"MacDonnell, J E - 125 - Blind Into Doom UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacDonnell J E)

"You wouldn't have dirtied the seaboat. Two propellers like those?
There would have been nothing to pick up."
Lusby had a face marked by more than weather. His nose was
bent sideways by the fist of a Liverpool Irishman, while the slice
from a broken beer bottle had puckered the left corner of his upper
lip so that his eyetooth permanently showed. Now at Duncan's words
all his teeth showed, and of them all only Blake knew why.
Duncan moved forward towards the canteen flat, and Lusby
thought, Blimey, you don't miss much, which was precisely what
the captain wanted him to think, for upon such little things is power
of command built and maintained.
Duncan stepped into the canteen flat, almost in the eyes of the
ship, and there behind his little counter on top of the half-door waited
the brown-skinned, brown-eyed, bespectacled and perpetually
worried face of Virgil Zammit the canteen manager. He was Maltese;
but then, at a rough estimate, about ninety-nine point recurring of
big-ship canteen managers were Maltese; and like most of his
compatriots, Virgil Zammit had been attached to the Navy longer
than most of the officers now present.
"Well, Mr. Zammit, how is business?" Duncan smiled. He walked
towards the canteen door held open for him and with jolting
abruptness the action alarm jangled.
Duncan whirled, remembering as he did so that the nearest access
to the upperdeck was the wide ladder leading up from the galley flat.
While men pressed back on each other, he ran. It was undignified
progress, but he didn't give a damn about that, and neither did they.
Blake followed him, then the rest. Duncan was panting when he made
- J.E. Macdonnell: Blind Into Doom Page 15 -



the bridge. His stare darted straight to the officer of the watch.
"Focke Wulffe Condor, sir," the lieutenant answered, "bearing
fine on the starb'd bow, heading towards the convoy. It came out of
that cloud, suddenly."
Duncan had his glasses up. Though flecked with rain, the lenses
showed him the long slender fuselage and the four engines of an
enemy which was hated almost as savagely as U-boats; the vulture
which kept out of gun-range, taunting them with its immunity, while
at regular intervals it signalled the convoy's position, course, speed
and size; even designating the juiciest targets, which were the tankers.
The officer of the watch came away from a telephone.
"We've intercepted transmissions, sir."
This was dread news, yet his tone was calm; fair enough, seeing
he stated the obvious. Duncan nodded once, keeping his glasses up.
Another voice, drawlingly slow, spoke beside him. It was the gunnery
officer, Lieutenant-Commander Fawcett, and he did not always speak
like that.
"He seems pretty intent on the convoy, sir. I wonder..."
"I was thinking the same thing, Guns. The rain, grey sea, grey