Free Thunder at Dawn by Alan Evans

fainted, but he clung on grimly. When the hands reached up eagerly from the pinnace to take him he grinned down at them, shakily.
    Manton reported, “All present, sir.”
    And Somers from the whaler: “All here, sir.”
    Kennedy growled, “Less’n two minutes.”
    “Full speed ahead,” Smith ordered.
    The pinnace eased away from the side of the collier, towing the whaler again but Somers had the oars out and was working furiously. Smith saw outlined against the lights of the shore that Gerda’s boats were well clear then the pinnace swung around the bow of the ship and thrust out into the pool, heading for the deep-water channel. Wakely’s voice came from the bow as the pool opened out before them: “Boat fine on the port bow!”
    Smith saw the lights and then made out the boat, a steam pinnace bigger than Thunder’s , and that it was altering course to intercept them. It was moving at speed, throwing up a big, white bow-wave. The intervening distance shrank rapidly until the hail came: “What boat is that?”
    Kansas’s pinnace. Smith answered: “ Thunder!”
    The American pinnace swung neatly on her heel to come around and foam alongside a dozen feet away. A boyish figure stood at her wheel, white face turned towards Smith, as were all the other faces in her. “ What boat is that?” As if he doubted the evidence of his eyes.
    Smith repeated cheerfully, “ Thunder /”
    For long seconds the two pinnaces ran side by side as the Americans peered fascinated at the bizarre parties in the opposite pinnace and whaler. Then the explosions came, muffled, dull thumps, seeming more physical vibrations than sounds. Smith saw the collier heave and then settle. Kennedy had blown the bottom out of her. Smoke and steam suddenly roared from her funnel and she began to list. Smith said, “Very effective, Mr. Kennedy.”
    Kennedy did not answer and sat stone-faced.
    A voice on Kansa s’ s pinnace cried, “ Jee - sus! ” And another: “What the hell ?” She spun away and headed for Gerda . She was the last vessel they saw.
    In the channel they met the flowing tide and the crew of the whaler spat on their hands and bent to their oars in earnest. With their efforts and the pinnace punching along at her best speed they passed the signalling station at Punta Negro before the dawn. Running without lights as they were it was unlikely that they would have been seen from the station but before they reached Stillwater Cove the mist swirled and curled thick and dirty yellow over the channel. They pushed through it, the look-out in the bow fanning at it mechanically as if he could cut a path for them. Now they used the compass.
    The mist held them cocooned in a muffled, closed world for a half-hour, then the yellow turned pink shot with golden light as if they moved inside the silence of some church and the sun came at them through stained glass. Then they ran out of the mist and were clear of the estuary, on the open sea in the dawn’s light, and Thunder patrolled, cruising slowly across their course, a mile ahead. There was a ragged cheer and the men looked at each other, exhausted but exhilarated, grinning uncertainly at first but then broadly. In the light of day with their streaked faces and their hair matted and spiked where they thrust away the balaclavas now, they looked very odd. Even funny.
    Someone said to Beckett, “There’s the old cow standing in for us.” Thunder had seen them.
    Beckett had lain in a daze or a doze, he was not sure which. Now he stirred and sat up to stare at the ship. He looked back at Smith. “You should ha’ seen the old man run at that feller. Run right at him! And the bastard firing away like mad. But he never faltered, and you should ha’ seen the look on his face.” He would not forget it. “What daft bugger said he was windy?”
    Thunder rounded to and the pinnace ran alongside. Smith stared back at the estuary and saw the mist already shredded to almost nothing, the sun sucking it up