Dancy stood by the voicepipes listening to Lindsay’s even voice. Knowing he should understand as Goss had done. But the quiet, the painful heaviness of the ship beneath him, the stifling smell of death seemed to be muffling his mind like some great sodden blanket.
Lindsay joined him by the voicepipes and groped for his pipe. But it was broken, and he said, ‘Disregard the telegraphs. Hold this phone, and when I give you the signal just tell the chief to let her rip.’
Before Dancy could speak he added to Ritchie, ‘Just keep her head towards the enemy’s quarter. I’m going to give the after guns a chance. Only one of them will bear. But if we miss I’m going to turn and try again.’ He smiled grimly. There’ll be no second go. By that time we’ll be heading straight down.
Somewhere below a man cried out in agony and feet crashed through the wreckage to search for him.
Aft on the well deck Goss found Maxwell squatting on the side of a gun mounting, his cap over his eyes as he stared at the glittering water. Between the two guns the wounded lay in ragged lines, moaning or drugged in silence. A few exhausted stokers and seamen waited in little groups, and some marines were looking down at de Chair in the shadow of a shattered winch. His face was enveloped in dressings, through which the blood was already making its mark.
His hands moved slightly as Goss said, ‘You are to engage with Number Six gun. Captain’s orders.’
Two men carried a corpse and laid it by the rail. It was Jupp. Even with his face covered Goss would have known him anywhere. He sighed.
The marine sergeant said, ‘Right, sir.’
But as he made to move Maxwell bounded over the coaming and threw himself against the big six-inch gun.
‘No!’ He thrust the gunlayer aside and crouched in his seat as he added petulantly, ‘Check your sights!’.
A young marine bugler at Goss’s side said shakily, ‘Anythin’ I can do, sir?’
Goss tore his eyes from Maxwell’s frenzied movements, his hands as they darted across his sighting wheels. Gone off his head. ‘Yes. Why not.’ Carefully he unfolded the company flag and added, ‘Bend this on to that radio antenna. We’ve no ensigns and no bloody, masts.’ He forced a grin. ‘I guess the old Becky would rather end her days under her right colours anyway!’
Another marine had found a telephone which was still connected with the bridge and stood outlined against the sky like an old military memorial. Only his eyes moved as he watched the little bugler clamber up to the boat-deck and seconds later the big flag billow out from its improvised staff.
The. sergeant rubbed his chin. ‘The Jerries’ll think we’ve gone nuts!’
Goss eyed him impassively. ‘It’s what I think that counts.’ Then he strode forward towards the bridge.
He found Lindsay just as he had left him. ‘Ready, sir.’
Lindsay nodded. ‘Chief says the engine room is flooding faster. Without those two pumps.’ He broke off and stiffened as the seaplane rose out of the cruiser’s shadow and swung high above the rail.
He turned and looked at Squire. ‘When I drop my hand.’
Squire swallowed hard and glanced quickly at Kemp. ‘All right sir?’
The boy stared at him, his stained face like a mask. But he jerked his head violently and replied, ‘Fine. Thank you. Fine.’
Lindsay concentrated on the distant warship. He saw some of the Benbecula’s rafts drifting haphazardly in the current. They might help. The German captain would probably imagine that some of the survivors were trying to escape.
Gently. Gently. How slowly the seaplane was moving on its hoist.
He held his breath and then brought his hand down in a sharp chop.
Squire gasped, ‘Now!’
Along the remaining telephone wire and into the ear of the motionless marine. Across the littered deck and pitiful wounded, past Jupp’s still body and the blinded.. marine lieutenant to where Maxwell was poised over his sight like an athlete awaiting the starter’s pistol.
Just one more agonising split second while the cruiser’s upper deck swam in the crosswires like something seen through a rain-washed window. Maxwell had to drag his mind from the others around the gun, the trainer on the opposite side, the men waiting with the next shell and the one to follow it. This was the moment. His moment.
‘Shoot!’
He felt the sight-pad crash against his eye, the staggering lurch of the gun recoiling inboard, and was almost deafened by the explosion. He had forgotten his ear.plugs, but ignored the stabbing pain as he watched the shell explode directly on target.
There was one blinding flash, and where the seaplane had been hanging above its mounting there was a swirling plume of brown smoke. It was followed instantly by another, darker glare, the flames spreading and dancing even as the breech was jerked open and the next shell rammed home.
On the bridge Lindsay had to hold down the sudden surge of excitement. The seaplane had been blasted to fragments and the whole section below it was ablaze with aero fuel.
He shouted, ‘Now, Sub!’
The gun crashed out again and drowned Dancy’s voice, but far below them Fraser had heard, and as he threw himself on his throttles the screws came alive, churning the sea into a great welter of spray, pushing the old ship forward again, shaking her until it seemed she would come apart.
The sudden fire on the cruiser’s deck had done its work. The torpedo crews were being driven back while their comrades with hoses and extinguishers rushed into the attack.
Maxwell’s next shell was short, the explosion hurling the spray high above the enemy’s side, the flames dancing through the glittering curtain like bright gems.
Lindsay pounded the screen with his fist. The revolutions were speeding up, and already the cruiser had dropped away on the port bow. But not fast enough, and already he could see her forward turret turning in a violent angle to try and find the hulk which had returned to life.
On his steel seat beside the one remaining gun which would bear, Maxwell took a deep breath. He ignored the bright flashes as the enemy fired, did not even see where the shells went as he concentrated on the column of smoke just forward of the cruiser’s mainmast. Just the one set of tubes would do. Six torpedoes in a neat row, all set and ready to deal Benbecula a death blow. Except that now they were unmanned, abandoned because of his first shot. In spite of the tension he could feel the grin spreading right across his face. If Decia could see, him now. If only….
‘Shoot!’
The two ships fired almost together, the shockwaves rolling and intermingling until the noise was beyond endurance.
Maxwell did not see what happened next. His gun, the crew and most of the marines at the opposite mounting were blasted to oblivion by the explosion. In seconds the well deck and poop were ablaze from end to end, the scorching heat starting other outbreaks below and as high as the lifeboats.
Lindsay felt the shock like a blow to his own body, knew that the ship had done her best and could fight no more. So great was the onslaught of metal that he was totally unprepared for the wall of fire which shot skywards above the billowing smoke. Then as a down-eddy parted the huge pall he saw the cruiser’s raked stem moving steadily into the sunlight, the forward turret still trained towards him, her grey side reflecting the bright wash of her bow wave.
The first cries of despair gave way to a lingering sigh as the cruiser emerged fully from the smoke. Her bow wave was already dropping, and as the smoke swept clear of the upper deck Lindsay saw that her stern was awash.. The torpedoes must have blasted her wide open with greater effect than if they had been fired into the hull. It was impossible.
Lindsay felt Dancy gripping his shoulders and Ritchie croaking in either joy or disbelief. Throughout the battered hull men were cheering and embracing each other, and even some of the wounded shouted up at the sky, crazed by the din but aware that despite all they had. endured they were still alive.