When Sally awoke, hours later, the sun was shining. Great billowing
waves with no foam on their crests were rolling their ship up and down.
The worst of the storm was over.
Looking like a ghost, Riggs crawled out of his hole to resume his
duties. Even Nancy was back to her old, normal self.
“You take it nice and easy, Sally,” was Riggs’s advice. “You’ve done a
swell job and deserve a rest.”
After drinking her coffee and eating toast and oatmeal at a real mess
table, Sally felt swell. She took a turn or two along the deck, then
climbed the ladder to the flight deck. There she came across Fred.
“Quite some storm,” he grinned. “We had a heck of a time keeping the
planes from taking off all by themselves. But say!” His face sobered.
“What about Danny? What do you know about him out there on a rubber
raft?”
“I don’t know a thing, and I try not to think about it,” was her solemn
reply.
“Oh, well, some ship may have picked him up. And then, again, this storm
might not even have gone his way.” Fred was a cheerful soul.
Sally went back to the lower deck. In her own stateroom, she hooked up
the secret radio, then lay propped up in her berth listening.
Almost at once she caught a low “put-put-put.” “Still far away,” she
murmured.
For three hours she lay there turning dials, listening, then turning
more dials. Now and then she dozed off into a cat nap. But not for long.
She was disturbed. Each passing hour found the “put-puts” coming in
stronger. There was one particular broadcaster whose code messages
fairly rang in her ears.
By working on her record of messages and her German dictionary, she was
able to tell that this particular broadcaster was directing the course
of several other subs.
“They must be subs,” she told herself. “And such a lot of them! Twelve
or fourteen. And they are coming this way.”
What did it mean? Had one or two of the enemy subs from that other pack
escaped? Had they joined another larger wolf-pack and were they all
coming in to attack?
She took all these questions to the Captain’s cabin. She found the
“siren” at her typewriter, but ignored her. When she had made her report
to the Captain, he said:
“Our radio was going yesterday. That was unavoidable. We may be
attacked. How soon do you think it may come?”
“They seem quite a distance away. It may be several hours yet,” Sally
replied thoughtfully.
“Several hours? I hope so. By that time we shall be in waters that are
within striking distance of powerful land-based planes in England. When
we’re sure the attack is to be made we’ll radio for aid. Those big
planes will blast the subs from the sea!”
“But do you think they will come right in as they did before—the subs,
I mean?” Sally asked.
“Why not?” he asked, seeming a little surprised.
“Perhaps they have been warned. They may try some new trick,” Sally
suggested.
“It’s hard to imagine what that might be. Certainly they can’t sink our
ships without coming in where we are. Keep a sharp watch. Stick to that
radio of yours and report to Riggs every hour.”
Sally returned to her cabin with grave misgiving. That the enemy would
repeat the performance of that other day seemed improbable. There was,
of course, a fair chance that they did not know of the catastrophe that
had befallen that other sub pack.
“It seems to me that we have had enough for one trip,” Nancy said when
Sally told her what was happening.
“In war no one ever has enough trouble,” was Sally’s sober reply. “There
is no such word as enough in the war god’s dictionary. It is always more
and more and more. I’ve heard that we’re losing two hundred ships a
month. No one seems to know for sure. One thing is certain, _we_ haven’t
lost any and we’re about two days from England.”
It did seem, after an hour had passed, and then another, that this sub
pack was going to do just as the other had done. As Sally listened,
turned dials, and waited, the broadcasters on the enemy subs began to
fan out. After that, with a slow movement that was ominous, they began
to surround the convoy. After the circle had been completed they started
moving in.
It was the hour before sunset when she hurried to the radio room.
“Rig-Riggs!” She was stammering in her excitement. “They are all around
us!”
“How close?” He blinked tired eyes.
“There’s no way to know that,” she replied cautiously.
“They’ll attack at dusk. Always do. You can’t see the wake of their
periscopes so well then.”
“Don’t you think we should send for the big planes from the mainland?”
she asked.
“It may be too soon. We want them to arrive at what you might call the
psychological moment. Wait. I’ll ask the Skipper.”
He called the Captain on the ship’s phone, then stated his problem.
“You don’t think so?” he spoke into the phone. “I thought that might be
best, sir.
“Yes, sir, all the men are at battle stations now. I’ll wait, sir.” He
hung up.
“The Skipper says to wait,” he explained “He—”
He broke off short for at that moment the lookout sang out:
“A sub off the port side.”
“Sub—sub off the port side,” came echoing back.
At once there came the sound of running feet, of guns swung to position,
and more shouts: “Subs! Subs!”
