"Would keep out any normal submarines," Tyndall finished.
His voice dropped to a murmur. "Remember what we were told last month about our midget two-man subs, the chariots?
The ones to be taken over to Norway by Norwegian fishing-boats operating from the Shetlands.
Could be that the Germans have hit on the same idea."
"Could be," Vallery agreed.
He nodded sardonically. "Just look at the Cumberland go, straight for the boom."
He paused for a few seconds, his eyes speculative, then looked back at Tyndall.
"How do you like it, sir?"
"Like what, Captain?"
"Playing Aunt Sally at the fair." Vallery grinned crookedly. "Can't afford to lose umpteen million pounds worth of capital ship.
So the old Duke hares out to sea and safety, while we moor near her anchor berth.
You can bet German Naval Intelligence has the bearing of her anchorage down to a couple of inches.
These midget subs carry detachable warheads and if there's going to be any fitted, they're going to be fitted to us."
Tyndall looked at him.
His face was expressionless.
Asdic reports were continuous, reporting steady bearing to port and closing distances.
"Of course, of course," the Admiral murmured. "We're the whipping boy.
Gad, it makes me feel bad!" His mouth twisted and he laughed mirthlessly. "Me?
This is the final straw for the crew.
That hellish last trip, the mutiny, the marine boarding party from the Cumberland, action stations in harbour, and now this! Risking our necks for that-that..." He broke off, spluttering, swore in anger, then resumed quietly: "What are you going to tell the men, Captain?
Good God, it's fantastic!
I feel like mutiny myself..."
He stopped short, looked inquiringly past Vallery's shoulder.
The Captain turned round.
"Yes, Marshall?"
"Excuse me, sir.
This-er-echo." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "A sub, sir, possibly a pretty small one?"
The transatlantic accent was very heavy.
"Likely enough, Marshall.
Why?"
"Just how Ralston and I figured it, sir." He grinned. "We have an idea for dealing with it."
Vallery looked out through the driving sleet, gave helm and engine orders, then turned back to the Torpedo Officer.
He was coughing heavily, painfully, as he pointed to the glassed, in anchorage chart.
"If you're thinking of depth-charging our stern off in these shallow waters------"
"No, sir.
Doubt whether we could get a shallow enough setting anyway.
My idea, Ralston's to be correct, is that we take out the motor boat and a few 25-lb. scuttling charges, 18-second fuses and chemical igniters.
Not much of a kick from these, I know, but a miniature sub ain't likely to have helluva-er-very thick hulls.
And if the crews are sitting on top of the ruddy things instead of inside -- well, it's curtains for sure. It'll kipper "em."
Vallery smiled.
"Not bad at all, Marshall.
I think you've got the answer there.
What do you think, sir?"
"Worth trying, anyway," Tyndall agreed. "Better than waiting around like a sitting duck."
"Go ahead then, Torps." Vallery looked at him quizzically. "Who are your explosives experts?"
"I figured on taking Ralston------"
"Just what I thought.
You're taking nobody, laddie," said Vallery firmly.
"Can't afford to lose my torpedo officer."
Marshall looked pained, then shrugged resignedly.