Alan Evans - Thunder at Dawn

Sarah Benson had not enjoyed the party. She suspected Smith had given it for reasons of his own, one of them probably that it was the last thing anyone would expect him to do. He had succeeded in that; she had seen the Chileans looking about them in baffled perplexity as the scrubbed officers sipped tea and that fat, pink-faced boy with the worshipping eyes had wound away at his gramophone. She had gone to the party as a duty, as an act of thanks and apology and that had been accepted. She had hated it. Tomorrow was in her mind.

She was wondering about Smith. The stories about a man who haunted parties did not ring true now. Smith was obviously a poor hand at parties, and except for the brief exchange with her his conversation had limped. And a devil with the ladies? No. So maybe the stories were only half-truths and there was another side to them?

Did it matter now? Thunder would sail out in the dawn, she was certain of that, and the cruisers would be waiting for her. If only Thunder could gain more time.

She stood on the deck of Ariadne and stared across at Thunder as the night came down. Ariadne ’ s deck was dotted with little groups of passengers watching as she did but she stood alone, a small, dejected figure. Cherry found her there.

She turned to him with hope. “Any news?”

Cherry shook his head gloomily. “Bad news or good, it depends on how you look at it. No diver. There are two working out of this port but both were hired for a job up the coast and went the day before yesterday. They won’t be back for a week. They were hired by Muller, not directly but through a couple of intermediaries and know ’em both. What makes it look good is they must have gone because Muller doesn’t want a diver operating here until he has one he can trust to keep his mouth shut. And that means something in the wreck. Before suspected it but now I’m certain. But without a diver I can’t prove it.”

Sarah asked, “What kind of proof?”

“I’ve thought about that.” Cherry paused. “Smith got a whole lot of stuff from her, log, ship’s papers, everything of that sort and it was all in order.”

“So …?”

“Wait a minute,” Cherry snapped testily, worried and on edge, “I’m getting to it. She was a collier for the cruisers and she had a first-class wireless. So — she’d send in code.”

“A book!”

“Right! And one of the places they didn’t get the chance to search was the wireless office. It’s in the superstructure and that’s where the book will be. If I only had a diver —” He groaned in frustration.

They were silent a moment, then Sarah said quietly, “I’m a good swimmer.” She was not boasting, simply stating a fact, staring out across the pool at the stained and battered Thunder .

“I daresay young lady, but I’m talking about diving.”

“So am I.”

Cherry explained shortly, “I don’t mean diving in . I mean diving under to a depth of ten or twenty feet into the superstructure!” His patience was stretched thin by the tension that tautened the nerves of both of them as the hours slid away.

It set her snapping at him. “I’m not a damn fool and don’t you dare treat me as one.”

“I’m not —”

“I know the diving you’re talking about and I can do it. I’ve swum around in that depth of water plenty of times.”

Cherry peered at her, upset and not liking the idea at all and his face showed it. He believed her. Once when he’d talked with her father that abrasive little man had said the girl could swim like a bloody fish. Cherry had worried himself sick over Sarah in the past but he’d had to put up with it because he needed her. But this —

Sarah still stared at Thunder and she spoke her thoughts aloud. “The Commander and I never got along very well. Maybe I’m partly to blame. But there’s a man who can make a decision. We can either sit on our rumps and do nothing; or —”

The sun dropped down behind the overcast in a red glow that faded and died. The town twinkled with lights and Thunder lay in a pool of radiance of her own making. Men worked on her decks, seemingly still repairing the ravages of the fighting that were visible to anyone who cared to look. Donoghue stood on Kansas’s quarterdeck, Corrigan by his side.

Donoghue said, “So he’s hauling up to Stillwater Cove tonight. He’s not going to be interned. He’s going to make a running fight of it.”

Corrigan sniffed. “He can’t run. Those cruisers can give that old lady two or three knots. It sounds like he hopes to use the mist that comes up just before dawn, but …” His voice tailed away and he shook his head.

“That’s right. But.” Donoghue scowled. “That mist hangs around the river and its mouth and that’s all. It’ll give him a few minutes of cover, just a little time. He can’t evade that gunboat and they’ll be out there waiting for him when he comes out of the mist. The light will be behind him and he’ll make one hell of a target.”

“He’s just trying everything he can.” Corrigan paused, then said, “They’re still working aboard her. Looked pretty good to me, both the ship and the men I saw. She should be ready when she leaves, ready as she’ll ever be.”

Donoghue said heavily, “God help them.”

Cherry’s boat took him ashore and then returned to Ariadne . Cherry held a diplomatic post and could not be involved. He walked up to the consulate, to wait.

His boatman, Francis, handed Sarah Benson into the boat when she descended the accommodation ladder. He was an expatriate Geordie, squat and barrel-chested. He had not shaved for several days and smelt strongly of the tobacco he chewed. He wore dirty trousers and a singlet that was blackstreaked with oil, hair curling through the rents in it. Cherry had told him all about it and he disapproved but he started the engine and swung the boat away from Ariadne .

Sarah sat on a thwart and said tonelessly, “I think we can do without the lights in a minute.”

Francis shrugged heavy shoulders. “Don’t suppose anybody’ll take any notice of us; they’ll all be watching her.” He jerked his head at Thunder . “Still, does no harm to be careful.”

He extinguished the boat’s lights.

Francis was mistaken. One pair of eyes noted their progress, blinked as the lights went out then strained to follow the boat as it slid softly across the dark water. The eyes belonged to Friedrich Kaufmann who sat in his own boat below the quay. He was there to watch Thunder but now he watched the boat and saw it slow, drift it to the stub of Gerda’s funnel that still showed above water, and come to rest there.

Sarah Benson stared at the black water that flickered jewelled reflections from Thunder’s distant lights. She sat in pale gloom, the darkness thinned by those lights and shivered.

Francis clambered forward over the thwarts, crouched before her with the light line coiled in his hand and asked uneasily, “You did say you had done a lot of this, miss?”

“I’ve been swimming since I was able to walk, I can swim better than most men and that includes under water.” She stood up, setting the boat to rocking gently. “Let’s get on with it.”

She pulled the dress over her head. Under it she wore only drawers and a short chemise that tucked into the waist of the drawers. She took the line from Francis and knotted it around her waist while he muttered, “Remember, I keep it pretty taut so it won’t foul your legs. And if you get into any trouble —”