Outboard toppled the two metal canisters. At the speed of an express train the reel of wire ran out; then, with a detonation that threatened to shake every rivet in the Q-boat's hull, the depth-charges exploded simultaneously.
There was no time to investigate whether the U-boat had been destroyed, or whether, with buckled plates and gaping seams, she was blowing her tanks in an attempt to reach the surface. In any case, even if she did survive, her crew would be so shaken by the concussion that they would be "down and out" as far as further submarine work was concerned.
The shrill whine of a 6-inch shell drew attention to the fact that the destroyers were getting within range, and that a "registering shot" had been fired to test the accuracy of their range-finder.
Almost immediately after, and before a second flash came from the nearmost torpedo boat, Q 171 liberated her smoke-screen; then, answering rapidly to her helm, spun round and practically retraced her course.
There was a chance of escape—that of making for Danish waters—but Morpeth scorned the idea. As he had remarked, he meant to give Fritz a run for his money. He would go down with flying colours, biting savagely till the last. And his men were with him. Discarding their black oilskin coats, and tightening their belts, they spat upon their hands after the manner of sailor-men and prepared to take their gruelling.
An artificial fog-screen cannot last indefinitely. Sooner or later Q 171 had to emerge from her concealment. When she did she was steering almost due west, or towards the tail of the seven torpedo boats.
Directly the movement was observed, the Huns turned sixteen degrees to port, all firing as they swung round. At the same moment Q 171's quick-firers replied for the first time.
The bark of her own guns eased the tension amongst the crew. Although outnumbered, they realised that there was some satisfaction in being able to reply.
The Q-boat took her punishment grimly—and it was punishment! Several shells of varying calibre hit her in quick succession. The dummy conning-tower had vanished, all but a few bent and twisted steel girders. Acrid-smelling fumes swept down upon Meredith as he assisted the last member of the after quick-firer to load and train the weapon. Through the eddying vapour he could see men feverishly working the other gun. He fancied he could distinguish Wakefield, but he was not sure... And Morpeth: where was he?
Suddenly Meredith felt his legs give way under him. The sensation was akin to that of receiving an unexpected blow behind the knees. Surprised and resentful, he tried to regain his feet. Some one was lying across them. It was Ainslie—or rather all that was left of Ainslie.