Shout at the Devil - Smith Wilbur (лучшие книги .TXT) 📗

Orion's shells more accurately and signal the corrections to her. But always Bloodhound tactfully kept outside the fifteen-mile radius which marked the length of Blucher's talons.

"We can expect Blucher to open fire at any moment now, sir the navigating lieutenant commented as he straightened up from the sextant,

over which he had been measuring the angle subtended by the two cruisers.

Charles nodded in agreement. "Yes. Von Kleine must try for a few lucky hits, even at that range."

"This isn't going to be very pretty to watch."

"We'll just have to sit tight, keep our fingers crossed, and hope old Orion can,-" He stopped abruptly, and then "Hello! Blucher's up to something!" He Jumped Up from his stool.

The silhouette of the German cruiser had altered drastically in the last few seconds. The gap between her funnels widened and now

Charles could see the humped menace of her forward turrets.

"By God, she's altering course! The bloody bastard is bringing all his turrets to bear!" Lieutenant Kyller studied his captain's face.

In sleep there was an air of serenity about the man. It reminded

Kyller of a painting he had seen in the cathedral at Mirriberg, a portrait of Saint Luke by Holbein. The same fine bone structure, the golden-blond beard and mustache that framed the mobile and sensitive lips. He pushed the idea aside and leaned forward. Gently he touched von Kleine's shoulder.

"Captain. My Captain," and von Kleine opened his eyes.

They were smoky blue with sleep but his voice was crisp.

"What is it, Kyller?"

"The gunnery officer reports the enemy will be within range in fifteen minutes." Von Kleine swivelled his stool and looked quickly about his ship. Above him the smoke poured from every funnel, and from the mouth of each stack a volcano of sparks and shimmering heat blew steadily. The paint had blistered and peeled from the metal of the funnels and they glowed red hot, even in the sunlight.

Blitcher was straining herself far beyond the limits her makers had set. God alone knew what injury this constant running at full speed was doing her, and von Kleine winced as he felt her tremble in protest beneath him.

He turned his eyes astern. The British cruiser was hull up on the horizon now. The difference in their speeds must be a small fraction of a knot, but Blucher's superiority in fire power was enormous.

For a moment he allowed himself to ponder the arrogance of a nation that constantly, almost by choice, matched their men and ships against unnatural odds.

Always they sent terriers to fight against wolfhounds. Then he smiled, you had to be English or mad, to understand the English.

He glanced out to starboard. The British destroyer had worked out on to his flank. It could do little harm from there.

"Very well, Kyller.. He stood as he spoke.

"Bridge Engine Room," the voice-tube squealed.

"Engine Room Bridge. "Kyller turned to it.

"Our port main bearing is running red hot. I must shut down our port engine!" The words struck von Kleine like a bucket of iced water thrown down his back. He leaped to the voice tube

"This is the Captain. I must have full power for another hour!"

"I can't do it, siR. Another fifteen minutes and the main drive shaft will seize up. God knows what damage it will do." For five seconds von

Kleine hunched silently over the voice-tube. His mind raced. On one engine Blucher would lose ten knots on her speed. The enemy would be able to manoeuvre about him freely possibly hold off until nightfall and then... He must attack immediately; turn on them and press his attack home with all his armament.

"Give me full power for as long as you can," he snapped, and then turning to the gunnery officer's tube, "This is the Captain. I am turning four points to starboard, and will keep the enemy directly on our starboard beam for the next fifteen minutes. After that I will be forced to reduce speed.

Open fire when you bear." Von Kleine snapped the cover closed and turned to his yeoman of signals. "Hoist the battle ensign!" He spoke softly, without heat, but there were lights in his eyes like those in a blue sapphire.

here she goes!" whispered Charles Little without lowering his glasses. Upon the black turrets of the- gun-fire gleamed and sparkled without sound. Quickly he traversed his glasses across the surface of the sea until he found Orion. She was plunging in eagerly,

narrowing the gap very rapidly between herself and Blucher.

In another seven minutes she would be able to return the German's fire.

Suddenly, a quarter of a mile ahead of her, there rose from the sea a series of tall columns, stately as the columns of a Greek temple,

slender and beautiful, shining like white marble in the sun. Then slowly they dropped back.

"Short,"grunted the navigating lieutenant.

"Her guns are still cold," Charles commented. "Please God let old

Orion get within range." Again shells fell short, and short again, but each time they were closer to the low bulk of Orion, and the next broadside dropped all around her, partially screening her with spray, and Orion started to zigzag.