Thunder at Dawn (13 page)

Smith nodded. Then
Ariadne
turned and finally
Thunder
and the three ships headed out to sea. Neither Ballard nor Graham would be pleased. This was not a course for Guaya. But they would draw the conclusion that Smith was taking a course far out of the normal trade route to evade pursuit.

Smith asked, “Well, Mr. Wakely?”

“She’s still there, sir. Wait a minute, though —”

They had been ten minutes on the changed course and whoever manned the launch would be having a rough passage in this sea.

Wakely called, “She’s turning! She’s dropping back!”

She was. Smith could just see the boat, broadside on and falling away astern. She came around further still, showed her stern and now he saw a faint, dim light in the well of her, possibly the compass. A moment later the darkness hid her.

He waited a further ten minutes and then ordered the return to their original course. He had one crumb of comfort for Ballard. “Make to
Elizabeth
Bell
: ‘Proceed at best speed’.” Now he knew they were neither watched nor followed he would make the best speed he could. It would add another two or three knots.
Ariadne
was still far from stretching her legs but at least she would feel she was moving.

He left the bridge. Wakely stared at him as if he had second sight but he would not explain tonight. He would not explain that he had expected the Germans in Malaguay to watch his course and to suspect that once out of sight of the land he might change that course. So he expected the launch to be there. She would think she had caught him laying a false trail and that his course to Guaya lay well out to sea. But why had she trailed him if the cruisers were a world away?

He wanted to be alone.

*

He was on the bridge before dawn and Garrick came to stand beside him and together they drank hot coffee and watched the blackness over the tossing sea turn to grey. The navigation lights of
Ariadne
and
Elizabeth
Bell
paled in that greyness as the ships took solid shape. Then it was full day and he could see his little convoy clearly,
Ariadne
heaving solidly,
Elizabeth
Bell
plugging into the seas. Visibility was fair, no better than that, but it was enough.

Garrick hailed the masthead and the reply came back: “Nothing, sir, only
Ariadne
an’
Elizabeth
Bell
.”

Smith heard it poker-faced. That was all that was left of his calm pose. He could not converse casually because he did not want to face his officers. He did not want to see the embarrassment and the pity behind it. They were at last on his side but now he had to stand alone. He avoided them. He would not go below and they passed within inches of where he stood or paced the bridge but it was as if they moved in different worlds. The whole ship seemed to tip-toe around him. He passed the long hours of the morning in thought and at the end could remember none of it. Only at the end his thoughts turned to coal and his need of it.

He had sunk two colliers filled with prime Welsh coal. And men.
My
God
,
men
!

But he still could not believe that his whole reasoning had been wrong.

It was long past noon and they would reach Guaya shortly after sunset. A sun that was bright but robbed of heat by the wind tightened his eyes. It seemed to smile on
Thunder
and on himself but it brought him no warmth nor comfort.

The call came down from the masthead: “
Smoke
bearing
green
one
-
six
-
oh
!”

IX

The gale was blowing itself out.
Thunder
still rolled wildly with seas bursting over her rails and spray flailing across the bridge, and the wind still snapped that spray from the crests of the big, green seas, but the sky was clearing, seeming swept clean by that wind. There was little of the day left but what there was promised to be beautiful.

Visibility was good and on the bridge they could just see the ship now, a speck under the marking black banner of her smoke. The masthead look-out could see her better. “
She’s
a
gunboat
!”

Garrick said, “She’s making up on us, but slowly.”

Knight ventured: “Maybe she isn’t the German.”

That was a possibility. She could be Chilean or any of a score of warships pursuing their lawful business in these waters. Smith did not believe it. He turned away and lowered his glasses. Everyone else who could reach a point of vantage was straining his eyes aft but he would not. He would know soon enough.
Elizabeth
Bell
wallowed ahead of
Thunder
and rolled as badly. He wondered how Sarah Benson was managing aboard her and decided he did not give a damn. Whatever she got she’d asked for.
Elizabeth
Bell
was barely making eight knots. If this sea fell flat calm she might make ten knots but as it was eight was her best. Astern of her and ahead of
Thunder
steamed
Ariadne
, riding the seas better than either of the others. She could make another four or five knots in this.
Elizabeth
Bell
had a crew of twenty-two.
Ariadne’s
crew and passengers totalled a hundred and thirty.

Once more the hail from the masthead: “
She’s that
German!
Leopard
!” The look-outs had all seen the gunboat more than once when she lay at Malaguay.

