"First from the Sirrus.
'Request permission to go alongside, take off survivors.
As well hung for a sheep as a lamb.'"
Vallery stared through the thinly falling snow, through the darkness of the night and over the rolling sea.
"In this sea?" he murmured. "And as near dark as makes no difference.
He'll kill himself!"
"That's nothing to what old Starr's going to do to him when he lays hands on him!" Turner said cheerfully.
"He hasn't a chance.
I-I could never ask a man to do that.
There's no justification for such a risk.
Besides, the merchantman's been badly hit.
There can't be many left alive aboard."
Turner said nothing.
'"Make a signal," Vallery said clearly. "'Thank you.
Permission granted.
Good luck."
And tell W.T. to go ahead."
There was a short silence, then the speaker crackled again.
"Second signal from London for Captain.
Decoding.
Messenger leaving for bridge immediately."
"To Officer Commanding, 14 A.C.S., FR77," the speaker boomed after a few seconds. "' Deeply distressed at news.
Imperative maintain 090.
Battle squadron steaming SSE. at full speed on interception course.
Rendezvous approx. 1400 tomorrow.
Their Lordships expressly command best wishes Rear-Admiral, repeat Rear-Admiral Vallery.
D.N.O., London.'"
The speaker clicked off and there was only the lost pinging of the Asdic, the throbbing monotony of the prowling Condor's engines, the lingering memory of the gladness in the broadcaster's voice.
"Uncommon civil of their Lordships," murmured the Kapok Kid, rising to the occasion as usual. "Downright decent, one might almost say."
"Bloody long overdue," Turner growled. "Congratulations, sir," he added warmly. "Signs of grace at last along the banks of the Thames."
A murmur of pleasure ran round the bridge: discipline or not, no one made any attempt to hide his satisfaction.
"Thank you, thank you." Vallery was touched, deeply touched.
Promise of help at long, long last, a promise which might hold-almost certainly held-for each and every member of his crew the difference between life and death-and they could only think to rejoice in his promotion!
Dead men's shoes, he thought, and thought of saying it, but dismissed the idea immediately: a rebuff, a graceless affront to such genuine pleasure.
"Thank you very much," he repeated. "But gentlemen, you appear to have missed the only item of news of any real significance------"
"Oh, no, we haven't," Turner growled. "Battle squadron, ha!
Too ------late as usual.
Oh, to be sure, they'll be in at the death-or shortly afterwards, anyway.
Perhaps in time for a few survivors.
I suppose the Illustrious and the Furious will be with them?"
"Perhaps.
I don't know." Vallery shook his head, smiling. "Despite my recent-ah-elevation, I am not yet in their Lordships' confidence.
But there'll be some carriers, and they could fly off a few hours away, give us air cover from dawn."
"Oh, no, they won't," said Turner prophetically. "The weather will break down, make flying off impossible.
See if I'm not right."
"Perhaps, Cassandra, perhaps," Vallery smiled. "We'll see... What was that, Pilot?
I didn't quite..."
The Kapok Kid grinned. "It's just occurred to me that tomorrow's going to be a big day for our junior doctor-he's convinced that no battleship ever puts out to sea except for a Spithead review in peacetime."
"That reminds me," Vallery said thoughtfully. "Didn't we promise the Sirrus------?"
"Young Nicholls is up to his neck in work," Turner cut in. "Doesn't love us-the Navy rather-overmuch, but he sure loves his job.