The Ocean Liner

U-113

‘They’re manning the lifeboats,’ Hufnagel reported, watching through his night-glasses.

‘Ten minutes are almost up,’ Todt replied, hunched over the bridge aiming column beside him.

‘They need more time.’

‘Are any lifeboats in the water?’

‘Not yet.’

‘A torpedo in their guts will hurry them up. I am ready to launch.’ His hand was on the torpedo launch lever.

‘Wait.’ Hufnagel moved forward, focusing his glasses and cursing the condensation in them. ‘I can see her funnels.’ His voice changed. ‘They’re red, white and blue.’

‘The British colours,’ Todt said impatiently.

‘Also the American ones. Duchess of Atholl’s funnels are yellow and black.’

‘For God’s sake, man. We can establish her identity from the survivors.’

‘She keeps signalling that she’s an American ship.’

‘Of course – to save herself.’

‘There’s also something painted on her sides. You’d better take a look.’

Todt tore himself away from the aiming column with a curse. ‘You are wasting precious minutes, Hufnagel.’ He snatched the binoculars from his first officer and held them to his eyes.

‘You see?’ Hufnagel prompted.

After a moment, Todt thrust the binoculars back at Hufnagel. ‘She is the Duchess of Atholl,’ he said curtly. ‘Prepare to fire.’