Fletcher staggered to the edge of the bridge.
In front of their careering bow the freighter that had been loaded with ammunition had dissolved under the torpedo’s persuasion into a sky-flung wall of black smoke.
He heard Brinkworth’s order to straighten her up and he knew that the captain was taking the only course left open to him in that packed mass of ships—he was driving her straight down between the lines towards the rear of the convoy.
He knew, too, what they could expect once they broke clear of the rear of the convoy, once they were free of those protecting hulls on either side. The deadly pack was closing in on its prey ...