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captain's voice on the telephone. Calm. Nothing to worry about. Not like the previous captain who had cracked up when the ship had been under constant air attack for three whole days. Theil felt the old hurt like a physical pain. He had taken command, had got the ship back to Kiel when others had been less fortunate. He had dared to hope he would be promoted, and be given Prinz Luitpold. He had deserved it. He knew it. Instead, Hechler had stepped aboard to the trill of calls and
    the proud salutes. A man of excellent reputation who had since proved his worth a dozen times. But he was several years Theil's junior nonetheless.
    Theil thought of the other faces, some of which were new to the ship. In the armoured superstructure above the bridge, the conning tower and fire-control stations, the officers he saw each day were waiting for the calm to shatter. Tired faces at the meal table, or flushed with drink after a trip ashore in some port or other. Faces which hid things or revealed too much. Like the youngest officer here on the bridge, Leutnant zur See Konrad Jaeger. A fresh-faced, green youngster of nineteen. He w'ould be perfect on a recruiting poster. Apart from training, Prinz Luitpold was his first ship. He had a pleasant manner, and the confidence of one used to authority. His father was a much-decorated captain who had been put ashore after losing an arm and one eye in the North African campaign. Jaeger's father still had influence, Theil decided. Otherwise the youngster would have been a junior watch-keeper aboard a U-boat instead of serving a thoroughbred like this ship. It was rumoured that a junior officer's life expectancy in a combat U-boat was about that of a lieutenant on the Russian Front.
    Theil shivered. It was best to leave it as a rumour these days.
    He heard the steel gate at the rear of the bridge open, noted the way the dark figures around him seemed to come to life as the captain entered and touched his cap casually to the bridge party at large. Theil faced him, and recalled suddenly how he had resented, hated this man.
    From beside the compass platform Jaeger watched the two senior officers, the men who between them controlled the ship and his destiny. They made a complete contrast, he thought. The captain, tall, powerful, yet with a calm unruffled tone. Theil, stocky, with short fair hair, given to angry outbursts if anything slipped below his very high standards.
    Hechler could feel the youngster's scrutiny just as he could sense the navigating officer's indifference. The latter knew his charts with an uncanny accuracy; he was often known to scoff at the ship's new navigational aids, the first things to break down when you needed them, he proclaimed.
    Beyond his long hours of duty as the ship hurried from one sea area to another, Gudegast rarely mixed with his fellow officers.
    Another surprise about him was his skill as an artist. Despite his bluff seaman's appearance and colourful language he could paint ,and sketch everyday scenes with accuracy and compassion. Now he was rising on his toes to watch some circling gulls, one of his favourite subjects, like patches of spindrift against the mist. Another sketch maybe?
    Hechler ducked his head beneath the canvas hood which hid the light of the chart-table and peered searchingly at Gudegast's neat calculations, bearings and fixes. Like his artwork, each pencilled note or figure was clear and delicate. Perhaps a frustrated artist from another age lurked inside his rugged frame. In his shining oilskin he looked like a sea-creature which had unexpectedly come aboard.
    Theil joined him by the chart. The shore batteries are there sir. Our main armament is alerted and will be kept informed of any change of intelligence.'
    From far beyond the hood's shelter Hechler heard the scrape of steel as the aircraft catapult was manoeuvred around ready to fire off the first float-plane. Each had a crew of two, and apart from cannon and machine-guns would today be armed