“Full speed ahead!”
The sturdily built, speedy tug rushed at us, pushing aside the waves with her prow.
We had, of course, been keenly observing every move made on the tugboat, but suspected nothing until that moment when he headed straight for us.
“The man is crazy!” I yelled. “He intends to ram us. Full speed with both engines. Hard a-starboard!”
But it looked as if we had grasped the situation too late. The tug had gotten a start on us in speed and came at us, smoking copiously, like a mad bulldog. The distance between us, which to begin with had been two hundred meters, decreased with great rapidity. Now the prow was hardly fifty meters from us. Our hair stood on end.
“Bring up pistols and guns,” I called down.
These weapons, which were hanging always loaded, were quickly handed up to us, and we opened a quick fire on our onrushing enemy. Already I saw the captain’s sly, water-blue eyes scornfully glittering and read the spiteful joy in his grinning face. He had good reason to feel happy. He would reach us, he must reach us, because he had greater speed than we had, and his position was more advantageous. Nearer and nearer came the moment when would stick his blunt, steel prow into our side, and the nearer he approached, the harder our hearts beat.
Twenty meters—fifteen meters! Was there no escape—no hope of rescue?
Yes! Gröning, the calm and thoughtful Gröning, became our savior. He was on one knee by me on the conning tower platform and sent one shot after another at the oncoming target. Suddenly he caught the idea which saved us.
“The helmsman!” he yelled. “All men aim at the helmsman!”