Battlecruiser (1997) by Douglas Reeman Page B

stocky, almost square figure, who had been in destroyers for most of his service, from picking up terrified White Russians at Odessa after the revolution, to the battles of Narvik and the bloody evacuation of Crete. Sherbrooke liked what he had seen of him, although he had sensed that Stagg was less than enthusiastic. The Captain (D) had been tipped for promotion to flag rank, and possibly that was the rub, although Stagg surely had no reason for jealousy.
    ‘Course two-nine-zero, sir. Engines half speed ahead.’
    Sherbrooke joined the navigating officer by the gyro compass repeater.
    Rhodes said, ‘Visibility’s falling again, sir.’
    Sherbrooke wanted to return to his chair, but every muscle was telling him how much he needed to rest. It would be fatal.
    ‘I’ll see what Rayner has to say, then I’ll speak with the admiral.’
    There had been another signal from the Admiralty, brief and unhelpful.
There are three U-Boats in your vicinity.
That could mean anything. When Stagg had been informed he had snapped, ‘Probably heading up to Iceland. I’m not breaking radio silence to ask!’
    A door slid back and Lieutenant Rayner walked into the bridge.
    Sherbrooke said, ‘You did well. Tell me about it.’
    ‘An Arado float plane, sir. I couldn’t just leave it. If it had climbed after us, we wouldn’t have stood a chance.’
    For one so young, who had already proved his skill as a pilot, he looked drained, and unusually downcast.
    Sherbrooke said, ‘Go on.’ He saw Rhodes step back, as if to offer some privacy in this crowded bridge.
    ‘They were looking at a dinghy, sir. There was a dead airman in it. They were doing what we would have done.’
    Sherbrooke watched him gravely. What
you
would have done, he thought. So that was it. Like shooting someone under a flag of truce. But it was not like that.
    He said, ‘They would have done for you, given the same opportunity. You must know that. Accept it.’
    Rayner forced a smile. It made him look young and vulnerable.
    ‘I guess so, sir.’
    Sherbrooke heard the sounds resuming around him, felt the bridge returning to normal. He said, ‘One enemyaircraft destroyed. I shall see that it goes on your report. Well done.’
    Another door crashed open and Stagg strode into the bridge. Was it simply that he found his own small, private bridge too restricting, or did he hate to feel like a mere bystander?
    He stared keenly at Rayner, still in his flying jacket, and said, ‘So you destroyed a German aircraft, eh? It’s not a lot for me to act on, is it?’
    Sherbrooke prepared to interrupt, but there was no need. Rayner answered, very calmly, ‘It was an Arado 196, sir. It could only have come from a sizeable German warship. It’s too far to be from anywhere else.’
    Stagg regarded him coldly. ‘You think?’
    Rayner said, ‘I
know
, sir.’
    Stagg bent his head, apparently frowning. When he looked up, his teeth were set in a grin. ‘Good lad! I like your style!’ He turned to Sherbrooke. ‘But it’s not enough, is it?’
    Sherbrooke said, ‘I have a feeling about this one, sir.’
    Stagg shrugged. ‘That’s not enough either, Guy. There’s too much at stake. Now, if we had that ruddy carrier . . .’ He thrust his hands into his reefer pockets, his thumbs jutting over the front like horns. ‘It’s no go. Not this time. Come to the chart room. We’ll be ordered to Scapa – I can almost see the bloody signal!’
    He glared at the mist beyond the damp glass. ‘And this damned stuff isn’t helping!’
    They both stared at a bridge speaker as Evershed’s voice intoned, ‘Director Control to Bridge. Radar transmissions are returning. Some repeaters still out of use.’
    Sherbrooke looked questioningly across at the repeater whose failure had so unbalanced Evershed. It was still dead.
    Stagg rasped, ‘Wait till I get my hands on those mental cripples!’
    ‘T/S – Forebridge.’ There was no mistaking Frazier’s calm, unruffled voice. ‘Repeaters