That diverging course meant that despite Thunder’s swerving the range was opening.
“Range five thousand!”
They were nearing the extreme effective range of Thunder’s old six-inch guns.
She fired her starboard broadside and he ordered, “Hard astarboard!” And this time she kept on turning through sixteen points and headed back into the light, and towards Wolf.
Smith could see all of his ship now in that grey light and the faces of Aitkyne and Kennedy and Wakely, all the bridge staff, all their faces strained but excited. Thunder was fighting a good fight and they knew it.
He had a bleak moment in that dawn. He conned his ship, keeping her jinking to confuse Kondor’s guns, but he looked ahead with cold certainty. The element of surprise was gone, the advantage of the dark was going and Thunder was still badly out-gunned. And Kondor was shooting well, very well indeed. A salvo plummeted into the sea close alongside, emphasising the point as the hurled water lashed across the bridge.
Finally, Kondor would have the edge in speed.
And Wolf? He thrust off the mood as Wolf took shape again. Thunder was racing down on her and she was still burning and she was not moving at all. He thought he could have left Wolf to her fate, would have wished to, but he needed her. Away to port Kondor had also turned and was roaring back towards her consort.
He said, “We’ll shift to the conning-tower,” and himself passed the word to Garrick before leaving the bridge. From the circular conning-tower below it, with its eleven inches of armour, their view was restricted to what they could see through the observation slits. It would have to serve. In the darkness he had risked fighting his ship from the bridge because he had to see. But now the day was upon them, from the conning-tower he would see enough and it was senseless to stay on the bridge.
They were under fire from both Kondor and Wolf now though the latter’s firing was ragged. Thunder scored hits but was hit herself. And again. A starboard six-inch gun was reported out of action with the loss of its crew of ten men.
Smith warned, “Pass the word to look out for torpedoes!” Wolf still had teeth.
They ran down across her stern and a mile away and at Smith’s order Garrick shifted the target from Kondor to Wolf and fired a broadside, raking her. Thunder turned to port and ran down past Wolf, pounding her. She was shrouded in smoke and the sun was above the mountains now so that Wolf’s rangefinders and layers had to peer through that smoke and squint against that low early morning glare, but she fired and, as Thunder pounded her, was pounded in return across two miles of sea.
They left Wolf astern and came under fire from Kondor. Smith ordered the target changed to her and, as the guns roared out, the change of course that pulled Thunder right around again in a sixteen-point turn to pass once more the blazing hulk of Wolf.
She was not only down by the head but listing to port now. Fires sprouted all along her hull and they saw her through rolling clouds of smoke. Thunder fired into her twice more and Smith thought he saw a solitary gun flash in reply but it might have been the flash of a burst.
He turned from her because they were done with Wolf but she had served her purpose. Kondor was driving inshore of her to chase Thunder. Kondor had not finished with them. She was chasing and firing hard, Smith could see the salvoes as the flashes rippled along her hull in awful beauty. But she, too, had been hurt, her second funnel leaned crazily against the next astern and —
Aitkyne drawled, he had to shout but being Aitkyne it still seemed a drawl, “I don’t reckon she’s making up on us, sir.”
It was hard to tell but the feeling was there. And if she was making up on them it was so slowly as not to matter. She should have the legs of them but she had been punished. Smith grunted.
And then the salvo hit them.
Aitkyne was thinking that because of Smith they had still not felt the weight of Kondor’s fire.
Then the salvo struck. They had left Wolf astern and Smith’s mouth was open to order yet another change of course when the salvo roared in like a train. It skittled them all except the Coxswain at the wheel and he staggered, recovered, picked up the course again. Smith pawed his way to his feet and felt Thunder listing. From the rear of the conning-tower he saw the cause of that list, the after funnel a battered cylinder of wreckage hanging over the starboard side. It slipped and the ship heeled further, slipped again and then ground over the side with wire stays parting and flailing and Thunder righted herself.
She steamed on and Smith croaked, “Starboard ten!” And: “Midships!” Thunder headed out to sea once more, the smokewrapped hulk of Wolf came between them and Kondor — and the guns fell silent. He called up the voice-pipe to Garrick: “Engage the ship astern of us!”
Garrick’s voice came back, rusty and metallic, “Port an’ starboard batteries don’t bear on this course, sir, and the afterturret is out of action. No contact with them and I can’t see much because of this damn smoke —” Thunder’s three remaining funnels still rolled it out — “but I think they took a direct hit. Can’t see the other cruiser.”
Yet. Smith said, “You will. You’re doing very well!”
He found Kennedy at his elbow, who said, “After-turret a total loss, sir. We’ve a fire aft —” Smith could see that, flames leaping pale in the sun and bending on the wind — “and damage in the after boiler-room.”
Thunder’s speed had fallen away.
Smith ordered, “Port ten! Steer one-seven-oh!” He stepped to the voice-pipe and called the engine room. The Chief’s voice was strained. In the background a man was screaming and another shouted, “Put the poor sod out of his agony or get him out!”
Smith asked, “What speed can you give us, Chief?”
A second’s hesitation, then Davies began: “I think —” He stopped, knowing Smith would not like that woolly answer. He said definitely, “I can maintain revolutions for fourteen knots.”
“Thank you!” Smith called to Garrick. “Engage the enemy when sighted.”
“Sir!” And Garrick added: “This light is hell.”
It would be lancing into Garrick’s eyes as he strained them towards the rising sun. Smith said, “Do your best.” He had Kondor where he wanted her, where he had to have her and the bad light was a price they would have to pay for that. They would pay far more before they were done.
Kondor thrust out from behind Wolf, pointing at Thunder who steamed broadside to her on the new course, and opened fire as Thunder heeled again to her broadside. The battle closed down around them.
They entered, and existed in, a world of thunderous discharge and shuddering impact as hits ripped into the old ship’s frame. Damage reports came in by voice-pipe or gasping, staring messengers. Smith conned his ship, swerving her to try to unsight the enemy, listening to the endless reports of damage and death, to the ranges called: “Double-five-doubleoh! … five-six-double-oh! …”