Invasion

'Hang the cost! Set the price of one squiddy bit of brass clockwork against that of a man-o'-war? There's no argument, my friend.'

Despite his disquiet, Kydd found Fulton's sudden enthusiasm infectious.

'I've some drawings to make,' Fulton continued, 'and I'd be much obliged should you scare up a watchmaker who'll relish a challenge.'

Kydd was later entertained by the sight of Fulton explaining to the bemused craftsman the operation of a delay mechanism that, at its culmination, instead of setting off an alarm actuated something that looked suspiciously like a gunlock.

'So. We have figures on depth to tamping effect for a given charge, as may be scaled up. A form of watertight carcass has been devised, proof to the depths it will be used, and if our crafty captain is to be believed, a near invisible means of launching the beasts. Now, with our automatic fuse in construction we can turn our minds to assembling them all into a fearsome weapon of war.'

The first torpedo was impressively huge: more than twelve feet long, square sectioned and with symmetrically sharp front and rear. It was ballasted to ride just beneath the sea surface and had within it twenty watertight compartments ready to receive their lethal cargo of explosives.

'My friend, I do intend now to test its force. Just for this I won't be needing either the catamarans or the automaton igniter. However, the concussion will set up such a commotion that I'd rather be elsewhere than here, further away from the ladies of Dover in their parlours.'

It was eventually agreed that Shell Ness, a few hours sail around North Foreland at the tip of the Isle of Sheppey would suit. It was low, scrubby and desolate, with nothing but one or two empty shepherds' huts.

Teazer's deck bore three torpedoes lashed down securely, long, tar-dark coffers that, in their deadly menace, made hardened seamen tiptoe nervously past them. It was necessary to wait at anchor while their promised victim, a decrepit fishing-boat, was towed into the bleak mudflats. It was old but of a size, and to Kydd seemed to assume a pathetic dignity as it was led to its place of sacrifice.

No time was wasted: the coffer was lowered into the sea, grappled by the pinnace crew and manhandled round to face the target. The men strained at their oars, the torpedo wallowing sullenly after them until they reached the vessel's side where it was left.

The gunner in the gig then gingerly started the match fuse and hastily pulled away. An expectant hush fell over Teazer as all aboard waited and stared at the tethered victim in horrified fascination.

Kydd aimed his telescope while Fulton had his improvised quadrant trained ready. Time passed in breathless silence. Suddenly the sea at the waterline shot up in a huge pall of white, suffused with gun-flash and smoke, and a clap of thunder rolled round the bay, sending countless sea-birds to flight.

Fulton grunted in satisfaction as he noted the height of the plume and grinned sideways at Kydd, but when it had subsided, the fishing-boat was still there. Motioning the gig alongside, Kydd went out with him to inspect the result.

Part of the vessel's side was stove in and gaping, but otherwise only a large area of scorched timber gave evidence of the cataclysm—and she was still afloat.

'What in Hades . . . ?' Fulton said, almost to himself, as he poked at the scarified hull and peered up at the crazily hanging gaff-yard. Then he collected himself and added calmly, 'But, then, this is our sea in its tamping. It works to satisfaction yet directs its force in the main to the line of least resistance, which is to the vertical. Hmm— this is a setback, I cannot deny it.'

Yet by the time they had returned to Teazer Fulton had his answer. 'We use two torpedoes, one each side, and crush the ship between their vehemence.'

The two remaining coffers were swayed down and put in the water, but at the long-suffering victim, another difficulty presented itself. 'Mr. Duckitt, they must explode together, as near as you please.' This was a tall order, but the gunner bent his best efforts in cutting the match to the exact same mark. He borrowed a boatswain's call to sound the precise time to the gunner's mate on the opposite side to light the fuse.

A double roar saw the vessel hidden in smoke and spray but when it dissipated, there was the satisfying sight of blackened wreckage settling beneath the waves. 'The coffer size must increase, of course, but with an automatic fuse we will have a good result,' Fulton said briskly.

The catamaran was as strange a craft as Kydd had ever seen: two long, slender hulls joined with an open framework. The two oarsmen would take position on a narrow bench running fore and aft, set well down—in fact, they would be sitting in the sea. Their silhouette would be inches high only, a cunning device to allow them to close invisibly with the target before launch. Popham was clearly pleased and accepted the flattering comments about his contribution, then motioned the vessel to be brought alongside.

'Shall we make trial of it?' Kydd said jovially. 'Come now, you men, who'll volunteer?'

As always in the Navy, the out-of-routine had instant appeal and this promised at the very least a skylark in the summer sea for the lucky pair selected. They settled into their subsea seats to much ribaldry, and it was quickly clear that, barely head and shoulders above the surface, they would be more difficult to spot even than a small ship's boat.

The testing time was as night drew in. For some reason the darkling sea took on a feeling of looming menace; unknown shadows moving restlessly.

'Who's to come forward then, you idlers?' Kydd called encouragingly, to the knot of onlookers. This time there were no takers. 'That fine pair of this afternoon, you've had your amusement, so step up, my lads, and see what it's like to earn your grog.'

The two detached from the others and came to the ship's side, looking down in consternation at the flimsy contraption in the darkness. 'Come along, then,' Kydd said gruffly. 'Salt water never harmed anyone. In you go.'

Hand over hand, they lowered themselves, exclaiming aloud at the chill of the night water as they immersed.

'Good God!' spluttered Popham, leaning over the side. 'For the cold plunging pool at Tunbridge Wells you'd damn well need to find five guineas—the Navy's giving you your health cure at no cost.'

The oarsmen seemed not to appreciate the joke, but Popham turned to Kydd and said, 'Damme, that's what I'll