"Damn it!" Bruno mutters, stopwatch in one hand, binos in the other.
"They're zigging."
Sure enough the convoy has turned sharply to starboard on a south easterly course.
Was that planned? Or have they got the wind up? Either way, our chances of a hit, at least on the intended targets, have been reduced.
In the next few moments we'll know.
It takes time for a merchantman to turn, especially the big ones , so they are still presenting some sort of a side to us even at an angle that may cause only a glancing blow. We've had failures before which could have been an outright miss, or a dud, or that the eel just skimmed off the hull at such an acute angle.
An orange flash lights up the sky, flickeringly illuminating the grin on Bruno's face, and before the sound of the explosion reaches us, there is another. Proper fireworks this time, a shower of sparks and hundreds of small lights shooting up into the night sky, as if she was firing off a load of flares. May well have been. I reckon Bruno managed to hit some ammunition consignment in her cargo.
Cheers on the bridge are quickly qwelled by Christian. "Look to your sectors Jungen! we could have that destroyer and his mates up our arse any moment now!"
And indeed the destroyer is still closing, searchlights now snapped on and playing across the waves. Has he seen us? He must know the attack came from this side. He's still a way off, so as usual we have to keep our nerve and get away on the surface as much as possible. To dive too early is a nervous commander's mistake, and leaves his boat too close to the convoy and vulnerably slow underwater, when the trick is to get some distance away, reload and then come back in.
I give a change of course to see if the destroyer responds.
"Hey, Christian," I clap my tired Number One on the shoulder. "Get below and grab some sleep. We'll probably need you again before the night's out!"
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