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He returned to the bridge. “Mister Greenstreet,” he said, “do you think we can run the engines at flank for a few hours without damage?”
Mister Greenstreet made no reply, but picked up the phone and rang the engine room, spoke for a few moments, then offered the receiver to Jack.
“This is the captain,” Lt O’Brian said, “If the number three burns up we’ll have to deal with it as it arises. Unless you want to sit out the war in a French prison I need every revolution.”
“Anything more than three-quarters will run us in a circle, sir,” replied the tinny voice on the other end of the wire, probably Mister Humphries. “The fuel rail is too unbalanced. Even at three-quarters I have to run the nose ring at half just to keep her steady.”
Cursing would only bring bad luck, so Jack handed the receiver back to Mister Greenstreet wordlessly. He turned back to the viewscreen, where the Frenchman continued to grow.
“Radar, what’s the range?”
“36 clicks, sir. Still shortening.”
“This is maximum magnification?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have we silhouettes?”
“Partial, sir. Onscreen?”
“Please.”
The radar operator worked his console, and after a moment the partial top, front and end of the Frenchman appeared along the bottom edge of the view screen. Jack crossed to the binnacle, pulled a spotters guide from the shelf and flipped through the pages, comparing the drawings to the images on the screen. After a minute’s searching, he said, “French corvette, Juno class.” he looked back to the ship, still slowly growing larger in front of him, a plan forming in his head. “Sparks,” he said at last, “using the Ajax 2 code, send the following message to the space on the far side of us from that Frenchman, ‘Enemy vessel of inferior strength in sight,’ and request instructions.
“You are forgetting, sir,” said Mister Greenstreet, “Ajax 2 was reported broken while we were at Neva-IV.”
“I have that in mind, Mister Greenstreet.”
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