Enemy in Sight! by Alexander Kent

each weapon would have a twin for the final act.
    â€œFire!” Bolitho looked away as the frigate’s mizzen fell in a great welter of fractured spars and tangled rigging.
    â€œFire!” A whole section of the main deck erupted in splin- ters, amidst which corpses and dying men were thrown about like bloodied rag dolls.
    In between each remorseless pair of explosions he could hear men screaming and sobbing, as if the ship herself was pleading for mercy. He gripped the rail, willing the frigate to sink and end the slaughter.
    â€œFire!”
    Bubbles were already churning the bloodstained water around the ship into a miniature whirlpool, and here and there a despair- ing survivor was leaping overboard, only to be carried away on the swift current.
    Gossett said thickly, “She’s goin’, sir!” He was looking at Bolitho as if seeing a stranger.
    Two last shots bellowed from the Hyperion’ s ports, and as the order to cease fire reached the lower battery Bolitho said harshly, “We will wear ship, Mr Gossett!”
    He tore his eyes from the shattered, listing hull and looked at Gascoigne by his side. “You did well, my lad.”
    He tried to smile but his lips felt frozen. Even Gossett thought he had slaughtered helpless men to no purpose. He snapped, “Carry on!”
    Sails slapping and cracking to the fresh wind, the ship swung her stern slowly across the wind. Bolitho waited, counting sec- onds, then said, “Steer nor’ nor’-west.”
    Gossett faltered under Bolitho’s eyes. “Beg pardon, sir, but we’ll need to ’ead more west’rd to clear the ’eadland.”
    Bolitho ignored him. “Shorten sail, Mr Inch. We are going to anchor directly.”
    If he had uttered some dreadful obscenity he could not have cause greater consternation.
    He did not wait for anyone to speak. “Mr Gascoigne has seen what that frigate was hiding from us. And why it was necessary to take the Ithuriel before she could warn us.” He pointed across the starboard quarter. “There are ships putting to sea, gentlemen! There is no frigate for us to send to the commodore for help, and we do not have the speed for such business.” He looked around their tense and shocked faces. “We will anchor in the centre of the channel.” He turned his head to watch as the frigate dipped and rolled over in a great welter of bubbles and swirling wreck- age. “Any large ship must pass us. The other channel will be blocked by the wreck.”
    Inch said in a small voice, “But we are alone sir!”
    â€œI know that!” He softened his tone slightly. “Pelham-Martin may send someone to see what we are about.” He looked away. “In the meantime we must do all we can to stop or cripple as many as we are able!”
    Then he walked back to the rail and stood in silence as the ship glided purposefully towards the first headland. He could feel no anger at Pelham-Martin’s foolish optimism or the hopeless- ness of the next few hours. Below deck some of the men were cheering again, as if they had just won a great victory. The ship was all but unmarked, and but for the bright splash of blood below the nettings, they could have been at manoeuvres.
    Inch said wearily, “Shall I stop them cheering, sir?”
    Bolitho stiffened as a lookout pealed, “Two ships on the star- board quarter, sir!”
    Inch stared fixedly at the topsails of the leading vessel. They were moving above the low bank of mist, detached and imper- sonal, and all the more threatening.
    Bolitho replied at length, “Let them cheer.” He raised his voice above the din. “Helm a-lee!”
    Slowly the Hyperion swung into the wind.
    â€œTops’l clew lines!”
    The bowsprit was seeking the land again. Bolitho gripped his hands behind him to control his rising despair.
    â€œLet go!”
    As a shaft of watery sunlight painted the topmast of the