can make it.''
Vallery closed his eyes for a moment. He was beginning to appreciate how old Giles must have felt. When he looked up again, he had made his decision.
'Signal: 'You are endangering entire convoy. Abandon ship at once. Repeat, at once.'' He turned to the Commander, his mouth bitter. 'I take off my hat to him. How would you like to sit on top of enough fuel to blow you to Kingdom Come... Must be oil in some of his tanks... God, how I hate to have to threaten a man like that!'
'I know, sir,' Turner murmured. 'I know how it is.... Wonder what the Viking's doing out there? Should be hearing from her now?'
'Send a signal,' Vallery ordered. 'Ask for information.' He peered aft, searched briefly for the Torpedo Lieutenant. 'Where's Marshall?'
'Marshall?' Turner was surprised. 'In the Sick Bay, of course. Still on the injured list, remember-four ribs gone?'
'Of course, of course!' Vallery shook his head tiredly, angry with himself. 'And the Chief Torpedo Gunner's Mate-Noyes, isn't it?-he was killed yesterday in Number 3. How about Vickers?'
'He was in the F.D.R.'
'In the F.D.R.,' Vallery repeated slowly. He wondered why his heart didn't stop beating. He was long past the stage of chilled bone and coagulating blood. His whole body was a great block of ice... He had never known that such cold could exist. It was very strange, he thought, that he was no longer shivering...
'I'll do it myself, sir,' Turner interrupted his wandering. 'I'll take over the bridge Torpedo Control-used to be the worst Torps. officer on the China Station.' He smiled faintly. 'Perhaps the hand has not lost what little cunning it ever possessed!'
'Thank you.' Vallery was grateful.. 'You just do that.'
'We'll have to take him from starboard,' Turner reminded him. 'Port control was smashed this morning- foremast didn't do it any good.... Ill go check the Dumaresq[2]... Good God!' His hand gripped Vallery's shoulder with a strength that made him wince. 'It's the Admiral, sir! He's coming on the bridge!'
Incredulously, Vallery twisted round in his chair. Turner was right.
Tyndall was coming through the gate, heading purposefully towards him. In the deep shadow cast by the side of the bridge, he seemed disembodied. The bare head, sparsely covered with thin, straggling wisps of white, the grey, pitifully-shrunken face, the suddenly stooped shoulders, unaccountably thin under black oilskins, all these were thrown into harsh relief by the flames. Below, nothing was visible. Silently, Tyndall padded his way across the bridge, stood waiting at Vallery's side.
Slowly, leaning on Turner's ready arm, Vallery climbed down. Unsmiling, Tyndall looked at him, nodded gravely, hoisted himself into his seat. He picked up the binoculars from the ledge before him, slowly quartered the horizon.
It was Turner who noticed it first.
'Sir! You've no gloves on, sir I'
'What? What did you say?' Tyndall replaced the glasses, looked incredulously at his blood-stained, bandaged hands. 'Ah! Do you know, I knew I had forgotten something. That's the second time. Thank you, Commander.' He smiled courteously, picked up the binoculars again, resumed Hs quartering of the horizon. All at once Vallery felt another, deadlier chill pass through him, and it had nothing to do with the bitter chill of the Arctic night.
Turner hesitated helplessly for a second, then turned quickly to the Kapok Kid.
'Pilot! Haven't I seen gauntlets hanging in your chart-house?'
'Yes, sir. Right away!' The Kapok Kid hurried off the bridge.
Turner looked up at the Admiral again.
'Your head, sir-you've nothing on. Wouldn't you like a duffel coat, a hood, sir?'
'A hood?' Tyndall was amused. 'What in the world for? I'm not cold.... If you'll excuse me, Commander?' He turned the binoculars full into the glare of the blazing Vytura. Turner looked at him again, looked at Vallery, hesitated, then walked aft.
Carpenter was on his way back with the gloves when the W.T. loudspeaker clicked on.
'W.T.-bridge. W.T.-bridge. Signal from Viking; 'Lost contact. Am continuing search.'
'Lost contact!' Vallery exclaimed. Lost contact-the worst possible thing that could have happened! A U-boat out there, loose, unmarked, and the whole of FR77 lit up like a fairground. A fairground, he thought bitterly, clay pipes in a shooting gallery and with about as much chance of hitting back once contact had been lost. Any second now...
He wheeled round, clutched at the binnacle for support. He had forgotten how weak he was, how the tilting of the shattered bridge affected balance.
'Bentley! No reply from the Vytura yet?'
'No, sir,' Bentley was as concerned as the Captain, as aware of the desperate need for speed. 'Maybe his power's gone-no, no, no, there he is now, sir!'
'Captain, sir.'
Vallery looked round. 'Yes, Commander, what is it? Not more bad news, I hope?'
''Fraid so, sir. Starboard tubes won't train-jammed solid.'
'Won't train,' Vallery snapped irritably. 'That's nothing new, surely.
Ice, frozen snow. Chip it off, use boiling water, blowlamps, any old------'
'Sorry, sir.' Turner shook his head regretfully. 'Not that. Rack and turntable buckled. Must have been either the shell that got the bosun's store or Number 3 Low Power Room-immediately below. Anyway-kaput!'
'Very well, then!' Vallery was impatient. 'It'll have to be the port tubes.'
'No bridge control left, sir,' Turner objected. 'Unless we fire by local control?'
'No reason why not, is there?' Vallery demanded. 'After all, that's what torpedo crews are trained for. Get on to the port tubes-I assume the communication line there is still intact-tell them to stand by.'
'Yes, sir.'
'And Turner?'
'Sir?'
'I'm sorry.' He smiled crookedly. 'As old Giles used to say of himself, I'm just a crusty old curmudgeon. Bear with me, will you?'
Turner grinned sympathetically, then sobered quickly. He jerked his head forward.
'How is he, sir?'
Vallery looked at the Commander for a long second, shook his head, almost imperceptibly. Turner nodded heavily and was gone.
'Well, Bentley? What does he say?'
'Bit confused, sir,' Bentley apologised. 'Couldn't get it all. Says he's going to leave the convoy, proceed on his own. Something like that, sir.'
Proceed on his own! That was no solution, Vallery knew. He might still burn for hours, a dead give-away, even on a different course. But to proceed on his own! An unprotected crippled, blazing tanker-and a thousand miles to Murmansk, the worst thousand miles in all the world!
Vallery closed his eyes. He felt sick to his heart. A man like that, and a ship like that-and he had to destroy them both!
Suddenly Tyndall spoke.
'Port 30!' he ordered. His voice was loud, authoritative. Vallery stiffened in dismay. Port 30! They'd turn into the Vytura.
There was a couple of seconds' silence, then Carrington, Officer of the Watch, bent over the speaking-tube, repeated: 'Port 30.' Vallery started forward, stopped short as he saw Carrington gesturing at the speaking-tube. He'd stuffed a gauntlet down the mouthpiece.
'Midships!'
'Midships, sir!'
'Steady! Captain?'
