Suddenly his mind was clear.
"My God!
Oh, God!" He stared in disbelief at the twisted duckboards, the fractured asphalt beneath his feet.
He released his grip on the binnacle, lurched forward into the windscreen: his sense of balance had confirmed what his eyes had rejected: the whole compass platform tilted forward at an angle of 15 degrees.
"What is it, Pilot?" His voice was hoarse, strained, foreign even to himself. "In God's name, what's happened?
A breech explosion in 'B' turret?"
"No, sir." Carpenter drew his forearm across his eyes: the kapok sleeve came away covered in blood. "A direct hit, sir, smack in the superstructure."
"He's right, sir."
Carrington had hoisted himself far over the windscreen, was peering down intently.
Even at that moment, Tyndall marvelled at the man's calmness, his almost inhuman control."
And a heavy one. It's wrecked the for'ard pom-pom and there's a hole the size of a door just below us.... It must be pretty bad inside, sir."
Tyndall scarcely heard the last words.
He was kneeling over Vallery, cradling his head in his one good arm.
The Captain lay crumpled against the gate, barely conscious, his stertorous breathing interrupted by rasping convulsions as he choked on his own blood.
His face was deathly white.
"Get Brooks up here, Chrysler-the Surgeon-Commander, I mean!" Tyndall shouted. "At once!"
"W.T.-bridge.
W.T.-bridge.
Please acknowledge.
Please acknowledge."
The voice was hurried, less impersonal, anxiety evident even in its metallic anonymity.
Chrysler replaced the receiver, looked worriedly at the Admiral.
"Well?" Tyndall demanded. "Is he on his way?"
"No reply, sir." The boy hesitated. "I think the line's gone."
"Hell's teeth!" Tyndall roared. "What are you doing standing there, then? Go and get him.
Take over, Number One, will you?
Bentley-have the Commander come to the bridge."
"W.T.-bridge.
W.T.-bridge."
Tyndall glared up at the speaker in exasperation, then froze into immobility as the voice went on.
"We have been hit aft.
Damage Control reports coding-room destroyed.
Number 6 and 7 Radar Offices destroyed.
Canteen wrecked.
After control tower severely damaged."
"The After control tower!" Tyndall swore, pulled off his gloves, wincing at the agony of his broken hand.
Carefully, he pillowed Vallery's head on the gloves, rose slowly to his feet.
"The After Tower.
And Turner's there!
I hope to God..."
He broke off, made for the after end of the bridge at a stumbling run.
Once there he steadied himself, his hand on the ladder rail, and peered apprehensively aft.
At first he could see nothing, not even the after funnel and mainmast.
The grey, writhing fog was too dense, too maddeningly opaque.
Then suddenly, for a mere breath of time, an icy catspaw cleared away the mist, cleared away the dark, convoluted smoke-pall above the after superstructure.
Tyndall's hand tightened convulsively on the rail, the knuckles whitening to ivory.
The after superstructure had disappeared.
In its place was a crazy mass of jumbled twisted steel, with 'X' turret, normally invisible from the bridge, showing up clearly beyond, apparently unharmed.
But the rest was gone-radar offices, coding-room, police office, canteen, probably most of the after galley. Nothing, nobody could have survived there.
Miraculously, the truncated main mast still stood, but immediately aft of it, perched crazily on top of this devil's scrap-heap, the After Tower, fractured and grotesquely askew, lay over at an impossible angle of 60 Tyndall swayed dangerously on top of the steel ladder, shook his head again to fight off the fog clamping down on his mind. There was a heavy, peculiarly dull ache just behind his forehead, and the fog seemed to be spreading from there....