Sally dashed to the rail. Just what she meant to do, she did not know.
At any rate, it was never done for, at that instant, a gun roared and in
three split seconds a shell crashed into the radio cabin.
“Torpedo!” a voice shouted.
“Hard to port! Hard to port!” the man on the bridge roared.
With a sense of doom Sally saw the radio cabin smashed, then saw a
torpedo leave the sub. Fascinated, terrified, she watched it come. It
seemed alive. It played like a porpoise. First it was in the air above
the water, then beneath the water.
With sudden terror, she realized that the torpedo would strike the ship
directly beneath her. The order to turn the ship had come too late.
“And when it does strike!” Her knees trembled. For the first time in her
life, she was paralyzed with fear.
The torpedo came on rapidly. Now it was fifty feet away, forty, thirty.
It dove beneath the water, rose sharply, sped through the air, and—
Shaking herself into action, Sally turned and ran. Headed for the
opposite side of the ship she was all prepared for a terrific roar
accompanied by the sound of rending and crashing of timbers. But none
came.
Racing headlong, she banged into the gunwale on the opposite side, to
stand there panting.
Suddenly she rubbed her eyes, then looked at the sea. “It’s gone,” she
murmured. “The torpedo is going away. It must have plunged low and gone
under the ship.”
Her instant of relief was cut short by the realization that there were
other torpedoes and shells, that the battle had just begun and that a
shell had gone through their radio cabin.
“Riggs!” she cried. “Riggs was in that cabin!”
She reached the radio door just as two sailors carried Riggs out. His
face was terribly white.
Asking no questions, she brushed past them and into the cabin. With
Tobin and Riggs gone, she must carry on.
A look at the radio gave her a sense of relief. It had not been damaged.
She tested it and her heart sank.
“Dead!” she murmured. Then: “It’s the power wires. They’ve been cut.”
One moment for inspection and she was gripping a hatchet, cutting away a
varnished panel that hid the wires.
Finding rubber gloves, tape, pliers, and a coil of wire, she set about
the business of repairing the wires.
“Every second counts,” she told herself. “Those bombers from the
mainland must be called.”
The wires had been connected; she was just testing out the radio when
the Skipper bounded into the cabin.
“The radio!” he exclaimed. “Can it be repaired?”
“It has been repaired. It’s working!” she replied, straightening up.
[Illustration: Sally Saw Two Sailors Carry Riggs Out]
“Working. Thank God! Call this—one—seven—three—seven. Repeat it in
code, three times.”
She put in the call. Then they waited. Suddenly, the radio began to
snap.
“That’s their answer,” she said quietly.
“Tell them to send bombers. We’re being attacked by subs, this
position.” He laid a paper before her.
She set the accelerator talking.
Again they waited.
Again came the snap-snap of code.
“Repeat,” she wired back.
The message was repeated. “Okay,” she wired. “They’re sending twenty
bombers,” she said quietly.
“Good! What about Riggs?” the Captain asked.
“I wasn’t here. They carried him out,” said Sally.
“And Tobin?”
“He has two broken ribs,” was the quiet reply.
“I’ll send you a young second lieutenant. He knows radio.”
“We—we’ll make out.” Sally hated herself for stammering.
“Good!” He was gone.
Had the enemy gun crew had their way, Sally would by this time have been
among the missing. But, thanks to the timely warning, all the men of the
aircraft carrier had been at their posts when the sub appeared on the
surface.
The instant the sub poked its snout out of the water the long noses of
five-inch guns were being trained on it. The first enemy shot had
crashed into the radio cabin, but every other shot went wild. One went
singing over Sally’s head and another cut a stanchion not ten feet from
where she stood, but she had worked on.
More and more guns were trained on the sub. A colored crew chanted:
“’Mm, I got shoes, you got shoes, all God’s chillun got shoes.”
“Bang! Pass up another shell, brother. That un wrecked the conning
tower. ’Ummm, I got shoes, you got shoes—”
Bang! One split second passed and there came a terrific explosion. The
sub had blown up.
By this time the enemy’s plan was plain to see. This sub had been sent
in to wreck the ship’s radio at once, then to sink her at their leisure.
It would be impossible this way for the carrier to summon aid from land
planes. It was true that this task might have been taken over by a cargo
ship or a destroyer but before these ships could know of the need, it
would be too late.
With the threat to his ship removed, the Captain ordered his planes off
on a search for the remainder of the wolf-pack.
With a strange feeling at the pit of her stomach, Sally heard them take
off one after the other.
