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

"What can the enemy do?" Fleischer asked with scorn.

He did not share the general opinion of Ernst Kyller. "We are safe here " what can he do?" Falkland "A superficial study of naval history will reveal, Sir, that the English can be expected to do what you least expect them to do. And that they will do it, quickly, efficiently and with iron purpose." Kyller scratched the lumpy red insect bites behind his left ear.

Hah!" said Fleischer, and sprayed a little pea soup with the violence of his disgust. "The English are fools and cowards at the worst, they will skulk off the mouth of the river. They would not dare come in here after uS." I have no doubt that time will prove You correct, Sir." This was Kyller's phrase of violent disagreement with a senior officer, and from experience Captain von Kleine and his commanders recognized it. They smiled a little.

"This soup is bitter," said Fleischer, satisfied that he had carried the argument. "The cook has used sea-water in it." The accusation was So outrageous, that even von Kleine looked up from his plate.

"Please do not let our humble hospitality delay you, Herr Commissioner. You must be anxious to return up-river to your wood-cutting duties." And Fleischer subsided quickly, hunching over his food.

Von Kleine transferred his gaze to Kyller.

Kyller, you will not be returning with the Herr Commissioner. I am sending Ensign Proust with him this trip.

You will be in command of the first line of defence that I plan to place at the mouth of the delta, in readiness for the English attack. You will attend the conference in my cabin after this meal, please." "Thank you, Sir." His voice was husky with gratitude for the honour his captain was conferring upon him. Von Kleine looked from him to his gunnery lieutenant.

"You also, please, Guns. I want to relieve you of- your beloved upper deck pom-poms."

"You mean to take them off their mountings, sir?" the gunnery lieutenant asked, looking at von Kleine dolefully over his long doleful nose.

"I regret the necessity," von Kleine told- him sympathetically.

Well, Henry. We were right. BBlitcher is there."

"Unfortunately, Sir." Two heavy cruisers tied up indefinitely on blockade service." Admiral Sir Percy thrust out his lower lip lugubriously as he regarded the plaques of Renounce and Pegasus on the Indian Ocean plot. "There is work for them elsewhere."

"There is, at that," agreed Henry Green.

"That request of Joyce's for two motor torpedo-boats "Yes, Sir?" "We must suppose he intends mounting a torpedo attack into the delta." "It looks like it, Sir."

"It might work worth a try anyway. What can we scratch together for him?"

"There is a full squadron at Bombay, and another at Aden, Sir." For five seconds, Sir Percy Howe reviewed the meagre forces with which he was expected to guard two oceans.

With this new submarine menace, he could not detach a single ship from the approaches to the Suez Canal it would have to be Bombay. "Send him an M. T. B. from the" Bombay squadron."

"He asked for two, sir."

"Joyce knows full well that I only let him have half of anything he requests. He always doubles up."

"What about this recommendation for a decoration, sir?"

"The fellow who spotted the Blitcher?"

"Yes, sir."

"A bit tricky Portuguese irregular and all that sort of thing "He's a British subject, sir."

"Then he shouldn't be with the dagos," said Sir Percy.

"Leave it over until the operation is completed. We'll think about it after we've sunk the Blucher." The sunset was blood and roses, nude pink and tarnished gold as the British blockade squadron stood in towards the land.

Renounce led with the commodore's peri ant flying at her masthead. In the smooth wide road of her wake, Pegasus slid d over the water. Their silhouettes were crisp and black against the garish colours of the sunset. There was something prim and old-maidish about the lines of a heavy cruiser none of the solid majesty of a battleship, nor the jaunty devil-may-care rake of a destroyer.

Close in under Pegasus's beam, screened by her hull from the land, like a cygnet swimming beside the swan, rode the motor torpedo-boat.

Even in this light surface chop she was taking in water.

Each wave puffed up over her bows and then streamed back greenish and cream along her decks. The spray rattled against the thin canvas that screened the open bridge.

Flynn O'Flynn crouched behind the screen and cursed the vaunting ambition that had led him to volunteer as pilot for this expedition. He glanced across at Sebastian who stood in the open wing of the bridge, behind the batteries of Lewis guns. Sebastian was grinning as the warm spray flew back into his face and trickled down his cheeks.

Joyce had recommended Sebastian for a Distinguished Service Order.

This was almost more than Flynn could bear.

He wanted one also. He had decided to go along now for that reason alone. Therefore Sebastian was directly to blame for Flynn's present discomfort, and Flynn felt a small warmth of satisfaction as he looked at the flattened, almost negroid contours of Sebastian's new nose. The young bastard deserved it, and he found himself wishing further punishment on his son-in-law.