Smith said, “Mr. Knight. Make to
Ariadne
: ‘Proceed independently at best speed’.”

Knight was startled because Smith had not spoken a word that day. But Smith again caught the interchange of glances between Garrick and Aitkyne. There was only one gunboat, only just escaped from internment, unarmed. He could be sending
Ariadne
away in panic flight while the Germans laughed at the success of their bluff.

“
Ariadne
acknowledges, sir.”

“Very good.”

“And
Elizabeth
Bell
signals: ‘Am making best speed’.”

He was only too well aware of it. “Acknowledge.” Another man might have contrived a humorous reply but he did not feel humorous.

Ariadne’s
smoke thickened and she swung out to starboard and surged past the tramp and on towards the distant coast.

“
Masthead
!
Smoke
bearing
red
one
-
seven
-
oh
!
Astern
of
the
gunboat
!”

The hail was whipped away on the wind. Smith turned slowly to face aft. They waited, all of them on the bridge and he could see the rest of his officers grouped on the after bridge with glasses and telescopes.

“
Masthead
!
Looks
like
a
four
-
funnel
ship
!”

Garrick bawled up, tight-nerved, outraged, “What the
hell
d’ye mean?
Looks
like
?”

“
She’s
near
bows
-
on
,
sir
,
an’
the
smoke
what
she’s
making
—”

Garrick fumed.

Then the look-out bawled again, aggrievedly sure now,
“She’s
a
four
-
funnel
ship!”

There was the end of doubt. A four-funnel ship meant a warship was closing on the gunboat. No doubt at all now. Smith thought that somehow they had got the word from Malaguay of the course he had taken out to sea and they had spread out in a wide, sweeping line with the gunboat taking the inshore station. The other cruiser would be ten miles farther out over the horizon and would take time to come up, so it would be one-to-one for that length of time. One-to-one. But she had a broadside of six big guns to
Thunders
two and an edge in speed. Once he stopped to fight he would never escape.

“
Masthead
! Two
four
-
funnel
ships
!”

His head jerked back to stare up at the look-out then his eyes came slowly down. The other cruiser must also have been closing on the gunboat, possibly the squadron concentrating for the night or to run into Guaya. Whatever the reason,
Thunder
faced impossible odds.

He found he was staring at Garrick and that the First Lieutenant was grinning like an overgrown schoolboy. Aitkyne smiled broadly. And Knight. All his officers seemed delighted, and then he realised it was for him, because he had been right.
Wolf
and
Kondor
. He caught a glimpse of young Wakely, flushed with excitement and laughing. The elder officers were hardly more serious. Garrick said, “God knows who they’re chasing in the Indian Ocean.” He guffawed. There were few hours of daylight left but Smith thought they could all be dead by sunset.

He turned from them and climbed slowly, steadily to the fore-top, the big glasses bumping on his chest. There was no hurry. The cruisers would not go away. He stood in the fore-top holding on against the wild sweep of the mast as it swung like an erratic metronome. He lifted the glasses, aware of Garrick behind him.

He saw them coming up under the smoke, a great deal of smoke, they were steaming for all they were worth. Bows on and superimposed as they were he could not distinguish their silhouettes, but he knew them. He lowered the glasses fractionally until the bucketing gunboat lurched into focus. Only nine hundred tons and with barely ten knots of speed,
Leopard
only carried a pair of four-inch guns. Except for them, with her flush deck she might be taken for a rich man’s yacht. Yet she had sighted them, had pointed the finger. Without her he might have got away.

He let the glasses fall against his chest. Garrick held the silhouette book. He frowned at it. “I’ll lay odds they
are
Wolf
and
Kondor
.”

“I know.” Smith started down. He had seen more than enough. He was pursued by an enormously superior force but
Thunder
plodded on at a leaden eight knots while the pursuit roared down on her at more than twice that speed. The reason, of course, was the
Elizabeth
Bell
, rusty and dirty and shabby. She hung around his neck like an albatross. In half-an-hour or less …

He could abandon the
Elizabeth
Bell
.

Looked at coldly and logically it was the obvious course but he knew he could not do it. The sun was going down, it was already in his eyes as he turned aft again to stare at his fate rushing down on him, his nightmare come to appalling life. The sun was going down but it would not set soon enough to save them.

Very well, then. “Number One!”

“Sir?” The reply was jerked out of Garrick. The jubilation on the bridge had turned to a façade that could not hide the tension that was a palpable thing and Garrick was not immune.

Only Smith felt cold. “I will want steam for full speed, and I want every man fed. There’s time for a quick bite, say twenty minutes.”

