types, the fighter pilots, shooting linesabout how good they were, probably looking with pity or sarcastic delight at his ungainly Walrus.
Buck snatched up his binoculars and strained against his harness.
‘What is it?’ Rayner swore to himself as more cloud enveloped the wet perspex.
Buck looked at him, his eyes bright, confused.
‘A light. A flash. I’m not sure.’
Rayner shrugged. ‘Ready, you guys – I’m going around!’ He added, ‘Hold onto the tea, Rob!’
It was probably nothing. No survivor would have a light strong enough to be seen at this distance, even if he had the strength to aim it.
He was reminded of the captain’s face when he had mentioned the chances of finding anybody alive. He would know better than any of them. One of eight survivors, they had said. Everything lost, wiped out in a second.
‘Coming on course again, Dick.’ Buck was speaking through his teeth, unusually on edge. Uncertain.
It was still worth a try. He tilted the aircraft, and saw the first real sunlight on a hostile sea.
Buck shouted, ‘
Aircraft! In the drink!
’
Rayner eased the controls again and watched the scene fade away into another bank of bumpy cloud.
‘
On
it, Eddy. Not in it.’ He was surprised that he sounded so calm. But for Buck’s alertness, they could so easily have missed it. Just seconds, but Buck’s warning had given him time to pull out his powerful glasses even as they completed their turn. Just seconds . . . that was all it took. The flash Buck had seen must have been sunlight reflected from the wing as it tipped and rolled on the uneasy swell. A float plane, single-winged, edging slowly past a small yellow dinghy. Seconds. He had seen the twin black crosses on the shining wing. He had met one before. An Arado 196,the kind carried by large German warships. Ships like the
Minden.
Buck asked hoarsely, ‘What should we do?’
Rayner said, ‘He hasn’t seen us, and with his engine going he won’t have heard us, either. When he does, he’ll come after us.’ He saw the sudden comprehension in Buck’s face. ‘He’s a hell of a lot faster than we are, and he has twenty-millimetre cannons, and machine-guns. We’d never make it.’ He twisted round to involve all of them, so that they should understand. ‘He’d have us for breakfast.’ He thought of his brother Larry, going down in the Med. Quickly? Slowly? Had he known? Had he suffered?
He heard Morgan, the ex-milkman, clear his throat on the intercom.
‘Then the old
Reliant
would never know about it.’
Rayner tried to ease his fingers on the controls. Morgan had spoken for them all. The German float plane had put down to investigate the drifting rubber dinghy. For reasons of intelligence, because of the fellowship of one pilot for another? It must not matter now. This plane and these men were his responsibility. The rest was a myth, as his brother must have found out for himself.
He said shortly, ‘Stand by depth charges. I’m going in. We’ll only get one chance.’
Buck said in a small voice, ‘All set!’
Hardie, the trainee gunner, murmured, ‘Steady the Buffs!’
It was unreal, hurtling through the cloud, the engine’s roar rising to a scream, protesting like those disturbed gulls. Then the bright, hard sunlight, and more cloud, ripping through the wings and struts like pressurized steam.
And then there was only the sea. It seemed to be hurtling to meet them, even though the Shagbat’s top speed was a hundred and thirty knots at best.
It was all there. The float plane, no longer swaying uncomfortably in the swell but already moving, the twin floats cutting razor-sharp furrows as it continued to gather speed. The abandoned dinghy was already drifting away, its solitary occupant lying over one side, as if he had fallen asleep.
Rayner felt his jaw crack with concentration.
He’ll have us for breakfast.
His own words echoed back to mock him.
Fifteen, ten seconds . . . they roared over the moving
Buck snatched up his binoculars and strained against his harness.
‘What is it?’ Rayner swore to himself as more cloud enveloped the wet perspex.
Buck looked at him, his eyes bright, confused.
‘A light. A flash. I’m not sure.’
Rayner shrugged. ‘Ready, you guys – I’m going around!’ He added, ‘Hold onto the tea, Rob!’
It was probably nothing. No survivor would have a light strong enough to be seen at this distance, even if he had the strength to aim it.
He was reminded of the captain’s face when he had mentioned the chances of finding anybody alive. He would know better than any of them. One of eight survivors, they had said. Everything lost, wiped out in a second.
‘Coming on course again, Dick.’ Buck was speaking through his teeth, unusually on edge. Uncertain.
It was still worth a try. He tilted the aircraft, and saw the first real sunlight on a hostile sea.
Buck shouted, ‘
Aircraft! In the drink!
’
Rayner eased the controls again and watched the scene fade away into another bank of bumpy cloud.
‘
On
it, Eddy. Not in it.’ He was surprised that he sounded so calm. But for Buck’s alertness, they could so easily have missed it. Just seconds, but Buck’s warning had given him time to pull out his powerful glasses even as they completed their turn. Just seconds . . . that was all it took. The flash Buck had seen must have been sunlight reflected from the wing as it tipped and rolled on the uneasy swell. A float plane, single-winged, edging slowly past a small yellow dinghy. Seconds. He had seen the twin black crosses on the shining wing. He had met one before. An Arado 196,the kind carried by large German warships. Ships like the
Minden.
Buck asked hoarsely, ‘What should we do?’
Rayner said, ‘He hasn’t seen us, and with his engine going he won’t have heard us, either. When he does, he’ll come after us.’ He saw the sudden comprehension in Buck’s face. ‘He’s a hell of a lot faster than we are, and he has twenty-millimetre cannons, and machine-guns. We’d never make it.’ He twisted round to involve all of them, so that they should understand. ‘He’d have us for breakfast.’ He thought of his brother Larry, going down in the Med. Quickly? Slowly? Had he known? Had he suffered?
He heard Morgan, the ex-milkman, clear his throat on the intercom.
‘Then the old
Reliant
would never know about it.’
Rayner tried to ease his fingers on the controls. Morgan had spoken for them all. The German float plane had put down to investigate the drifting rubber dinghy. For reasons of intelligence, because of the fellowship of one pilot for another? It must not matter now. This plane and these men were his responsibility. The rest was a myth, as his brother must have found out for himself.
He said shortly, ‘Stand by depth charges. I’m going in. We’ll only get one chance.’
Buck said in a small voice, ‘All set!’
Hardie, the trainee gunner, murmured, ‘Steady the Buffs!’
It was unreal, hurtling through the cloud, the engine’s roar rising to a scream, protesting like those disturbed gulls. Then the bright, hard sunlight, and more cloud, ripping through the wings and struts like pressurized steam.
And then there was only the sea. It seemed to be hurtling to meet them, even though the Shagbat’s top speed was a hundred and thirty knots at best.
It was all there. The float plane, no longer swaying uncomfortably in the swell but already moving, the twin floats cutting razor-sharp furrows as it continued to gather speed. The abandoned dinghy was already drifting away, its solitary occupant lying over one side, as if he had fallen asleep.
Rayner felt his jaw crack with concentration.
He’ll have us for breakfast.
His own words echoed back to mock him.
Fifteen, ten seconds . . . they roared over the moving
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