Hollock surveyed the sea for a moment, then returned to the bridge. He flipped open the lid on the binnacle revealing the compass and a beam of light from the lamp that backlit it for night running. “This is a good heading, Mr. Mortimer, carry on.” “Aye Sir.” Mortimer affirmed. Hollock flipped the lid closed and the bridge darkened. He then walked to the interphone on the rear wall of the bridge, flipped the ear and mouth pieces into position and rang the kitchen. A weary steward, on of the few still serving on the ship, answered after what would have been an unacceptable wait in peacetime. “This is Mr. Hollock, would you kindly bring me a cup of tea... milk, lemon, no sugar and fetch my boat cloak.” His immediate duties and desires attended to, the officer resigned himself to five more hours of monotony, likely to be punctuated only by the changing of the helmsman and the arrival of his tea. The ship began to pitch beneath him as the seas grew less pliant and he watched the helmsman gradually and expertly correct for it. “Do you think we’ll find the

Dortmunder

? Shall we sink her if we do?” Mortimer asked during a lull in his wheel-work. “I am confident that if we find we find her we shall sink her, after taking on all her coal and provisions, of course. But as to finding her, I am not so sure. Take heart though, the fact that we are hunting her will make her captain more cautious, shy of big prizes, less likely to mine ports, we are doing a good thing even if she sails all the way back to Germany without a scratch.” The First Officer explained. “That is a good line of thinking, I think that’s what I will tell people when they ask... after the war of course, I would never speak of our mission now.” Remarked the Helmsman. Hollock peered out the thick glass of the front bridge windows, on which the opening rain of the storm now beat, in his view, tucked behind the gunwales at the bow and partially concealed by tarpaulins were two six inch guns, one directed starboard, one directed port. With the release of chains mounted near those for the anchor, doors in the gunwales retracted, revealing the weapons. It was this hidden armament that had turned the White Star Liner RMS

Deltic

, a cousin of the glorious

Olympic

and tragic

Titanic

into the rat-eaten commerce raider HMS

Deltic