“Danny?” she said without thinking.
“What about Danny?” He laughed. “Hell be back with the rest. A fine boy.
Danny. There are few better. We need a lot of Dannys in this war.”
“Yes—yes, a lot of Dannys, but there’s only one,” she replied
absent-mindedly.
She left the bridge to wander back to the deck. One more badly crippled
plane made a try for the deck, but missed and fell into the sea.
A line was thrown to the pilot and he was pulled on board.
“Have you seen Danny?” she asked as the man came up dripping wet.
“Dan-Danny?” he sputtered, coughing up salt water. “Why yes, once. He
was after a sub. Got him, I guess. But there were the AA guns, you
know.”
Yes, Sally knew. She had heard them. Her heart ached at the thought of
them.
Other planes came in. Had they seen Danny?
“No Danny.”
Were they going out again?
Orders were not to go. All subs had been accounted for. Looked as if a
fog would blow in any time. It had been a grand day.
At last all planes were in but one, and that was Danny’s.
Then came the fog. Drifting in from the north, where fogs are born, it
hid every ship of the convoy from Sally’s view.
Turning, she walked bravely along the deck, climbed down the ladder,
entered her room, threw herself on her berth, and sobbed her heart out
to an empty world.
Finally, she sat up resolutely, and her eyes fell on the secret radio.
Here was an idea, perhaps a way out. Danny was out there on the sea. He
must be. His plane carried a rubber raft. She would not give up hope.
They were not yet too far from shore for heavy searching planes to reach
the spot. She would get their location. Then she would radio to Silent
Storm. He’d send out a plane, a dozen big planes from the shore. They
could not fail to find Danny.
Yes, she would get Storm tonight on the secret radio. But dared she do
it? Her splendid body went limp at the thought. This was a terrible
world.