trying not to show his shattered cheekbone. 'The SC is the slower convoy. She's making about seven knots. The HXs are both faster, one ten knots, one eleven. I'd say we've got three days, at the maximum. After that, they'll be within operational range of the enemy.'
Hammerbeck had begun whispering to the other American. He was shaking his head and making short chopping motions with his hand. The admiral leaned over and muttered something to Cave, who said quietly: 'I'm afraid so, sir.'
Jericho looked up at the Atlantic, at the yellow discs of the convoys and the black triangles of the U-boats, sewn like shark's teeth across the sea lanes. The distance between the ships and the wolf packs was roughly eight hundred miles. The merchantmen were making maybe two hundred and forty miles every twenty-four hours. Three days was about right. My God, he thought, no wonder Logie was so desperate to get me back.
'Gentlemen, please, if I may?' said Skynner loudly, bringing the meeting back to order. Jericho saw he'd plastered on his 'come let us smile in the face of disaster' expression—invariably a sign of incipient panic. 'I think we should guard against too much pessimism. The Atlantic does cover thirty-two million square miles, you know.' He risked another laugh. 'That's an awful lot of ocean.'
'Yes,' said Hammerbeck, 'and forty-six is one hell of a lot of U-boats.'
'I agree. It's probably the largest concentration of hearses we've faced,' said Cave. 'I'm afraid we must assume the enemy will make contact. Unless, of course, we can find out where they are.'
He gave Skynner a significant look, but Skynner ignored it and pressed on. 'And let's not forget—these convoys are not unprotected?' He glanced around the table for support. 'They do have an escort?'
'Indeed.' Cave again, 'They have an escort of—' he consulted his notes '—seven destroyers, nine corvettes and three frigates. Plus various other vessels.'
'Under an experienced commander . . .'
The British officers glanced at one another, and then at the admiral.
'Actually, it's his first command.'
'Jesus Christ!' Hammerbeck rocked forwards in his chair and brought his fists down on the table.
'If I might step in heah. Obviously, we didn't know last Friday when the escorts were forming up that our intelligence was going to be shut awf.'
'How long will this blackout last?' This was the first time the admiral had spoken and everyone turned to look at him. He gave a sharp, explosive cough, which sounded as if small pieces of machinery were flying around loose in his chest, then sucked in another lungful of smoke and gestured with his cigarette. 'Will It be over in four days, d'you think?'
The question was addressed directly to Skynner and they all turned to look at him. He was an administrator, not a cryptanalyst—he'd been vice-chancellor of some northern university before the war—and Jericho knew he hadn't a clue. He didn't know whether the blackout would last four days, four months or four years.
Skynner said carefully: 'It's possible.'
'Yes, well, all things are possible.' Trowbridge gave an unpleasanr rasping laugh that turned into another cough. 'Is it likely? Is it likely you can break this, whatever you call it—this Shark—before our convoys come within range of the U-boats?'
'We'll give it every priority.'
'I know damn well you'll give it every priority, Leonard. You keep saying you'll give it every priority. That's not the question.'
'Well, sir, as you press me, sir, yes.' Skynner stuck his big jaw out heroically. In his mind's eye he was sreering his ship manfully into the face of the typhoon. 'Yes, I think we may be able to do it.'
You're mad, thought Jericho.
'And you all believe that?' The admiral stared hard in their direction. He had eyes like a bloodhound's, red-lidded and watery.
Logie was the first to break the silence. He looked at Skynner and winced and scratched the back of his head with the stem of his pipe. 'I suppose we do have
Hammerbeck had begun whispering to the other American. He was shaking his head and making short chopping motions with his hand. The admiral leaned over and muttered something to Cave, who said quietly: 'I'm afraid so, sir.'
Jericho looked up at the Atlantic, at the yellow discs of the convoys and the black triangles of the U-boats, sewn like shark's teeth across the sea lanes. The distance between the ships and the wolf packs was roughly eight hundred miles. The merchantmen were making maybe two hundred and forty miles every twenty-four hours. Three days was about right. My God, he thought, no wonder Logie was so desperate to get me back.
'Gentlemen, please, if I may?' said Skynner loudly, bringing the meeting back to order. Jericho saw he'd plastered on his 'come let us smile in the face of disaster' expression—invariably a sign of incipient panic. 'I think we should guard against too much pessimism. The Atlantic does cover thirty-two million square miles, you know.' He risked another laugh. 'That's an awful lot of ocean.'
'Yes,' said Hammerbeck, 'and forty-six is one hell of a lot of U-boats.'
'I agree. It's probably the largest concentration of hearses we've faced,' said Cave. 'I'm afraid we must assume the enemy will make contact. Unless, of course, we can find out where they are.'
He gave Skynner a significant look, but Skynner ignored it and pressed on. 'And let's not forget—these convoys are not unprotected?' He glanced around the table for support. 'They do have an escort?'
'Indeed.' Cave again, 'They have an escort of—' he consulted his notes '—seven destroyers, nine corvettes and three frigates. Plus various other vessels.'
'Under an experienced commander . . .'
The British officers glanced at one another, and then at the admiral.
'Actually, it's his first command.'
'Jesus Christ!' Hammerbeck rocked forwards in his chair and brought his fists down on the table.
'If I might step in heah. Obviously, we didn't know last Friday when the escorts were forming up that our intelligence was going to be shut awf.'
'How long will this blackout last?' This was the first time the admiral had spoken and everyone turned to look at him. He gave a sharp, explosive cough, which sounded as if small pieces of machinery were flying around loose in his chest, then sucked in another lungful of smoke and gestured with his cigarette. 'Will It be over in four days, d'you think?'
The question was addressed directly to Skynner and they all turned to look at him. He was an administrator, not a cryptanalyst—he'd been vice-chancellor of some northern university before the war—and Jericho knew he hadn't a clue. He didn't know whether the blackout would last four days, four months or four years.
Skynner said carefully: 'It's possible.'
'Yes, well, all things are possible.' Trowbridge gave an unpleasanr rasping laugh that turned into another cough. 'Is it likely? Is it likely you can break this, whatever you call it—this Shark—before our convoys come within range of the U-boats?'
'We'll give it every priority.'
'I know damn well you'll give it every priority, Leonard. You keep saying you'll give it every priority. That's not the question.'
'Well, sir, as you press me, sir, yes.' Skynner stuck his big jaw out heroically. In his mind's eye he was sreering his ship manfully into the face of the typhoon. 'Yes, I think we may be able to do it.'
You're mad, thought Jericho.
'And you all believe that?' The admiral stared hard in their direction. He had eyes like a bloodhound's, red-lidded and watery.
Logie was the first to break the silence. He looked at Skynner and winced and scratched the back of his head with the stem of his pipe. 'I suppose we do have
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