What does he say?"
"Bit confused, sir," Bentley apologised. "Couldn't get it all.
Says he's going to leave the convoy, proceed on his own. Something like that, sir."
Proceed on his own!
That was no solution, Vallery knew.
He might still burn for hours, a dead give-away, even on a different course.
But to proceed on his own!
An unprotected crippled, blazing tanker-and a thousand miles to Murmansk, the worst thousand miles in all the world!
Vallery closed his eyes.
He felt sick to his heart.
A man like that, and a ship like that-and he had to destroy them both!
Suddenly Tyndall spoke.
"Port 30!" he ordered.
His voice was loud, authoritative.
Vallery stiffened in dismay.
Port 30!
They'd turn into the Vytura.
There was a couple of seconds' silence, then Carrington, Officer of the Watch, bent over the speaking-tube, repeated:
"Port 30."
Vallery started forward, stopped short as he saw Carrington gesturing at the speaking-tube.
He'd stuffed a gauntlet down the mouthpiece.
"Midships!"
"Midships, sir!"
"Steady!
Captain?"
"Sir?"
"That light hurts my eyes," Tyndall complained. "Can't we put that fire out?"
"We'll try, sir." Vallery walked across, spoke softly. "You look tired, sir.
Wouldn't you like to go below?"
"What?
Go below! Me!"
"Yes, sir.
We'll send for you if we need you," he added persuasively.
Tyndall considered this for a moment, shook his head grimly.
"Won't do, Dick.
Not fair to you..." His voice trailed away and he muttered something that sounded like' Admiral Tyndall," but Vallery couldn't be sure.
"Sir? I didn't catch------"
"Nothing!" Tyndall was very abrupt.
He looked away towards the Vytura, exclaimed in sudden pain, flung up an arm to protect his eyes.
Vallery, too, started back, eyes screwed up to shut out the sudden blinding flash of flame from the Vytura.
The explosion crashed in their ears almost simultaneously, the blast of the pressure wave sent them reeling.
The Vytura had been torpedoed again, right aft, close to her engine-room, and was heavily on fire there.
Only the bridge island, amidships, was miraculously free from smoke and flames.
Even in the moment of shock, Vallery thought,
"She must go now.
She can't last much longer."
But he knew he was deluding himself, trying to avoid the inevitable, the decision he must take.
Tankers, as he'd told Nicholls, died hard, terribly hard.
Poor old Giles, he thought unaccountably, poor old Giles.
He moved aft to the port gate.