folders which he handed to Patterson. âPrayer book and burial service, sir. But I should think the burial service would be enough. Somebodyâs got to read it.â
âGood God. Iâm not a preacher, Boâsun.â
âNo, sir. But youâre the officer commanding.â
âGood God,â Patterson repeated. He placed the folders reverently on the Captainâs table. âIâll look at those later.â
â âHome signalâ,â the Boâsun said slowly. âThatâs what the Captain said, wasnât it? âHome signalâ.â
âYes.â
â âHoming signalâ is what he was trying to say. âHoming signalâ. Should have thought of it beforeâbut I suppose thatâs why Captain Bowen is a captain and Iâm not. How do you think the Condor managed to locate us in the darkness? All right, it was half dawn when he attacked but he must have been on the course when it was still night. How did he know where we were?â
âU-boat?â
âNo U-boat. The Andover âs sonar would have picked him up.â The Boâsun was repeating the words that Captain Bowen had used.
âAh.â Patterson nodded. âHoming signal. Our saboteur friend.â
âFlannelfoot, as Mr Jamieson calls him. Not only was he busy fiddling around with our electrical circuits, he was transmitting a continuous signal. A directional signal. The Condor knew where we were to the inch. I donât know whether the Condor was equipped to receive such signals, I know nothing about planes, but it wouldnât have mattered, some place like Alta Fjord could have picked up the signal and transmitted our bearing to the Condor.â
âYou have it, of course, Boâsun, you have it to rights.â Patterson looked at the two guns. âOne for me and one for you.â
âIf you say so, sir.â
âDonât be daft, who else would have it?â Patterson picked up a gun. âIâve never even held one of these things in my hand, far less fired one. But you know, Boâsun, I donât really think I would mind firing a shot once. Just one.â
âNeither would I, sir.â
Second Officer Rawlings was lying beside the wheel and there was no mystery as to how he had died: what must have been a flying shard of metal had all but decapitated him.
âWhereâs the helmsman?â the Boâsun asked. âWas he a survivor, then?â
âI donât know. I donât know who was on. Maybe Rawlings had sent him to get something. But there were two survivors up here, apart from the Captain and Chief OfficerâMcGuigan and Jones.â
âMcGuigan and Jones? What were they doing up here?â
âIt seems Mr Kennet had called them up and posted them as look-outs, one on either wing. I suppose thatâs why they survived, just as Captain Bowen and Mr Kennet survived. Theyâre in the hospital, too.â
âBadly hurt?â
âUnharmed, I believe. Shock, thatâs all.â
The Boâsun moved out to the port wing and Patterson followed. The wing was wholly undamaged, no signs of metal buckling anywhere. The Boâsun indicated a once grey but now badly scorched metal box which was attached just below the wind-breaker: its top and one side had been blown off.
âThatâs where they kept the Wessex rockets,â the Boâsun said.
They went back inside and the Boâsun moved towards the wireless office hatchway: the sliding wooden door was no longer there.
âI wouldnât look, if I were you,â Patterson said.
âThe men have got to, havenât they?â
Chief Radio Officer Spenser was lying on the deck but he was no longer recognizable as such. He was just an amorphous mass of bone and flesh and torn, blood-saturated clothing: had it not been for the clothing it could have been the shattered remnants of any animal lying there.
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