Bentley was crouched behind his binnacle. His stare was fixed with unblinking intensity on the stem of the leading cruiser. Both big ships were racing at them side by side—even if they had had time to swerve apart in the few seconds which had elapsed since Wind Rode had burst from the smoke, it is doubtful if they would have bothered; who would expect a lone destroyer to close the range of three cruisers and a destroyer flotilla?
The same terrible instinct of judgment which stood behind him in the boxing-ring told Bentley in advance what the cruiser would do. His rangefinder eyes balanced its speed and direction, his right hand flicked up above his head, he whipped his hand down and his voice rang out in the ominous silence;
“Fire!”