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now.” He winced as water ran off the canvas hood above the repeater and explored his neck like ice. “I’m just getting a confused picture.” It was hardly surprising in this heavy sea, with the land mass of Iceland comparatively close.
    McNiven said, “Echo is stationary, sir. Very small.” He was a good operator, second only to his leading hand.
    Treherne asked, “Shall I call up the corvettes, sir?”
    Howard shook his head, still thinking. McNiven could see it, therefore it was not just a throwback. It was on the surface. Afloat but unmoving.
    He bent over the voicepipe again. “Any change?” McNiven came back instantly, “None, sir.”
    Howard said, “Not a U-Boat. Too close to land to surface to charge batteries.” He saw them listening and realised he had spoken aloud. “They’ve got seven hundred fathoms to play with around here.”
    Another voice intruded from the wheelhouse. “Cox’n on the helm, sir.”
    â€œVery good.” Howard looked at Treherne and smiled. How did the old hands like Bob Sweeney the coxswain always know? Like the yeoman of signals, they never seemed to need the alarm bells.
    Treherne asked, “Fishing boat?”
    â€œNot sure. But this is the time to be certain, eh?” Howard knew Treherne understood. How many ships had been sunk when lookouts had been thinking only of getting into a safe harbour, dry clothes, food which was not flung off the plate in a force nine gale?
Out of nowhere.
    He pressed the red button and heard the alarm shrill throughthe hull, the staccato reports on voicepipes and handsets as the men dashed to their action stations.
    The first lieutenant joined Howard. “Ship at action stations, sir. Trouble?”
    â€œI’m not certain. Radar has reported a faint echo at three-three-zero. Unmoving, so not a conning-tower.”
    Marrack squinted his eyes at the wet haze. “Can’t see a damned thing.”
    â€œRadar-bridge!”
    â€œBridge.”
    â€œI think it’s a boat, sir. It just turned round. Drifting.” He sounded almost apologetic.
    â€œYou did well, McNiven.” He looked at the others. “There’s a northerly current just there, right, Pilot?”
    â€œYes, sir.” His bearded face was expressionless.
    â€œFall out action stations, resume defence stations.” Howard heard the feet thudding gratefully down ladders and along the deck. “We’d better take a look. Maintain course and speed, Pilot. I don’t want to shake the guts out of her in this sea.”
    By the time Ayres had reached the bridge again from his action station which was by Y-gun right aft, the sea had brightened still further, and although the waves were too high to allow an horizon you could feel the depth and latent power. To starboard there was the hint of land, a purple shadow which looked like a fallen cloud.
    â€œObject in the water, sir! Dead ahead!”
    â€œSlow ahead together.” Howard climbed on to the forward gratings and levelled his glasses. He felt his stomach contract. “‘Dead’ was right. Warn the chief bosun’s mate!”
    â€œHe’s already there, sir.”
    â€œHe would be.” Knocker White, another one who was always ready.
    He turned and saw Ayres standing by a signal locker, the hood fallen from his head as he stared at the boat drifting down the ship’s side until it was snared by the chief boatswain’s mate’sgrapnel. How far had they been journeying? What ship, and how long had it taken? Scarecrows. Torn, tattered faces, some eyeless, others fallen across the motionless oars. In the stern-sheets a hunched figure with a cap down over his face, two faded stripes on the sodden jacket.
    Howard called, “Stop, together.” He saw the new doctor hurry to the guardrail, then pause as if he had been paralyzed by what he saw.
    Marrack snapped, “There should be an officer