"Of course, sir."
"Thank you, boy.
You heard me?
Convoy re-routed north-say in a few minutes' time, at 1015.
6 knots.
Give me an intersection course as soon as possible."
"Third signal, Bentley: To Stirling, Sirrus and Viking:' Radar out of action.
Cannot pick you up on screen.
Stream fog-buoys.
Siren at two-minute intervals.'
Have that message coded.
All acknowledgements to the bridge at once.
Commander I"
"Sir?" Turner was at his elbow.
"Hands to defence stations.
It's my guess the pack will have gone before we get there.
Who'll be off watch?"
"Lord only knows," said Turner frankly. "Let's call it port."
Vallery smiled faintly.
"Port it is.
Organise two parties.
First of port to clear away all loose wreckage: over the side with the lot-keep nothing.
You'll need the blacksmith and his mate, and I'm sure Dodson will provide you with an oxy-acetylene crew.
Take charge yourself.
Second of port as burial party.
Nicholls in charge.
All bodies recovered to be laid out in the canteen when it's clear... Perhaps you could give me a full report of casualties and damage inside the hour?"
"Long before that, sir... Could I have a word with you in private?"
They walked aft.
As the shelter door shut behind them, Vallery looked at the Commander curiously, half-humorously.
"Another mutiny, perhaps, Commander?"
"No, sir." Turner unbuttoned his coat, his hand struggling into the depths of a hip-pocket. He dragged out a flat half-bottle, held it up to the light.
"Thank the Lord for that!" he said piously. "I was afraid it got smashed when I fell...
Rum, sir.
Neat.
I know you hate the stuff, but never mind.
Come on, you need this!"
Vallery's brows came down in a straight line.
"Rum.
Look here, Commander, do you-----?"
"To hell with K.R.s and A.F.O.s!" Turner interrupted rudely. "Take it-you need it badly!
You've been hurt, you've lost a lot more blood and you're almost frozen to death."
He uncorked it, thrust the bottle into Vallery's reluctant hands.
"Face facts.
We need you-more than ever now-and you're almost dead on your feet-and I mean dead on your feet," he added brutally. "This might keep you going a few more hours."
"You put things so nicely," Vallery murmured. "Very well. Against my better judgment..."
He paused, the bottle to his mouth.
"And you give me an idea, Commander.
Have the bosun break out the rum.
Pipe