THIRTY-SIX
‘Bring ‘er about, Little Jack,’ Fatso called. He’d switched the helm with his youngest son and joined Maisie at the prow. The trawler responded sprightly, ‘Give it all we have.’ Little Jack reacted to his dad’s command and pushed the levers so both diesel engines, that had idled while they prepared the nets, steel ropes, and bombs, throbbed a return to full power, and the fishing boat thrust into a hail of bullets face on. The metal hull sparked, pinged and panged, while Maisie and Fatso crouched behind the cowl where the seamless hull folded over to form a small shelter. Little Jack steered almost blind as he was hidden behind his own steel shield in the wheel house, an instinctive sense of where he was going and when he would get there. He guessed he would be there now and ch
