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.Somewhere inside the mist there had to be walls off which the echoes were rebounding, walls of ice.Four men stood at the bows, chilled and numbed with the bitter cold, moving about frequently with the lookout Schmidt had posted.Beaumont moved about less than any of them, was constantly staring through his night-glasses as he swept the sea ahead.Feet crunched behind them.'Coffee for you guys.'DaSilva and Borzoli poured them mugs of steaming coffeefrom an insulated jug, but the coffee was still half-cold before they could swallow it.The acting mate sent Borzoli back to his post near the Carley float, sent the lookout away to check something imaginary on the port quarter before he spoke.'Schmidt is feeling he took the right decision.''I'm glad somebody's happy,' Beaumont commented.'It's looking good so far.'Beaumont said nothing as he finished his coffee and raised his glasses again.His arms were weary with holding them, his eyes were sore with the cold, with the strain of staring into the lenses.There was a narrow channel of calm, moonlit sea ahead for almost a mile and then it was lost behind more mist.On the port side a huge berg was coming up, an ugly monster with a table-top summit.To starboard lay a great bank of mist, a dense pall rising at least two hundred feet above the ocean, and it stretched the full length of the channel they could see.'Nothing over there,' DaSilva remarked as Beaumont swivelled his glasses on the bank.'Just a load of mist.''Is the radio-jamming as strong as ever?' Beaumont inquired.'Stronger.The worst yet.''Which means we're getting very close to the jamming source.'The Elroy moved closer to the bottleneck formed by the monster berg to port and the mist bank to starboard, altering course a few degrees to pass down the middle.Ice crunched underfoot as Grayson moved his numbed feet.Langer banged his arms round his body to try and get some circulation back into his system.Behind them a door slammed high up as DaSilva returned to the bridge, and they were alone with the seaman on watch.Langer watched Beaumont as the Englishman perched his elbows on the rail and stared through his glasses, sweeping them slowly to starboard.It was the huge bank of impenetrable mist which seemed to intrigue Beaumont, the bank which drifted less than a quarter of a mile away, the bank which would hem them in between itself and the iceberg once they entered the bottleneck.'What's that? That thing in the mist well south to starboard?' Grayson called out.Beaumont was already looking at the huge mass which had come out of the mist like a moving cliff.It was the ghost berg presenting its false face of rock-like stability.They were inside the bottleneck now with the table-topped monster coming up on the port bow.Beaumont glanced at the mist bank and stiffened.The bows of the Revolution broke the mist, bore down on them like a battleship.'The American ship is heading due south - on a course at right-angles to us.''You'd better get ready,' Papanin ordered Tuchevsky.The mist was smothering the Revolution, drifting just beyond the bridge window as Tuchevsky bent lower over the radarscope, watching the echoes which registered the Elroy's approach.It was going to need very careful timing - he had to bring his huge ship out of the mist at exactly the right moment, otherwise he would fail.'Maintain present course,' he ordered the helmsman.The Revolution was creeping forward at her lowest speed, her engine beats muffled by the mist, moving forward on interception course.Tuchevsky stared at the echoes, his face gleaming with sweat, his beard moist.His calculations had to allow for the speed of the Elroy, his own speed, the distance which would separate them when they first saw each other.He sensed the presence of the Siberian behind him.'I want you to hit her amidships.'The sweep inside the hood was pinging non-stop, tracking each fresh position of the Elroy as she approached the bottleneck between mist bank and iceberg.Tuchevsky heard Papanin's boots stirring restlessly.'Aren't we moving too slowly?''You want us to come out too soon ?'There were no lights showing aboard the Revolution, the ship was in complete darkness, but Papanin's eyes were accustomed to the gloom as the ship crept forward.He could just make out the bridge window frames and the faint blur beyond them, otherwise they might have been in a fog bound port, so smooth was the sea, so quiet the hum of the vessel's slow-beating engines.'Maintain your present speed,' Tuchevsky droned.'For how long?' the Siberian demanded.'For as long as is necessary.'Papanin fumed, remained silent, his nerves screaming with the tension.They had to destroy the American vessel first time.One annihilating blow out of the mist, steel smashing into steel, the bows of the Revolution grinding into the Elroy's starboard side, cutting clean through her.He imagined what it would be like - the Russian ship astride the American, driving her under, the broken stern to his left, the wrecked bows to his right.Which section, he wondered, would go down first?'Papanin! Get to the back of the bridge! Hold on to the rail!'The Siberian did as he was told, went back and held on to the rail with both hands as the helmsman, one of his own men, took a tighter grip on the wheel.Papanin was watching the mist beyond the bridge.When it lightened they would be coming out, they would see the Elroy under their bows [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]