'Go below and bring up some coffee, please.'
'Coffee, sir!' He was bewildered, uncomprehending. 'Coffee! But, but-my-my brother------'
'I know,' Vallery said gently. 'I know. Bring some coffee, will you?'
Chrysler stumbled off. When the shelter door closed behind them, clicking on the light, Vallery turned to the Commander.
'Cue for moralising on the glories of war,' he murmured quietly.
'Dulce et decorum, and the proud privilege of being the sons of Nelson and Drake. It's not twenty-four hours since Ralston watched his father die... And now this boy. Perhaps------'
'I'll take care of things,' Turner nodded. He hadn't yet forgiven himself for what he had said and done to Ralston last night, in spite of Ralston's quick friendliness, the ready acceptance of his apologies.
'I'll keep him busy out of the way till we open up the cabinet.... Sit down, sir. Have a swig of this.' He smiled faintly. 'Friend Williams having betrayed my guilty secret.... Hallo! Company.'
The light clicked off and a burly figure bulked momentarily against the grey oblong of the doorway. The door shut, and Brooks stood blinking in the sudden light, red of face and gasping for breath. His eyes focused on the bottle in Turner's hand.
'Ha!' he said at length. 'Having a bottle party, are we? All contributions gratefully received, I have no doubt.' He opened his case on a convenient table, was rummaging inside when someone rapped sharply on the door.
'Come in,' Vallery called.
A signalman entered, handed a note to Vallery. 'From London, sir. Chief says there may be some reply.'
'Thank you. I'll phone down.'
The door opened and closed again. Vallery looked up at an empty handed Turner.
'Thanks for removing the guilty evidence so quickly,' he smiled. Then he shook his head. 'My eyes, they don't seem so good. Perhaps you would read the signal, Commander?'
'And perhaps you would like some decent medicine,' Brooks boomed, 'instead of that filthy muck of Turner's.' He fished in his bag, produced a bottle of amber liquid. 'With all the resources of modern medicine, well, practically all, anyway, at my disposal, I can find nothing to equal this.'
'Have you told Nicholls?' Vallery was stretched out on the settee now, eyes closed, the shadow of a smile on his bloodless lips.
'Well, no,' Brooks confessed. 'But plenty of time. Have some?'
'Thanks. Let's have the good news, Turner.'
'Good news!' The sudden deadly quiet of the Commander's voice fell chilly over the waiting men. 'No, sir, it's not good news.
''Rear-Admiral Vallery, Commanding 14 A.C.S., FR77.' 'The voice was drained of all tone and expression. ''Tirpitz, escorting cruisers, destroyers, reported moving out Alta Fjord sunset. Intense activity Alta Fjord airfield. Fear sortie under air cover. All measures avoid useless sacrifice Merchant, Naval ships. D.N.O., London.'' With deliberate care Turner folded the paper, laid it on the table. 'Isn't that just wonderful,' he murmured. 'Whatever next?'
Vallery was sitting bolt upright on the settee, blind to the blood trickling down crookedly from one corner of his mouth. His face was calm, unworried.
'I think I'll have that glass, now, Brooks, if you don't mind,' he said quietly. The Tirpitz. The Tirpitz. He shook his head tiredly, like a man in a dream. The Tirpitz the name that no man mentioned without a far off echo of awe and fear, the name that had completely dominated North Atlantic naval strategy during the past two years. Moving out at last, an armoured Colossus, sister ship to that other Titan that had destroyed the Hood with one single, savage blow, the Hood, the darling of the Royal Navy, the most powerful ship in the world, or so men had thought. What chance had their tiny cockle-shell cruiser... Again he shook his head, angrily this time, forced himself to think of the present.
'Well, gentlemen, I suppose time bringeth all things, even the Tirpitz. It had to come some day. Just our ill luck the bait was too close, too tempting.'
'My young colleague is going to be just delighted,' Brooks said grimly.
'A real battleship at long, long last.'
'Sunset,' Turner mused. 'Sunset. My God!' he said sharply, 'even allowing for negotiating the fjord they'll be on us in four hours on this course!'
'Exactly,' Vallery nodded. 'And it's no good running north. They'd overtake us before we're within a hundred miles of them.'
'Them? Our big boys up north?' Turner scoffed. 'I hate to sound like a gramophone record, but you'll recall my earlier statement about them too -----, late as usual!' He paused, swore again. 'I hope that old bastard Starr's satisfied at last!' he finished bitterly.
'Why all the gloom?' Vallery looked up quizzically, went on softly.
'We can still be back, safe and sound in Scapa in forty-eight hours. 'Avoid useless sacrifice Merchant, Naval ships,' he said. The Ulysses is probably the fastest ship in the world today. It's simple, gentlemen.'
'No, no!' Brooks moaned. 'Too much of an anti-climax. I couldn't stand it!'
'Do another PQ17?' [3]
Turner smiled, but the smile never touched his eyes. 'The Royal Navy could never stand it: Captain, Rear- Admiral Vallery would never permit it; and speaking for myself and, I'm fairly certain, this bunch of cut-throat mutineers of ours, well, I don't think we'd ever sleep so sound o' nights again.'
'Gad!' Brooks murmured. 'The man's a poet!'
'You're right, Turner.' Vallery drained his glass, lay back exhausted.
'We don't seem to have much option... What if we receive orders for a-ah-high-speed withdrawal?'
'You can't read,' Turner said bluntly. 'Remember, you just said your eyes are going back on you.'
''Souls that have toiled and wrought and fought With me,'' Vallery quoted softly. 'Thank you, gentlemen. You make things very easy for me.' He propped himself on an elbow, his mind made up. He smiled at Turner, and his face was almost boyish again.
'Inform all merchant ships, all escorts. Tell them to break north.'
Turner stared at him.
'North? Did you say' north'?' But the Admiralty-----'
'North, I said,' Vallery repeated quietly. 'The Admiralty can do what they like about it. We've played along long enough. We've sprung the trap. What more can they want? This way there's a chance, an almost hopeless chance, perhaps, but a fighting chance. To go east is suicide.'
He smiled again, almost dreamily. 'The end is not all important,' he said softly. 'I don't think I'll have to answer for this. Not now, not ever.'
Turner grinned at him, his face lit up. 'North, you said.'
'Inform C.-in-C.,' Vallery went on. 'Ask Pilot for an interception course. Tell the convoy we'll tag along behind, give 'em as much cover as we can, as long as we can... As long as we can. Let us not delude ourselves. 1,000 to 1 at the outside... Nothing else we can do, Commander?'
'Pray,' Turner said succinctly.
'And sleep,' Brooks added. 'Why don't you have half an hour, sir?'
'Sleep!' Vallery seemed genuinely amused. 'We'll have all the time in the world to sleep, just by and by.'
'You have a point,' Brooks conceded. 'You are very possibly right.'
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SATURDAY EVENING II
MESSAGES WERE pouring in to the bridge now, messages from the merchant ships, messages of dismayed unbelief asking for confirmation of the Tirpitz breakout: from the Stirling, replying that the superstructure fire was
