False Colours: J.E. MacDonnell

'They're onto us, sir!' With the velocity of galvanised thought, Dutchy had already accepted that ugly fact. Now his whirling mind was faced with more ugly facts. He could sink this patrol boat. But the wind was astern, blowing straight to shore; the coast was less than fifteen miles away, and under these conditions the sound of four inch guns might carry that far. Even if it didn't and the boat blew up, the gush of flame would be sighted. Against these possible risks there stood, definite and undeniable, the certainty that if he did nothing, then the game was up. Not only must the mission be aborted, but they would be mercilessly attacked on the way home.