“Certainly,” agreed the Englishman brusquely, “but if she had a wireless, she might report the situation to the Admiralty before they sank us.”
Madden removed his binoculars and stared at his friend. “Are you staking your life on as long a chance as that?”
“My boy,” said Smith, in an oddly matured tone, “when the safety of one's country is at stake, one man's life doesn't amount to that!” he snapped his fingers. “If there's a point to be gained, you accept any chance automatically—or no chance at all.”
The American returned no answer, but there flashed into his mind the legend of the Tyrian who beached his galley in order to save the secret of Cornwall. Caradoc's narrative was oddly prophetic of the fate of the Vulcan. And Madden wondered with a quirk of grim humor if there were a foreigner aboard that Tyrian's galley, and what he thought about the sacrifice.
There was another jagged report as a shell burst just aft the tug, then a missile of some thousands of pounds shrieked through the air just above the stumpy masts and filled the sky
