Skiffs and planes (extract)

On Hegarty’s watch, bad weather held them back, and by lunchtime the schooner was still only forty-odd miles off the coast. Jim swore softly as he took the wheel again. If they’d made better speed they could be in Wexford by now. They could motor up the coast to Arklow, unload Saturday morning and be back in Baltimore by Monday or Tuesday.

A little later, they hit a light wind and Jim gave the order to hoist sail. No harm to use both engine and sail while they had the chance -- make up some lost time.

The seas were awful quiet now. It was the small boats Jim missed, the one- and two-man fishing skiffs that chugged about their business at dawn and dusk. And the sailboats clinging tight to the shore, or on regatta days darting out to the nearest rock and back. Bigger ships, too, were down in numbers.

There was talk of merchant ships travelling in convoy with destroyers as escorts if the blockade went ahead.

When Jim and Hegarty first heard the planes, they weren’t too worried. Yes, there was a war on, but it wasn’t their war: the Irish flag on the mast was proof of that. But the engine noise grew louder.

Young Jerome staggered into the wheelhouse. ‘German fighters, coming straight at us.’ His voice wobbled. ‘They’ll batter us if they’ve a mind to. Christ, what’ll we do?’

As captain, Jim was meant to have the answers. He had none.

The planes were so light and graceful it was hard to imagine they could bring danger to anyone. Those pilots had to see the Irish flag and leave them out of this. They had to.

As the first one came in low over the boat Jim looked up in silent plea-
bargain. The pilot saw the flag. No question.

The question was, what he would do about it?

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extract - read the whole story here
http://www.abctales.com/story/ashb/tbc