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The captain’s voice went strident. He took the microphone from Noah. “Now all
     hands, this is the captain.
TEEL
. [
MISSILE
.] I say again,
TEEL, TEEL, TEEL to starboard
.”
    Through Noah’s binoculars a small black shape became discernible in the yellow glow. One count against that son of a whore,
     Colonel Fischer, the Egyptians could fire a missile, all right. Now, was it really bound to malfunction because it was Russian?
     Intelligence said that this Soviet weapon, dubbed the Styx, was subsonic and radar-directed. That was all. Nobody in Israel,
     or indeed in the West, had yet seen a Styx fired. This was a first, a historic revelation.
    “Look, Noah, isn’t it altering course?”
    “I believe so, sir.”
    The ship was heeling hard over, scoring a white curve on the crimson sunset sea, and the yellow light appeared to be turning
     with it. Its guidance radar was working, then. It was clear to see now in binoculars, a long delta-winged tube shooting reddish-yellow
     fire from its tail and trailing black smoke. The ship’s guns rattled and boomed, crimson tracers combed the missile, but on
     it came. The evasive turn was futile, Noah realized, merely swinging the ship broadside to present a wider target. He plunged
     to grab his life jacket as the missile started its dive, and had it half on when a shocking CRASH! catapulted him across the
     deck of the wheel-house. His head struck a projection, he saw broken lights, and all went black …
    “Y ou okay now, Lieutenant?” The helmsman was helping him to his feet. Putting a hand to his head, Noah felt warm sticky blood.
     His vision was misty and his head painfully throbbed. He peered around at the steeply listing wheelhouse, a chaos of overturned
     instruments, shattered glass, and tumbled books and charts. The wheel was swinging free, unattended.
    “What the devil! Get back to that helm, Polski.”
    “Sir, it’s no use, the rudder hasn’t responded since we got hit, and —”
    “Rocket to port.”
A soprano yell full of fright.
    Shouts rose everywhere, and staggering out on a wing, Noah saw smoke and flame all over the ship and many arms pointing to
     a new light in the darkening sky. The
Eilat
was port beam to this second missile, and the captain stood staring at the expanding yellow eye, eerily reflected on the
     glassy sea.
    “Captain, can’t we maneuver with engines? We’re broadside to again —”
    “Ah, good, you’re on your feet, but Elohim, you’re a bloody mess! Maneuver? How? I have no rudder, Noah, only one engine,
     and I can’t contact them below. God knows how many were killed. Sure you’re all right? You were kaput for quite a while —”
    “I’m okay. By God, sir, that thing’s going into its dive.”
    “I see it. Hit the deck,” shouted the captain, “nothing else to do now.”
    Descending through sparse gunfire, the second missile threw up a towering splash. Noah fell prone on cold metal, an explosion
     made the whole ship ring like a giant gong, and he felt it as a brutal blow on his chest and arms. Stumbling back to his feet,
     he saw a smoky column of new red fire rising amidships. Crewmen were running about and yelling, others were picking up the
     wounded. The power hum that was the ship’s breath of life had suddenly ceased. The
Eilat
was a dead listing drifting hulk.
    Getting up from the deck, the captain said to Noah in a curiously calm way over the clamor of the sailors, “We’ll have to
     abandon ship.”
    “Why? We can call for help, Captain. Helicopters can be here in fifteen minutes and —”
    The captain shook his head. “Don’t you know our radio gear is out? Goldstein worked on it and we tried and tried, but we couldn’t
     raise the army in Sinai, let alone Haifa HQ. The current is setting us toward Port Said, Noah. I’ve dropped the anchors, but
     they aren’t holding —”
    “All the same, we can stay afloat for hours yet, sir, and keep the crew together until —”
    “Until
what?
The