Kurt, come over here," Hans shouted across the bridge. "See what's coming. Look! Coming around the
Rock to meet us. Isn't she beautiful?"
A ship was steaming to meet them, a titan of a vessel.
"Battlewagon," Kurt murmured. "I thought they were all gone. What a monster!"
A monster indeed. A killer. If Jager was an iron wolf,
this, then, was Tyrannosaurus rex in case-hardened steel.
Surely the Australians could have nothing like her. Surely
her huge guns would rule the ocean.
"Look it up! Look it up!" Hans demanded.
Kurt got the copy of Jane's. He turned to United States,
where he remembered having seen a similar ship. "Here
it is, Hans." He handed the book over, tapping a picture.
"What does it say?"
"How would I know?"
Hans carried the book to the chart table and bent over
it, as if trying to puzzle out the statistics beneath the
photograph. His -eyes grew big with wonder. "The Australians can't beat this! Wonder where they found her?" He bent over the book again, studying the text below the
statistics. "What flag?"
75
Kurt took a look through binoculars. "High Com-
mand."
"Boatswain," said Lindemann, "Set the Sea Detail.
Kurt, get Beck's anchor chart."
As he was fixing the chart to the table, Kurt watched
Victoria start into a channel between the anchored ships.
Like a hen and chicks, he thought, or like duck and
ducklings, with Jager the ugly one coming along last.
There was thunder from the battleship—and distress on
Jager's bridge, confused questions. Kurt leaned out the
door. The huge warship had hoisted an Argentine flag and
was busily blasting the sky with a secondary mount. "Gun salute," he said, ashamed of his moment of fear.
"I'm glad they've got ammunition to waste," Hans
growled. Kurt saw that he too had been frightened, and
was irritated about it.
There was a pause in the firing after the twenty-first
boom. The Argentine flag came down.
Kurt felt a surge of pride as the red, black, and yellow
of the Littoral replaced the gold, blue, and white. The
thunder resumed.
"This one's for us." He stepped out on the wing. Glancing down, he saw the Sea Detail waving their caps at the
battleship. They were idiots, he thought. The jaws of a
trap were closing, and they cheered. Green sea slipped
past lager's flanks. Every meter forward made turning
back that much more impossible.
"Hey, Kurt, come over on this side and look." Hans tugged at his sleeve. He followed the smaller man through
the bridge.
"Look," said Hans, pointing to the anchored ships.
"Portugal." Several ships flew a red-and-green ensign.
"And Spain." Three vessels bore the red-and-gold with the black eagle. He pointed to other ships. "Nigeria, I think, and France . . . "He indicated flag after flag, babbling.
Kurt marveled too, for here were men of nations as
fabulous as those of the Arabian Nights. Jager eased into
the channel between ships, her men exchanging shouted
greetings with sailors of other lands. Hans grew more
excited. "Look! Look, Kurt. Britain! ..."
"Quartermaster!"
"Sir?"
"We'll tie up at buoy thirty-four. Find it on your
chart."
"Yes sir." He went inside and did so, the while thinking 76
that Gregor need not be so glum. He returned to the
wing, told Hans, "We've a good position. Close in."
"You going over?"
Nothing could keep him from exploring this hub of
history. "On the first boat."
77
Vffl
"IT'S not really fair," Kurt told Hans while descending the accommodation ladder to the liberty boat.
" 'Rank hath its privileges,'" Hans quoted. "One's liberty every day. Why feel guilty?"
"I don't. But it's not fair, not when the others only get to go every other day. ..."
"It could be arranged. ..."
"Never mind. Hello, Deckinger."
"I'll trade you, Ranke," said the coxswain.
"Forget it. I'm not that fair." He and Hans took seats and waited for the boat to fill. The sailors who followed
them were all neatly trimmed and polished, their uniforms
clean
Rock to meet us. Isn't she beautiful?"
A ship was steaming to meet them, a titan of a vessel.
"Battlewagon," Kurt murmured. "I thought they were all gone. What a monster!"
A monster indeed. A killer. If Jager was an iron wolf,
this, then, was Tyrannosaurus rex in case-hardened steel.
Surely the Australians could have nothing like her. Surely
her huge guns would rule the ocean.
"Look it up! Look it up!" Hans demanded.
Kurt got the copy of Jane's. He turned to United States,
where he remembered having seen a similar ship. "Here
it is, Hans." He handed the book over, tapping a picture.
"What does it say?"
"How would I know?"
Hans carried the book to the chart table and bent over
it, as if trying to puzzle out the statistics beneath the
photograph. His -eyes grew big with wonder. "The Australians can't beat this! Wonder where they found her?" He bent over the book again, studying the text below the
statistics. "What flag?"
75
Kurt took a look through binoculars. "High Com-
mand."
"Boatswain," said Lindemann, "Set the Sea Detail.
Kurt, get Beck's anchor chart."
As he was fixing the chart to the table, Kurt watched
Victoria start into a channel between the anchored ships.
Like a hen and chicks, he thought, or like duck and
ducklings, with Jager the ugly one coming along last.
There was thunder from the battleship—and distress on
Jager's bridge, confused questions. Kurt leaned out the
door. The huge warship had hoisted an Argentine flag and
was busily blasting the sky with a secondary mount. "Gun salute," he said, ashamed of his moment of fear.
"I'm glad they've got ammunition to waste," Hans
growled. Kurt saw that he too had been frightened, and
was irritated about it.
There was a pause in the firing after the twenty-first
boom. The Argentine flag came down.
Kurt felt a surge of pride as the red, black, and yellow
of the Littoral replaced the gold, blue, and white. The
thunder resumed.
"This one's for us." He stepped out on the wing. Glancing down, he saw the Sea Detail waving their caps at the
battleship. They were idiots, he thought. The jaws of a
trap were closing, and they cheered. Green sea slipped
past lager's flanks. Every meter forward made turning
back that much more impossible.
"Hey, Kurt, come over on this side and look." Hans tugged at his sleeve. He followed the smaller man through
the bridge.
"Look," said Hans, pointing to the anchored ships.
"Portugal." Several ships flew a red-and-green ensign.
"And Spain." Three vessels bore the red-and-gold with the black eagle. He pointed to other ships. "Nigeria, I think, and France . . . "He indicated flag after flag, babbling.
Kurt marveled too, for here were men of nations as
fabulous as those of the Arabian Nights. Jager eased into
the channel between ships, her men exchanging shouted
greetings with sailors of other lands. Hans grew more
excited. "Look! Look, Kurt. Britain! ..."
"Quartermaster!"
"Sir?"
"We'll tie up at buoy thirty-four. Find it on your
chart."
"Yes sir." He went inside and did so, the while thinking 76
that Gregor need not be so glum. He returned to the
wing, told Hans, "We've a good position. Close in."
"You going over?"
Nothing could keep him from exploring this hub of
history. "On the first boat."
77
Vffl
"IT'S not really fair," Kurt told Hans while descending the accommodation ladder to the liberty boat.
" 'Rank hath its privileges,'" Hans quoted. "One's liberty every day. Why feel guilty?"
"I don't. But it's not fair, not when the others only get to go every other day. ..."
"It could be arranged. ..."
"Never mind. Hello, Deckinger."
"I'll trade you, Ranke," said the coxswain.
"Forget it. I'm not that fair." He and Hans took seats and waited for the boat to fill. The sailors who followed
them were all neatly trimmed and polished, their uniforms
clean
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