies and equipment.’
Kemp took a few paces to the bulkhead and turned his back on them. ‘Can’t do it. It’s too big.’ He added hesitantly, ‘We have to take the risk.’
‘There have already been too many of those, sir.’
Lindsay spoke very quietly. ‘Admiral Phillips took a risk with Repulse and Prince of Wales but they were both sunk, and Singapore fell just the same. We took risks by send ing an army to help the Greeks when anyone but a fool should have seen it was impossible to stop the rot there. Result, we lost more men and plenty of good ships trying to get them away at Crete.’,
‘You’re accusing me of risking this convoy. Is that it?’
Kemp still did not turn.
‘I do not see you have any choice but to take evading action now, sir.’ When the commodore said nothing he — persisted, ‘If you wait, it will be useless trying to scatter the convoy. We have a whole day of clear visibility…..’
Kemp faced him abruptly. ‘Leave me to think.’
Stannard asked, ‘What about my plotting team, sir?’
Kemp shouted, ‘Let them wait until I am ready! Now for God’s sake leave me alone!’.
Stannard followed Lindsay into the passageway and thrust past the waiting midshipman and his yeoman. Under his breath he muttered, ‘Stupid bastard!’ Then he slammed the door behind him, making one of the messengers jump with alarm.
Above the bridge in his armoured control position Maxwell heard the door slam. His shirt was wringing with sweat, and the backs of his spotting team and Lieutenant Hunter immediately below his steel chair looked as if they had just emerged from the sea. In the Denmark Strait they had somehow kept going with thick clothing and the small electric heaters. In this glare there was no defence at all against the sun.
Hunter twisted round and looked at him. ‘No more aircraft. No bloody anything. So why can’t we fall out action stations?’
Because that stupid commodore can’t make up his mind, that’s why. But aloud Maxwell replied sharply, ‘For God’s sake, don’t you start!’
Hunter shrugged and reached out to open a small observation slit on the port side. It made a very small breeze, but the sight of the nearest troopship was somehow reassuring. The same view, day after day, after bloody day. He felt Maxwell stirring behind him and smiled. Whale Island. Maxwell would love that. All mouth and trousers, like the rest of his breed.
For a split second he imagined an aircraft had dived from the sky, although it was impossible., The screaming roar seemed to press down on him, until his mind was a complete blank. Then came the explosions, and as he stared incredulously at the troopship he saw the towering waterspouts rising beyond her, higher and higher, until they shone like white silk in the sunlight.
As the tall columns began to subside he saw the tell-tale pall of black smoke, growing and rising against the clear sky like a filthy stain. A ship on the port column had been hit. But with what? It had all been just a matter of seconds. Seconds in which everything and each man around him seemed suspended in time and space.
Then Maxwell yelled, ‘Don’t gape at me! Start tracking!’ He punched the shoulder of the nearest seaman. ‘Come on, jump to it!’
He pressed his eyes to his powerful sights as the control position turned slightly on its mounting. He blinked in the harsh light and rubbed his forehead with his wrist. Nothing. The horizon was still hazy but not that much. You should be able to see something. He felt a chill run down his spine as he picked up the handset and reported, ‘Captain, sir. Those shells came from below the horizon.’ He heard Hunter gasp. ‘No target, sir.’
Lindsay heard his flat voice and then ran to the wheelhouse door. The ship which had been straddled by three or more heavy shells was falling out of line, her upper deck burning fiercely beneath. the towering smoke pall.
He snapped, ‘Make the signal.’ He scribbled a brief addition before Ritchie dashed to the W/T office. ‘At least someone will know what’s happening.’
He heard the commodore pushing through the bridge watchkeepers, his voice shaking as he called, ‘What was it? Where is the enemy?’
Again that screaming roar, and Lindsay tensed, imagining the projectiles hurtling down from their high arc of fire. He had been right. Three columns of water shot above the far line of ships.
He shouted, ‘I’ve reported we are under attack!’ He did not take his eyes from the burning freighter.
‘Yes, yes.’ Kemp seemed unable to think clearly, He was also peering at the ship, at the smoke and flames which had now engulfed the whole of her poop.
Lindsay said, ‘Spotting plane. It was just a freak hit.’ He glanced at the other man’s stricken face. ‘But I’m afraid we can’t rely on luck any more.’
Then he left the commodore on the gratings and entered the wheelhouse. It was too late to turn the convoy now. At any second the other ship would show herself. But to shoot this far and with such accuracy she must be big. Too big.
He saw the faces of the men around him, watching, waiting for his decision.
He said quietly, ‘As soon as we know the enemy’s bearing we will make a signal to. the convoy. To scatter.’.