‘Ay, ay, sir,’ came the answer, then ‘all clear aft, sir.’
‘The Klaxon’s sounded again.’
‘Ahead starboard, astern port. Hard-a-starboard!’ snapped Raymond.
‘Hard over, sir,’ chorused the coxswain.
‘123’ stopped coming astern, gathered herself together, and then slowly surged ahead and swung round as sedately as a dowager.
‘Stop port. Ahead port,’ snorted the ‘Klaxon.’
‘’Midships,’ from Raymond. ‘Steady. Take her out.’
‘Take her out, sir.’
The boat steadied on her course and travelled silently down the harbour on her electric motors, carefully picking her way between the dark shapes of the anchored vessels.
Conversation on the bridge was at a premium. Tempers are apt to be short and livers out of order at one o’clock in the morning.