H.M.S. Ulysses Part 24

Within the hour, merchant s.h.i.+ps and escorts were on station again, on a north-east course at first to clear any further packs on lat.i.tude 70. To the south-east, the sun was still bright: but the first thick, writhing tendrils of the mist, chill and dank, were already swirling round the convoy. Speed had been reduced to six knots: all s.h.i.+ps were streaming fog-buoys.

Tyndall s.h.i.+vered, climbed stiffly from his chair as the stand-down sounded. He pa.s.sed through the gate, stopped in the pa.s.sage outside. He laid a glove on Chrysler's shoulder, kept it there as the boy turned round in surprise.

"Just wanted a squint at these eyes of yours, laddie," he smiled. "We owe them a lot. Thank you very much-we will not forget." He looked a long time into the young face, forgot his own exhaustion and swore softly in sudden compa.s.sion as he saw the red-rimmed eyes, the white, maculated cheeks stained with embarra.s.sed pleasure.

"How old are you, Chrysler?" he asked abruptly.

"Eighteen, sir... in two days' time." The soft West Country voice was almost defiant.

"He'll be eighteen-in two days' time!" Tyndall repeated slowly to himself. "Good G.o.d! Good G.o.d above!" He dropped his hand, walked wearily aft to the shelter, entered, closed the door behind him.

"He'll be eighteen-in two days' time," he repeated, like a man in a daze.

Vallery propped himself up on the settee. "Who? Young Chrysler?"

Tyndall nodded unhappily.

"I know." Vallery was very quiet. "I know how it is... He did a fine job today."

Tyndall sagged down in a chair. His mouth twisted in bitterness.

"The only one... Dear G.o.d, what a mess!" He drew heavily on a cigarette, stared down at the floor. "Ten green bottles, hanging on a wall," he murmured absently.

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Fourteen s.h.i.+ps left Scapa, eighteen St. John-the two components of FR77," Tyndall said softly. "Thirty-two s.h.i.+ps in all. And now "-he paused-" now there are seventeen, and three of these damaged. I'm counting the Tennessee Adventurer as a dead duck." He swore savagely.

"h.e.l.l's teeth, how I hate,leaving s.h.i.+ps like that, sitting targets for any murdering..." He stopped short, drew on his cigarette again, deeply. "Doing wonderfully, amn't I?"

"Ah, nonsense, sir!" Vallery interrupted, impatient, almost angry.

"It wasn't any fault of yours that the carriers had to return."

"Meaning that the rest was my fault?" Tyndall smiled faintly, lifted a hand to silence the automatic protest. "Sorry, d.i.c.k, I know you didn't meant that-but it's true, it's true. Six merchant boys gone in ten minutes-six! And we shouldn't have lost one of them." Head bent, elbows on knees, he screwed the heels of his palms into exhausted eyes.

"Rear-Admiral Tyndall, master strategist," he went on softly. "Alters convoy course to run smack into a heavy cruiser, alters it again to run straight into the biggest wolf-pack I've ever known-and just where the Admiralty said they would be.... No matter what old Starr does to me when I get back, I've no kick coming. Not now, not after this."

He rose heavily to his feet. The light of the single lamp caught his face. Vallery was shocked at the change.

"Where to, now, sir?" he asked.

"The bridge. No, no, stay where you are, d.i.c.k." He tried to smile, but the smile was a grimace that flickered only to die. "Leave me in peace while I ponder my next miscalculation."

He opened the door, stopped dead as he heard the unmistakable whistling of sh.e.l.ls close above, heard the E.A.S. Signal screaming urgently through the fog. Tyndall turned his head slowly, looked back into the shelter.

"It looks," he said bitterly, "as if I've already made it."

CHAPTER NINE.

FRIDAY MORNING.

THE FOG, Tyndall saw, was all around them now. Since that last heavy snowfall during the night, the temperature had risen steadily, quickly.

But it had beguiled only to deceive: the clammy, icy feathers of the swirling mist now struck doubly chill.

He hurried through the gate, Vallery close behind him. Turner, steel helmet trailing, was just leaving for the After Tower. Tyndall stretched out his hand, stopped him.

"What is it, Commander?" he demanded. "Who fired? Where? Where did it come from?"

"I don't know, sir. Sh.e.l.ls came from astern, more or less. But I've a d.a.m.ned good idea who it is." His eyes rested on the Admiral a long, speculative moment. "Our friend of last night is back again." He turned abruptly, hurried off the bridge.

Tyndall looked after him, perplexed, uncomprehending. Then he swore, softly, savagely, and jumped for the radar handset.

"Bridge. Admiral speaking. Lieutenant Bowden at once!" The loudspeaker crackled into immediate life.

"Bowden speaking, sir."

"What the devil are you doing down there?" Tyndall's voice was low, vicious. "Asleep, or what? We are being attacked, Lieutenant Bowden. By a surface craft. This may be news to you." He broke off, ducked low as another salvo screamed overhead and crashed into the water less than half a mile ahead: the spray cascaded over the decks of a merchantman, glimpsed momentarily in a clear lane between two rolling fog-banks.

Tyndall straightened up quickly, snarled into the mouth-piece. "He's got our range, and got it accurately. In G.o.d's name, Bowden, where is he?"

"Sorry, sir." Bowden was cool, unruffled. "We can't seem to pick him up. We still have the Adventurer on our screens, and there appears to be a very slight distortion on his bearing, sir, approximately 300... I suggest the enemy s.h.i.+p is still screened by the Adventurer or, if she's closer, is on the Adventurer's direct bearing."

"How near?" Tyndall barked.

"Not near, sir. Very close to the Adventurer. We can't distinguish either by size or distance."

Tyndall dangled the transmitter from his hand. He turned to Vallery.

"Does Bowden really expect me to believe that yarn?" he asked angrily.

"A million to one coincidence like that, an enemy s.h.i.+p accidentally chose and holds the only possible course to screen her from our radar. Fantastic!"

Vallery looked at him, his face without expression.

"Well?" Tyndall was impatient. "Isn't it?"

"No, sir," Vallery answered quietly. "It's not. Not really. And it wasn't accidental. The U-pack would have radioed her, given our bearing and course. The rest was easy."

Tyndall gazed at him through a long moment of comprehension, screwed his eyes shut and shook his head in short fierce jerks. It was a gesture compounded of self-criticism, the death of disbelief, the attempt to clear a woolly, exhausted mind. h.e.l.l, a six-year-old could have seen that... A sh.e.l.l whistled into the sea a bare fifty yards to port.

Tyndall didn't flinch, might never have seen or heard it.

"Bowden?" He had the transmitter to his mouth again.

"Sir?"