Wakely reported, “Picket-boat’s still in sight, sir.”
“Thank you.” Of course Wakely would be watching out for the pinnace, for Manton. But that last salvo had not landed yet and if they survived it they would have to survive another.
“Range one-seven-double-oh!’’
“Port ten! … Midships!”
“Midships, sir!”
Thunder heeled then straightened and Smith swayed to it, eyes fixed on the shadows of the cruisers. Close! Thunder ran dead straight, paralleling the cruisers’ course but leading them, on their port bow. It seemed they must see Thunder, but while they stood against that first faint light Thunder was out in the black void, and they were not looking for her there, eyes locked on the prey ahead.
“Bearing green one-three-oh! … Range one-five-double oh!”
The cruisers fired and now the crash of discharge followed only a blink after the flash. They were that close.
Through the shadows Wakely’s voice came clear, edgy, “Picket-boat still in sight, sir.”
So they had survived the second salvo but there was still the third, hurtling towards them now.
He could, must forget them.
This was the time.
“Open fire!”
There was an instant when he checked his breathing as if he was physically firing a rifle, then Thunder heaved as she fired her broadside. Simultaneously the searchlights crackled as their carbons struck arc to create the point of intense white light that was reflected by the big dished mirrors in the searchlights, beams flooding across the thousand yards of dark sea to swallow the dying flames of the guns and bathe the nearer cruiser in light — as the broadside struck her.
This was ‘Smith’s game’, that they had played so many times with the pinnace and they had learnt the rules by heart.
The broadside could not fail to hit, fired at point-blank range, the trajectory virtually nil and the time of flight of the shells less than two seconds. Their impact was seen as the echoes of the guns’ firing hung and their smoke still whipped on the wind.
It was Wolf. The ships were twins but Smith was certain that it was Wolf that took the broadside from the two turrets and the six starboard six-inch guns that fired as one seemed to take them all with leaping orange flash of burst, spurting grey smoke and explosion of impact that came rolling back across the black water.
He shouted, “Douse/” The searchlights expired and the darkness rushed in to smother Thunder but he could still see Wolf. She was afire in three places, one aft and two amidships. Flame painted her black and yellow and shivering but very clear, very close. She would be closer yet.
“Hard astarboard!” Thunder heeled as the helm went over. “Port torpedo tube stand by!” The forward-turret was grinding around. The after-turret would not bear as Thunders bow came around to intersect Wolf’s course again. The forward of the starboard six-inch still bore but pointed at the sea in that tight turn. The rangetaker’s chanting came down the voice pipe: “Eight-five-oh! … Eight-hundred! … Seven five-oh! …” Thunder pounded along, still heeling in the turn. The 9.2 fired from the forward-turret, the searchlights slashed once more across the dark sea but were beaten this time by the impact as the range closed. They stabbed probing white fingers that showed Wolf leaping at them broadside out of the dark, fresh columns of yellow flame soaring and smoke balling up. She was rushing at them but Thunder’s helm was still hard over.
Kennedy shouted, “Torpedo running, sir!”
Smith lifted one hand in acknowledgment and shouted in his turn, “Midships! Thunder hurtled down past Wolf at an acute angle, passing at their combined speeds of forty knots. In the swift-flying seconds as Thunder began to respond to the change of helm he saw on Wolf, lit now by a dozen fires, that her forward turret had swung to meet Thunder’s attack but too late. As searchlights shot their beams from her to chase Thunder a thumping explosion came from forward on Wolf. Then one more leaping flame.
Wakely screamed, “Torpedo hit, sir!”
They were barely a cable’s length apart. Wolf seemed to stumble in her headlong career as the torpedo struck. Orange flames spurted but this time it was her guns firing and there came a crashing impact as a shot hit Thunder. But now they were charging right past Wolf’s stern and the after 9.2 and port side six-inch guns fired right into her.
Smith did not see the result of that. As they cleared Wolf’s stern he ordered, “Hard astarboard!” So just as Thunder had settled to an even keel she heeled again into that swinging circle.
Wakely yelped, “Jesus!”
Kondor was also heading to cross Wolf’s stem, seeking for a sight of the attacker who had burst from the night and was masked from her by Wolf. Kondor and Thunder were on a collision course. All of them on the bridge grabbed hold and hung on like grim death, instinctively preparing for that collision. There was nothing they could do. But they missed Kondor, it seemed by only feet, and swept past her in the blinking of an eye but in that blinking the forward-turret hurled a shell into her. And Smith saw that already Kondor’s forward-turret had a gun pointing drunkenly; Thunder had done that thirty-six hours before. Guns fired on Kondor but they fired at a ship already storming away into the night, fired blind into that night.
Thunder still canted in the turn. Smith swallowed. “Midships!” He clawed his way out to the starboard wing of the bridge. They had been at it only minutes but mad, hellfilled minutes. Thunder had been hit, one of the port six-inch being put out of action and the after-bridge wrecked but she had come off relatively unscathed compared to the damage she had inflicted on Wolf. He could see her now, lit by flames from end to end and in that light she looked down by the head and scarcely moving. He could see Kondor too, clear of Wolf now and heading out to sea in pursuit of Thunder. He could see her against the growing light in the east but they would have their work cut out to see Thunder in the outer dark.
“Starboard ten … Midships!” Thunder steadied on the new course and the starboard six-inch battery and the afterturret bore on Kondor. The guns recoiled and bellowed. “Hard aport … Midships!” Thunder headed out to sea again. “Port ten … Midships!” It was the turn of the after-turret again but this time with the port six-inch battery.
Thunder dog-legged erratically out to sea and she was scoring. Smith could see Kondor and he could see the hits. He could also see that she was firing hard and steaming hard after him, but she was firing at a dimly-seen, jinking target. He saw the water-spouts of the falling salvoes and some were close but none of them hit. Kondor’s course was diverging from that of Thunder, not making a stern chase of it but trying to claw her way out of that stretch of sea that lay between Thunder and the growing light, light that she knew marked her in sharp silhouette for Thunder’s rangefinder and layers.