‘He will. You’d better tell Hellier to go and help him. I’ll give Johnny the word.’
Tozier went below to the engine-room and found Follet sitting by the telegraph, a gun in his hand and his eye on an
engineer officer who was inspecting a dial. He had to raise his voice to be heard as he brought Follet up-to-date.
‘Son of a bitch!’ said Follet admiringly. ‘You mean we’re going to torpedo her?’
‘We’re going to try.’
Follet looked at the sweating plates close by. Beyond that thin steel shell lay the sea. ‘If anything happens—any trouble—let me know,’ he said. ‘I’m a good swimmer, but I’d like a chance to prove it.’
A grim smile came to Tozier’s lips. ‘What odds are you offering now, Johnny?’
‘All bets are off,’ said Follet. ‘But we did the right thing, I
know
that. It’s just that even if you have the edge you can’t win them all.’
Tozier punched him lightly on the arm. ‘Keep this junk pile working. Tom will be wanting to manoeuvre.’
He went forward to the torpedo compartment, and before he entered he dragged the body of Eastman aside. ‘Everything seems all right,’ said Parker. ‘Eastman didn’t mess around in here.’ He slapped the side of a torpedo. ‘I’ll need help wi’ these. Two are already in the tubes, but I can’t slide these in on me own.’
‘Hellier’s coming down,’ said Tozier. ‘He’s the beefiest.’ He turned. ‘Here he is now. Dan, let me get this straight. We just punch the buttons—is that it?’
Parker nodded. ‘There’s one set on the bridge an’ another in the crow’s nest; you can use either. But you’d do better in the crow’s nest—there’s a sightin’ telescope up there.’
‘I’ll get back up top,’ said Tozier. ‘The fun will be starting.’
He nodded to Hellier and went away. Hellier said, ‘What do I do?’
‘Nothin’ yet,’ said Parker stolidly. ‘We just wait.’ He looked up. ‘If you’re a religious man you could try a prayer.’
Tozier found Abbot and Warren at the stern. Abbot was lying flat on the deck and peering cautiously around the
corner of the deckhouse at the
Stella del Mare.
He drew back as Tozier touched him on the shoulder. ‘They’re doing something with that thing at the stern.’
Tozier took his place. Three or four men were busy on the after deck of the yacht, stripping away the canvas to reveal the elongated barrel of the cannon. One of them sat on a seat and turned a handle and the barrel rose and fell; another seated himself and traversed the gun, then applied his eye to the sight. Tozier would have given his soul for a good rifle; he could have knocked off all of them before they could get away.
Further forward others were preparing the machineguns for action and he distinctly saw a drum of ammunition being put in place. He withdrew and looked astern. The ship they had passed was a mere blob on the horizon surmounted by a smear of smoke. He stood up and called penetratingly, ‘Tom—action stations!’
The reply from behind the canvas awning was muffled. ‘Aye, aye, sir!’
Tozier drew Warren and Abbot away. ‘The port side won’t be too healthy from now on. It’ll be best to lie flat on the deck on the starboard side somewhere behind the bridge. We’re going to try to torpedo her and Tom’s in command; he has to be because he must point the ship at whatever he’s shooting at.’
‘But the firing buttons are on the bridge,’ said Warren.
‘Yes,’ said Tozier. ‘That’s where the fun comes in. Mike, you stay back here and keep in touch with Tom—you pass the word forward when he’s ready to attack. Nick, you’ll be with me. When the word comes you make for the bridge and try to get at the buttons.’
Warren nodded and wondered momentarily what part Tozier had picked for himself. He soon found out because Tozier nodded to the derrick. ‘There’s another set of buttons at the top of that. That’s my job in case you can’t make it to the bridge.’
Warren looked up at the horribly exposed crow’s nest and moistened his lips. ‘Suppose you can’t make it up there?’
‘I’ll be past caring by then,’ said Tozier easily. ‘Someone else will have to have a go. Let’s get set.’
He and Warren crouched in cover on the starboard side and waited. When it happened it came suddenly and shockingly.
From where he sheltered Warren could see the rear of the bridge and, to the accompaniment of a din of rapid explosions, it began to disintegrate. Bright points of light danced all over it as the cannon shells exploded with ferocious violence, and the wheelhouse was, in a moment, reduced to a shattered wreck.
