But he was reading ranges.
Garrick was a happy man. He had a good target at last and his guns were shooting well. He also noted with professional appreciation that the enemy cruisers were firing well. He could not judge the ‘overs’ that fell somewhere behind him but the ‘shorts’ were well together with little spread. It was good shooting, frighteningly good. He was aware also that Thunder was a broadside target and that the zone of the guns firing at him might be anything up to two hundred yards; that is, that a shell aimed incorrectly to fall short of Thunder by a hundred yards or more might still carry and hit her. Hit him.
In a momentary fleeting glance he saw Smith, hands in pockets, out on the wing of the bridge.
Broadside.
Smith lifted the glasses again to watch for its fall as the salvo dropped into the sea well astern.
Wakely said tentatively, “Their shooting’s going off a bit, sir.”
“No.” Smith’s eyes were clamped to the glasses. “He’s having trouble seeing us.” The glow behind the cruisers was dying but they were still clear against it while, to them, Thunder must be a ship lost in the darkness, only a black pall of smoke against the black background of the coast and the night sky. They were still shooting very well.
Wakely yelped, “A hit!”
“Yes!” Smith saw the flash on the leading cruiser that was not the flash of a gun, and a second later the thread of smoke that was not instantly shredded and blown away like the gunsmoke; this smoke trailed on.
But the salvo rippled again down the silhouette.
Thunder fired.
Knight called, “Signal from Ariadne, sir. ‘Am in Chilean waters under escort.’ Looks like a Chilean destroyer lying off there, sir, lit up like a Christmas tree!”
Smith swung on his heel, staring. He could barely make out the bulk of Ariadne but the other ship was easy to see. Possibly she made it more difficult to see Ariadne because she herself was a blaze of light. A Chilean destroyer.
Aitkyne said, “She’s not taking any chances of somebody dropping one on her by mistake.”
And Wakely reported, “Enemy’s turning, sir.’’
Smith swung back. The black silhouettes were blurring now as the last of the light went but they had foreshortened, were again pointing at him, again in pursuit trying desperately to close the range. They, too, had seen the Chilean ship and knew what her presence signified. They fired.
As did Thunder.
Smith rubbed at his face. Ariadne was safe. He stared around him, at the wake creaming phosphorescent in the dusk, the dark ship. Black humping sea and black sky, tongues of orange flame, the ensign snapping a pale blur against the smoke that swirled down from the four funnels and rolled away downwind, mixing with the acrid grey-yellow of the gunsmoke. The last glow almost gone from the distant rim of the ocean, the cruisers almost lost.
One more broadside. These men of his had earned that.
He saw the cruisers’ winking fire and then Thunder’s broadside heeled her for the last time. As the echoes crashed away in a concussion of air, Smith ordered, “Starboard ten! Cease firing!” The cruisers were no longer a target, hardly seen. The only way they would see Thunder would be from the flashes of her guns. He would not give them that opportunity.
He watched for the fall of that last broadside.
The cruisers’ landed first. The familiar spouts rose off the port quarter but the shells that counted were the ones that hit them. There was a blinding burst of livid flame, and shock that sent him grabbing for handhold. He caught at his balance, recovered it and gaped aft. There was smoke but not a great deal, abaft the bridge but wisping away on the wind so he could see beyond the bite taken out of the port quarter, but no flames. The unmistakable long figure of Miles ran aft with huge strides, his filthy damage control party at his heels.
Smith thought he should have turned sooner and not hung on for that last broadside. He lifted the glasses, looking for it.
Aitkyne shouted, “Hit her, by God!”
Smith saw the winking yellow flash on the cruiser to port, right forward, the ship seen in that one camera-blink of light, then almost lost in the darkness as the night swept down over the sea. But flames flickered, tiny with distance, again. She had a fire.
Aitkyne crowed, “Gave ’em a bloody nose to remember us by! Ha!”
A seaman, soot-smeared and running with sweat, panted up the bridge ladder. “Mr. Miles, sir, says two hits, fire’s out, wireless office wrecked but no casualties.” A grin: “Sparks was away for a run-off when it ’it. An’ no serious damage aft.”
Smith took a deep breath and let it out. Thank God for that. He felt the tension running out of him, the excitement draining away and taking the nervous strength with it. They had been lucky. God! How lucky! He wondered if the rest of them really knew how lucky …
They came abreast of the Chilean destroyer lying in her pool of light and he saw her name: Tocopilla. There were plenty of men on her deck. One yell came across the gap, the words incomprehensible, then another voice, authoritative, cut it short. The first voice had been jeering.
Aitkyne asked, “What was that?”
Smith knew very well. Thunder was unpopular here and now she was being chased into hiding. He ignored the question. “Revolutions for five knots.”
Thunder’s speed fell away. She was opening the channel now. Ariadne lay ahead of them, dawdling. Beyond her, to port were the lights of the signalling station. Thunder ran down on Ariadne whose rails were crowded with crew and passengers and as Thunder slid past, smoke-blackened, torn, filthy, they cheered her.
Thunder’s decks were alive with men now, swarming like bees, wide-eyed and short of breath but they returned the cheers wildly and kept on cheering when Ariadne was left astern.
Their faces were turned up to the bridge.
Smith realised they were cheering him.
Garrick was down from the fore-top, grinning at Smith, who thought Garrick would have slapped his back if he dared. Aitkyne and Wakely and Knight, all of them on the bridge wore the same drunken grin. Smith thought that they had settled the colliers, brought Ariadne safe to port, rescued at least some of the people from the luckless Elizabeth Bell and fought a long action against a faster and vastly superior force. They had survived to fight again, were legally entitled to shelter in this port for twenty-four hours and Kunashiri joined them on the morrow. They had a lot to be pleased about.
He felt sick and his hands were starting to shake as they always did at this time. He jammed them in his pockets. He wanted his voice to be casual but it came out harsh and abrupt. “I’m going below, Number One. Set the men to work on the damage.” At the head of the ladder he paused to say, “And well done.”
He saw Garrick’s expression had changed and that a messenger was with him. Garrick said, “Report of a casualty, sir.”
“Yes.”
“Not reported before because it wasn’t really at the point where we were hit, the second one I mean, aft.”