Catfantastic II

'Now stay there and don't get tangled up in the control cables. And if you get airsick, it's your own fault. I don't know what made you decide to come along, but there's no turning back now.'

Bomber seemed to understand. He wedged himself into the small space, keeping out of the way. He didn't seem to be frightened by the vibration or the hiss of the wind past the open cockpit. He also, Feathers noted thankfully, had shown no indications of airsickness.

Catching sight of another plane in Subflight Two, Feathers joined it and soon both were twining about each other's paths as they climbed to an altitude just below cloud level. Once aloft, the full squadron assembled in formation and flew over the Sheffield . The cruiser gave them a somewhat wary welcome and directions to the Bismarck . When the flight was past Sheffield , they climbed to attack altitude of nine thousand feet. Crocket, Feathers' forward observer, reported a blip on the radar that couldn't be anything but Bismarck .

After a short cruise, word came back from the squadron leader that he had sighted their quarry through a hole in the clouds. Most of the Swordfish would come in on the Bismarck 's port side, but Subflight Two was to attack from the starboard.

'Let's go get her, lads,' came the voice of the squadron leader over the wireless and the fifteen Swordfish started the hunt.

Rain pelted against the Swordfish's windscreen and Feathers' goggles as he dived the torpedo plane from nine thousand feet. Between the rain squalls, the low clouds and gusty winds, Feathers could hardly keep track of the dark gray silhouette of the enemy ship. She was moving fast, crashing though the force eight gale that blew about her and sending up fountains of spray from her bows.

'What's her heading?' the pilot shouted to the observer in the forward cockpit. The lash of rain and wind coupled with the wavering drone of the Swordfish's engines drowned out Crockett's reply, but the discomfited look on his face told Feathers that the weather was making it impossible to do more than guess the warship's heading. And the radar set aboard the Swordfish was too crude to show anything but the ship's approximate location. He couldn't tell if the battleship was in a turn or running a straight course. God, what he'd give for a look at the Bismarck 's compass.

And then something stirred beneath his feet, reminding him that the Swordfish was carrying an extra crew member, whose usefulness was doubtful. As if Bomber had caught the gist of that thought, he crouched on the cockpit floor in the cramped space underneath the pilot's knees. His tail began to shiver in an unmistakable manner.

'Not here! Not in the bloody aircraft!' Feathers yelled, but an appallingly familiar pungency rising from the cat showed that Bomber had already begun his performance. With both hands on the stick and feet on the rudder pedals, Feathers could only curse impotently. Then the cat wriggled to one side beneath Feathers' right thigh, pointed its ears, rippled its fur, and let loose a crack of miniature lightning from eartips into the center of the damped spot.

Wrestling the Swordfish's control stick with one hand, Feathers caught Bomber by the scruff. He was considering a quick toss over the side, but he realized that he was far too late. Rainbow rings were already blooming in the center of the cockpit floor as they had on the cabin wall. In fright the pilot pushed back against his seat as a circular gap appeared in the floor and enlarged. Would it spread underneath his seat, dropping him through to God knows where? He began to wish he had been a little more diplomatic toward the cat. And if he disappeared right out of the plane, that would leave the observer and gunner still barreling along in a pilotless craft. Surely Bomber didn't have it in for them, too?

The thoughts sped through his mind as the Swordfish continued in its hurtling dive through the clouds. And then he suddenly noticed that Bomber's hole wasn't getting any bigger, but the haze inside it was clearing. He could see through. And what he could see was the top of a military cap, a pair of uniformed shoulders and two arms whose gloved hands rested on the huge upright steering wheel of a ship. A huge glass-faced compass before the wheel read one hundred and six degrees. East-south-east. Roughly the same direction that the Bismarck was heading.

In a rush Feathers realized that Bomber had provided him with exactly what he needed; a view right into the Bismarck 's helm control room. He was looking right down on top of the helmsman's head and the ship's great main compass. Abruptly the needle began to slide toward one- twenty as the helmsman's hand bore down on the right side of the wheel. The Bismarck was starting a turn to starboard, zig-zagging to avoid torpedoes tracking in on her from other Swordfish.

If she'll stay in that turn, thought Feathers, I can send that torpedo to hit her aft, in the rudder or screws.

A banging on the fuselage behind him made the pilot jump. 'What the hell are you playing at!' the gunner bellowed into the slipstream. 'Do you want to send us into the sea?'

Feathers stared at the onrushing waves below. Too many seconds of inattention had sent the Swordfish into too deep a dive. A surge of adrenaline made him pull back the stick barely in time. He swore that spray from a high-breaking wave splashed the torpedo-plane's undercarriage as the Swordfish pulled out of her dive and roared along at wave-top height. Ack-ack fire spat uselessly over the top wing, for the Swordfish was so low that she was beneath the firing range of the Bismarck 's anti-aircraft turrets.

He glanced between his knees at Bomber's viewhole down onto the enemy's helm station. The compass was still swinging steadily as the great warship kept to her same rate of turn. In his head the pilot estimated the trajectory needed to hit the Bismarck astern. Keeping his course dead level and his airspeed at 75 knots, he bored in toward the rain-shrouded shape of the German warship. He wanted nine hundred yards, but he knew he couldn't make it. The anti-aircraft fire was missing, but the big ship had taken to shelling the sea around itself, the explosions causing eruptions of water like geysers that could swallow a light aircraft and drag it down into the sea. At twelve hundred yards, Feathers pushed the torpedo release.

The bronze cylinder plummeted from the plane. Stay in that turn, you bastard. Stay in that turn, Feathers prayed as he veered away and caught sight of the torpedo's wake making a white trail directly toward the Bismarck 's stern.

One quick glance down between his knees through Bomber's viewport onto the enemy helmsman told him the warship had spotted the attack. He heard orders in German barked down the speaking tube to the wheelman. The officer leaned to one side, gathering the momentum needed to bring the great wheel hard to port.

Instantly Feathers knew that if the warship swung her stern aside, the tracking torpedo would miss. He'd launched it from too great a distance. Bismarck had already shown amazing maneuverability for so long a ship and great adeptness at dodging torpedoes.

With a yowl, Bomber, who had been poised on the edge of the hole, launched himself right through it. Feathers had the most amazing bird's eye view of the cat tumbling straight down onto the head of the Bismarck 's wheelman.

The officer threw both hands up in the air with a hoarse yell as a ten-pound bundle equipped with raking claws, teeth, and its own peculiar brand of chemical weaponry descended upon him. Bomber knocked the man's hat off and delivered a flurry of scratches to the hapless victim's head and shoulders. As a parting shot, the cat gave the flailing officer a final blast in the face as he sprang at the ship's wheel.

He landed, caught and held, his weight dragging the wheel back over and ending the change of course the helmsman was about to make. The Bismarck continued her sweeping turn to starboard.

Feathers strained his head over the side. Through the driving wind and rain, he saw the wake of his torpedo driving straight and true for the Bismarck 's stern. Water fountained up, mixed with smoke. The aft end lifted for an instant, then slammed back into the sea.

From the rear of the Swordfish came more pounding and a roaring cheer from Patterson. 'Hoorah! We got her right in the arse!'

From the gap in the plane's floor that miraculously looked onto the helm of the enemy came an unholy racket. Feathers glanced down at the scene happening between his knees. Bomber was still fighting the helmsman, screeching and spitting while the officer fended off the attack. From the voicetube connected to the Bismarck 's bridge came frenzied shouts for the helm to obey.