There was a thump above his head and he looked up to see, incredibly, a piece of glass driven into the teak coaming. Flung from the wheelhouse it had spun murderously towards him and struck with its razor sharp edge to sink an inch deep into the hard wood. Had his head been lifted another few inches he would have been decapitated.
He dropped back into safety just in time as the cannon fire swept aft. Shells exploded on the deck and splinters of planking drove all about him, one cutting through the hem of his jacket and tearing a jagged hole. Above the deeper roar of the cannon came the light chatter of the machineguns and bullets ripped through the deck-house as though the walls were of paper, and he grovelled on the deck as though to dig himself into it.
The firing was heard four miles to the west by the young skipper of the Lebanese patrol boat which carried Jamil Hassan. He turned to Hassan and said, ‘Gunfire!’
Hassan made an abrupt gesture. ‘Faster—go faster.’
Warren cautiously raised his head as the monstrous noise stopped and everything was as quiet as before, with just the steady beat of the engines and the lapping of the bow wave.
He looked up at the bridge and was horrified at the mass of wreckage. He had a sudden vision of the puppets which Metcalfe had constructed, dancing like marionettes on their strings as the bullets and shells drove through and among them until the roof caved in.
The
Orestes
slowly began to swing to port as though a restraining hand had been removed from the helm. Metcalfe called, ‘I’m swinging over to get her athwart my bows as though by chance. We might just get away with it. Tell Andy to get ready.’
Abbot ran forward at a crouch and passed on the message. Tozier looked up at the pulverized bridge and shook his head. ‘Up you go, Nick; but take it easy. Wait until she’s on target before pressing the tit. If you can’t fire at all give me a shout.’
Warren found he was trembling. This was not the sort of work he was cut out for and he knew it. He ran for the bridge ladder and climbed it quickly, ducking his head as he came on to the bridge and sprawling flat. He raised his head and looked at the wheelhouse. The front of it had been blasted off and there was very little left behind it. There was no wheel, no binnacle, no engine telegraph—and no small box with two buttons mounted on it. The bridge had been swept clear.
He shouted, ‘No good here, Andy,’ and twisted around to go back, afraid of being caught by the next blast of gunfire. He did not bother to climb down the ladder but launched himself into space and fell heavily to the deck in the precious shelter of what remained of the bridge.
He saw Tozier run past him, along the deck and out into the open space of the waist of the ship, zig-zagging so as never to take more than three steps in the same direction. He disappeared behind the donkey-engine casing at the foot of the derrick and Warren looked upwards. It seemed impossible that any man should climb that after what had happened.
Metcalfe had one eye on the derrick and the other on the
Stella del Mare.
He saw Tozier scrambling up and then turned the wheel so as to straighten the
Orestes
on her course. Tozier reached the crow’s nest and bent to put his eye to the sight, but the yacht was sheering off, although Metcalfe did his best to keep the bows in line with her.
The sudden change of course of both ships confused the gunners on the yacht. The forward machine-gun could not be brought to bear at all, while the one amidships fired but the aim was wild. However, the cannon was perfectly positioned and it traversed smoothly and opened fire. A hail of shells drove past Tozier and it seemed impossible that he should not be hit. Astern of the
Orestes
the sea erupted in fountains for a mile as the shells overshot the ship and exploded harmlessly.
Tozier stabbed at the buttons and two torpedoes, worth the combined sum of $50,000,000 were on their way.
Then he scrambled down the derrick as fast as he could. He got within ten feet of the bottom and fell the rest of the way. The cannon stopped firing and Warren heard someone cheering from the stern and wondered what Metcalfe had to be so glad about. One thing was certain—the torpedoes had missed. There was no explosion from the sea and a machine-gun still continued its staccato conversation.
Metcalfe had tried to emulate a tortoise as the cannon shells whipped overhead, hunching his neck into his shoulders as though that would save his head from getting knocked off. If the cannon had been depressed a fraction lower the stern of the
Orestes
would have been swept clear and Tom Metcalfe with it. When the cannon fire stopped he looked through a hole in the awning and began to cheer loudly.
Things had gone wrong on the
Stella del Mare
; there was confusion on her poop deck and the long barrel of the cannon was canted upwards at an unnatural angle. The
improvised mounting had not been able to withstand the incessant hammering as the cannon had pumped out shells and it was now out of action. From the yacht came a thin and distant wail, sounding as though someone had been hurt.
