Twelve Seconds to Live (2002) (45 page)

Kidd said suddenly, ‘Let’s take a look, sir. I’ll lay off the course.’

Foley walked to the voicepipes. ‘Chief? We’re going to search for somebody.’ He could imagine Price’s face now; the memory of Shannon was already fading. ‘So when I call down, give me all you’ve got, right?’

Morgan Price sounded very calm. ‘The whole lot, sir.’ With pride. Like Pottinger, the leading hand who had choked off the messenger for trampling over the new decking in hobnailed boots, in
his
ship.

Another signal, as he had expected.
Return to base.

Another hour went past, the sky got lighter, the sea stayed empty. Hostile.

Kidd said, ‘We tried, sir. But for your own sake . . .’

They might never meet up with their escort. Tony Brock would not be pleased, and neither would anyone else.

‘Bring her round, Number One. Ring down half-speed. I’m only sorry that––’

‘W/T, sir!’ It was Venables, his reserve suddenly gone. ‘Faint signal!’

Kidd said, ‘Might be a downed flier, sir. But if you think it’s worth risking?’

‘I do. So let’s move it!’ Sharper than he had intended. ‘Sorry, Number One. I’m getting past it.’

Surprisingly, Kidd grinned. ‘I’ve got a six-year start on you!’

Half an hour later they found him, the tiny rubber dinghy almost awash, Masters sprawled across it, one arm dangling in the icy water.

Foley stood in the forepart of the bridge, his glasses trained on the drifting dinghy.

‘Dead slow.’ He tried to hold the glasses steady against the heavier motion as
Firebrand
eased down. ‘Scrambling net, starboard side. Two good men.’

He heard Kidd say, ‘I’ll go myself.’

Foley lowered the glasses and wiped them. The snow was getting heavier. But it
was
Masters, and he had not moved. Probably dead, after all he must have gone through.

How did I know it was him? It had to be.

‘Stop engines!’

He strode to the side and leaned over the screen, saw Kidd and a seaman hanging down on the scrambling net, the sea swooping over their legs as the hull swayed in the current.

Pottinger was at the guardrails and suddenly turned to peer up at the bridge. He was grinning. Laughing.

Bass breathed out slowly, ‘He
made
it, God damn it!’

When Foley looked again the dinghy had been hauled aboard. A trophy, or an excuse, should they need one when they got back.

Masters had snow in his hair, and his lips were blue with cold, but he managed to climb into the bridge, clinging to Kidd’s arm until he was seated in one corner, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

He said, ‘You came back for me.’ Then, ‘I’m glad it was you.’

It was a moment Bass knew he would always remember.

Old Chris’ll get you home, you’ll see!

As he turned
Firebrand
around he could not recall if he had spoken aloud.

Firebrand
picked up speed.

Going home.