Killing Ground by Douglas Reeman

shadow in the depths.
    â€œSteady on zero-seven-zero, sir.”
    Howard peered down at the faintly glowing compass repeater. Every bone in his body seemed to be protesting at once, and he felt that if he stared into the darkness and thinning mist much longer he would go blind. He heard the regular ping of the Asdic and thought it was louder than usual. Mocking him as he took his ship this way and that in a careful search. The area was becoming larger every time. The U-Boat could be miles away right now, or licking its wounds in readiness for another attack.
    Howard realised that he had thought nothing about theconvoy since he had seen the surfaced submarine, so black and stark in the drifting flare. He had heard the machine-gunners and pom-pom crews cursing and shouting as they poured tracer at the target even as she had begun to dive.
    The wildness of battle after all the frustration of convoy duty, seeing their helpless charges marked down time and time again.
    Howard lowered his head and felt his neck crack. “Alter course ten degrees to starboard.”
    Sweeney’s muffled voice came back; a man of endless patience.
    â€œSteady on zero-eight-zero, sir.”
    He heard Treherne’s clothing scrape over the chart table as he recorded this latest change of direction.
    What does he think? That I’m obsessed, unable to concentrate on anything else?
It was probably what they all thought.
    A shadow moved from the bank of voicepipes and he heard Ayres say, “The first lieutenant reports,
lost contact,
sir.”
    â€œTell him we’re not giving up!”
    Treherne straightened his back and hoped he had not forgotten to put some newly sharpened pencils in his coat. He had heard Ayres’s careful message and Howard’s abrasive retort.
    He means
he
’s not giving up. The thought troubled and impressed him.
    Treherne started as Howard remarked, “You know, Pilot, we’ve been fighting bloody U-Boats for two-and-a-half years now.”
    Treherne relaxed slightly. “God, is that all it is?”
    Howard shrugged his shoulders more deeply into his coat. “And that was the first one I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
    To himself he added bitterly,
And I lost it. Any moment now and we shall be recalled to the convoy. What was the point of …
    It was Marrack again, using the bridge speaker to save time.
    â€œIn contact, sir! Bearing one-five-oh, moving slowly right to left!”
    Howard slid from his chair. “The crafty bastard! He’s crossingour stern, making a run for it!”
    â€œHard a-starboard! Steady, steer one-five-oh!” He turned to Treherne even as the wheel went hard over. “Warn Bizley!”
    Again they tore through the uneasy water and dropped another full pattern of charges.
Gladiator
was doubling back on her tracks as the last towering columns fell back into the sea.
    â€œSlow ahead together!”
    A boatswain’s mate called, “Signal from commodore, sir.
Rejoin without delay.”
    There was a far-off explosion. Yet another victim? Or the unknown ship that had blown up in the fog?
    Howard swung round. “What the hell are those men doing?” They were cheering, the voices ragged and partly lost in the sounds of the sea and the great thrashing screws.
    Treherne ran to the side and seized the screen with his gloved hands. “Oil, sir!” He cocked his head and sniffed like a hunting-dog.
“You got him!”
    Howard stared at him blankly as his mind explored the pattern. “Perhaps—we’ll probably never know. Releasing oil is an old trick of theirs.”
    â€œNo contact, sir!”
    The boatswain’s mate coughed nervously. “W/T office is waitin’, sir!”
    â€œYes.” He thought about climbing into his chair but the effort was too much. “Reply.
Am rejoining convoy. One U-Boat possibly sunk.”
    He heard Treherne rapping out the change of course and speed to the wheelhouse