So Metcalfe cheered.
Below, in the bows, Parker and Hellier heard the hiss of compressed air as the torpedoes left the tubes. Hellier was disposed to wait to hear if they struck, but Parker was already closing the outer doors of the tubes in preparation for reloading. He swung open the inner doors and stepped aside as the water gushed out, and then pulled smartly on the handles of the clamps which held the racked torpedo on the port side. ‘Come on,’ he yelled. ‘Get the bastard in!’
He and Hellier heaved on the torpedo which moved slowly on its rollers towards the open tube. It was very heavy and moved a fraction of an inch at a time, but it picked up speed as they pushed harder, and finally went in sweetly. Parker slammed the door home and spun the locking wheel. ‘Now the other one,’ he gasped.
‘Do you think the first lot hit?’ asked Hellier.
‘Dunno,’ said Parker, his hands busy. ‘Shouldn’t think so. Must have been point-blank range judgin’ by the racket goin’ on up there. Let’s get this one in, for God’s sake!’
Warren looked to see if he could see Tozier but there was no sign of him. He stuck his head around the side of the bridge and looked across at the
Stella del Mare.
She had turned as the
Orestes
had turned and was still on the port side keeping a parallel course. The midships machine-gun was still firing in short bursts and now the one in the bows could be brought to bear again and it also opened up, but both seemed to be concentrating on the forward deck.
He saw why. Tozier was sheltering in the break of the forecastle, just sitting there with one leg trailing behind
him and oddly bent in a place where there should have been no joint. Even at that distance Warren could tell that the leg was broken. He saw Dan Parker dash from the doorway of the forecastle in an attempt to get to Tozier. He had not gone two steps when he stopped a bullet which flung him round and sent him crashing to the deck where he lay feebly moving.
It was too much for Warren. He broke from cover and ran up the deck, careless of whether he was in danger or not. Simultaneously there was a stentorian bellow from the stern. ‘She’s coming around to strafe us on the starboard side. She’ll be crossing our bows—get ready to shoot.’
Warren heard the words but they made no sense to him; he was intent on getting to Parker and Tozier. But he was thankfully aware that the machine-gunning had stopped as the
Stella del Mare
began to swing ahead of the
Orestes
and firing became unprofitable. Thus he was able to reach Parker without a scratch.
He bent down and took Parker under the arms and dragged him into the forecastle. He was ruthless about it because he had no time to waste, but mercifully Parker was unconscious. Then he went back for Tozier who looked up and gave a weak grin. ‘Busted leg,’ he said.
‘You can stand on the other,’ said Warren, and helped him up.
‘For Christ’s sake!’ yelled Metcalfe. ‘Someone get up that bloody derrick.’
Warren looked back and hesitated as he felt Tozier’s weight lean on him. He saw Abbot make a run for it, disappearing behind the donkey engine as Tozier had done to reappear half way up the derrick, climbing as though the devil were at his heels.
Metcalfe, on the poop, had a grandstand view. The
Stella del Mare
crossed his bows three hundred yards ahead. At the sight of Abbot on the derrick the machine-guns opened up
again, hosing the
Orestes
unmercifully. Abbot did not bother to use the sight. He slammed his hand on the buttons just as a burst of machine-gun fire stitched bloody holes across his chest. He spread his arms as he was flung backwards to crash thirty feet to the deck below.
But then the yacht shivered and checked her stride as the torpedoes hit her, and she erupted as over three hundred and fifty pounds of TNT exploded in her guts. She was no warship built to take punishment, and the explosions tore her apart. Her mid-section was ripped and destroyed utterly, thus cutting her in half; her bows floated for a few seconds only, leaving the stern filling with water fast.
Several small figures jumped from the stern just before it went under in a boil of swirling water, and Metcalfe’s teeth bared in a humourless smile. The
Orestes
ploughed on towards the bits of wreckage floating on the surface, and he saw a white face under long blonde hair and an arm waving desperately.
Slowly, and with intense care, he turned the wheel so that the stern of the
Orestes
slid sideways towards Jeanette Delorme and she was drawn into the maelstrom of the churning screw. With equal precision he straightened the
Orestes
on her course and did not look back at what might appear in the wake.