Garrick ran from the bridge and Smith started to follow him but paused by Aitkyne to say casually, “I’ll be in my cabin, pilot. If there is any change in the situation no doubt you will let me know.” He took the silhouette book from Aitkyne and made his way to his cabin in leisurely fashion.

Boat-deck and upper-deck were crowded by the watch below, the eyes of all of them astern. One or two of them saw him stroll by and nudged each other, grinned. He was a cool one! But once in his cabin, alone, he opened the silhouette book and stared at it. That was not necessary. Now he could have drawn the silhouette faithfully from memory.

They were faster and each of them carried eight 8.2-inch guns that were equal to
Thunder’s
9.2-inch and she had only two of them. Sixteen to two. In a broadside fight they could fire twelve to two, even in a stern chase like this they would bring eight to bear against one. Between them they carried twelve 5.9-inch that out-ranged
Thunder’s
elderly six-inch guns.

Sarah Benson had said: ‘You can’t fight them.’

She was in the
Elizabeth
Bell
.

There was a tap at the door and Horsfall entered with a tray. “That there Benks, he’s made sandwiches for all the gentlemen, bully beef an’ a bit o’ pickle an’ I thought you might fancy a bottle o’ pale ale.” He set the tray on the table and touched the glass lovingly, making sure it was safe. It was only half-full so that
Thunder’s
rolling would not slop the golden, white-collared contents.

Smith said, “You may as well have the rest of the bottle.”

“Thank you, sir.” Smith was prepared to bet the rest of the bottle had already gone. He was right. Horsfall said, “Looks as if we’ll be busy later on. Anything particular you want while I’m here?”

Smith shook his head. “No, thank you.” Except another ten knots, or that battle-cruiser.

“Well. Might see you later on, sir.”

Might. Smith looked up at Daddy’s long horse-face. Daddy was under no illusions. Smith tapped the book. “Know this class of ship?”

Horsfall breathed over Smith’s shoulder, then said simply, “Too bloody true, sir.”

“Good luck, Horsfall.”

“And the same to you, sir.”

Smith drank the beer thirstily but he could not face the sandwiches.

*

When ‘Cooks to the galley’ was sounded, Gibb queued up with the others and drew the meal for his mess: more bully beef and bread, scalding hot tea. Some wanted to eat, some did not. Some started voraciously then sickened. Nobody stayed on the mess-deck. They all crowded up aft, heavy sea or no heavy sea. The spray turned the hunks of bread to soggy lumps in their hands and diluted the tea while the wind cooled it, but they all got something inside them, if it was only tepid tea.

Gibb found Rattray alongside him champing hungrily and sucking at tea. Gibb ate nothing, drained his cup and was still thirsty. Gibb ventured, trying to be nonchalant, “Looks like we’ll have a scrap, hey?”

Rattray did not answer for a while, then he showed his teeth. “And we’ll see what you’re bloody made of, you and Smith together.”

*

Smith returned to the bridge and moved out to the wing, staring aft. The two big cruisers had overhauled the gunboat now. Ten miles away, maybe a little more. They were eating up the distance, racing down in line abreast so both could fire with all guns that would bear forward, which would be three each at least and four if he lay dead ahead of them. Dead ahead. Unfortunate choice of phrase. He grimaced and swung around, eyes seeking the coast. It looked no nearer and the sun seemed suspended, refusing to move down the sky. Neither sanctuary nor night to save them.

He ordered, “Sound ‘General quarters’.”

Thunder’s
crew boiled into life and ran to their action stations. The reports began to come in as the guns’ crews closed up, magazines were manned and all the hundred and one posts necessary to
Thunder’s
functioning as a fighting ship were filled.

Garrick went to the fore-top.
Thunder’s
fire control like everything else about her was outdated. She did not have director firing, that is all guns being laid and trained from one central director high above the deck. She had a rangefinder and a device to calculate deflection and that was all. The guns received range and deflection through navy phones and from then on it was up to the layers and trainers to lay and train the gun. Garrick in the fore-top watched for the fall of shot and issued orders to correct it if it was over or short.

Smith stayed on the bridge. In the conning-tower below the bridge they would have the protection of that eleveninch-thick armour plate but Smith wanted to see as much as he could,
had
to see. But exposed as they were on the bridge, a hit on the ship might send scything splinters to wipe out Smith and everyone else up there, while a direct hit on the bridge — It was one more risk he had to take. If he could neither run nor fight with any hope then he would have to seek an alternative. He thought this was the place to seek it.