'What's up?' he asked in a quick undertone.
'Craft in sight. Can't tell what she is yet.'
'A warship?'
'Transport, most like, but can't say yet. Sit tight. I'll tell ye when I
can see her a bit plainer.'
By the deeper hum of the engines, Ken knew that they had quickened their
speed. There was a sort of suppressed eagerness about all the twenty-five
men who composed the crew of the submarine. Ken longed to have a peep
through the camera of the periscope, but knew it was impossible.
'She isn't much,' said Williams at last. 'Just a tramp of twelve or
fourteen hundred tons. Still, she may ha' got troops aboard, and if she
ain't, it's grub or munitions for them beggars in the peninsula.'
'Are we going to torpedo her?' asked Ken.
'Not likely. We ain't like Germans, as chucks away a thousand pound
torpedo on a pore little fishing smack.'
'But we shan't let her go, surely?'
Williams chuckled. 'Bless your innocence, no! A couple o' shells from our
little popper up topside will settle her hash all right.
Pages:
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236