A Flock of Ships

It wasn't difficult for me to pick up at least the basic text of that remote tapping - the last signal from M.V. Cyclops. …CYCLOPS TO ALL SHIPS…TORPEDOED AND SINKING POSITION P3215-P0330…MASTER AND OFFICERS DEAD… NO HOPE OF SAVING SHIP…..WE ARE ABANDONING… What the hell? We weren't torpedoed and sinking. Most of the officers were still alive…that position the unknown operator had given - it was several hundred miles to the north-west of this blood-stained circle of rocks. I wrenched the door open and slammed into the cabin fast. Almost fast enough to beat the gun that was snatched from the operator's table by a very steady hand. `You shouldn't be here, Mate. This boat's just gone and sunk.'

1941: as part of a small Allied convoy, the British freighter M.V. Cyclops races through the South Atlantic with a cargo of secrets. One of the convoy is torpedoed and sunk…a mysterious distress call is received from another ship… the Radio Officer disappears… and then Cyclops seems to open fire on her sister ship….

Gradually the convoy is pushed westward, further and further away from its South African destination - and safety. Could it be that something is actually shepherding this tiny flock of ships towards the waiting U-boats?

The Devil doesn't really exist - not in the South Atlantic. Does he?