‘They must be fast asleep!’ A seaman at the voicepipes said, ‘Better if we hauled the flags down, eh, Swain? We might get clean up to the ruddy front door!’ Pellegrine tucked his jaw firmly into the neck of his sweater and concentrated on the shifting patterns beyond the bows where the inlet’s sheltered water jostled with the sea. Unlike the seaman, he knew quite a bit about Devane. If only half was true it seemed unlikely he would begin an attack under false colours. Personally, the coxswain could not have cared less if they had entered the inlet with a Portuguese ensign. All he wanted was to get on with it, then find the open water again. ‘Stand by!’ Devane’s voice sounded clipped in the voicepipe. ‘Port a bit, Swain.’ Pellegrine moved the spokes and strained his eyes through the observation slit. He was not sure what he had been expecting, and after all the ops he had done he should not have had any room left for surprises. At the briefing, Lieutenant-Commander Beresford, ‘his lordship’ as the lads called him, had told them about the German supply and HQ ship which must be destroyed at all costs.