“Fred and all his comrades,” she whispered. “What will the score be
now?”
A youthful face appeared at the door. “I’m Second Lieutenant Burns,”
said the boy. “I was sent to pinch-hit on the radio.”
“That’s fine!” Sally gave him her best smile. “You just look things
over. If you want to give me a few moments off, it will be a blessing
straight from Heaven.”
“Things happen pretty fast.” He smiled back at her.
“Too fast.” She was rocking a little on her feet.
“You were lucky at that.” He grinned. “I watched those shots. If it
hadn’t been for that singing gun crew, one of those shells would have
blown this cabin sky high.”
“But it didn’t.” Sally felt a little sick. “I’ll just get back to my
secret radio for a moment,” she said.
“Okay, I’ll take over.” He settled down in his place.
The messages she picked up on her radio were a jumble of sounds. Every
broadcaster of the enemy subs was trying to talk to every other.
“We got their leader!” she thought as her heart gave a triumphant leap.
“Now they’re all looking for orders and getting none.”
Her hope for a quick and easy victory over this new and more powerful
sub pack was soon dashed to the ground. In a very short time there came
into the enemy broadcasts a firmer and more confident note.
“Oh!” Sally exclaimed. “Some other sub commander has taken charge of the
pack! Now there will be a real fight.”
Soon enough the fliers who went out to the attack found this to be true.
Warned, no doubt, by the experience of that other sub pack, these subs
came in with only their periscopes showing. Fred, who carried a radioman
who was also a gunner in his two-seated plane, searched the sea in vain
for a full fifteen minutes. Then suddenly he caught over his radio a
call for help from one of the tankers.
“We’re about to be attacked,” was the terse message.
Only twenty seconds from that very tanker, Fred swung sharply about,
barked an order to his gunner, then moved in.
“There’s the sub!” the gunner shouted. “Over to the left.”
Sighting his target, Fred swung wide and low. Aiming at the white wake
of the sub’s periscope he let go a depth bomb. It was a near hit and
brought the sub to the surface but it seemed to the young flier that she
came up shooting; at least, by the time they had swung back, the sub’s
gun was barking.
“Hang onto your shirt,” Fred called to his gunner. “Get ready to mow ’em
down, we’re dropping in on them.” At that he shot straight down two
thousand feet, leveled off with a wide swoop, then sent a murderous hail
of machine-gun bullets sweeping across the sub’s crowded deck. As they
passed on, his gunner sent one more wild burst tearing at them.
On the sub men went down in rows. The sea was dotted by their struggling
forms. Those who remained crowded down the conning tower. Then the sub
crash-dived. For the time, at least, the tanker and its priceless cargo
were saved.
But now there came a call from the big transport which carried a
thousand men in khaki on its crowded decks. She too was about to be
attacked. Sally, standing on the tower, watching, ready to blink
signals, caught the message but could do nothing. The small English
packet, the _Orissa_, also caught the message. Small as she was, and
armed with but one gun, she moved swiftly in, cutting off the sub’s line
of attack on the big transport.
As if angered, by this interference, the sub commander brought his sub
to the surface, prepared to finish off the small ship with gunfire. But
two can play with firearms. The packet carried a gun crew that had done
service on many seas. The foam was hardly off the sub when a shell from
the _Orissa_ blasted off one side of the sub’s conning tower. The shot
was returned but without great harm. One more shot from the _Orissa’s_
plucky gunners and the sub’s gun was out of commission. Perhaps, after
this beating, the sub’s commander planned to submerge and leave the
scene of action. Whatever his plans might have been, they were never
carried out, for a fighter from the aircraft carrier that had come to
the rescue swung low to place a bomb squarely on the sub’s deck. The
_Orissa_ was showered with bits of broken steel as the sub blew up with
a great roar.
This was a good start but there were many subs, some of them very large.
Without doubt they had received orders to get that convoy at any cost,
for they kept coming in.
Fred and his partner, still scouring the sea, discovered a sub slipping
up on one of the liberty ships. Swinging low they scored a near hit with
a bomb. The sub’s periscope vanished. Was it a hit? They could not tell.
One more miss and they were soaring back to their own deck for a fresh
cargo of death.
Seeing them coming in, Sally handed her blinker to Nancy and raced down
to find out how things were going.
“It’s bad enough,” was Fred’s instant response. “We’ve lost one plane to
AA fire but the pilot bailed out and was picked up by a destroyer. A sub
scored a hit on one of the liberty ships but it is all shored up and
holding its own. If only those big bombers from England would come!” His
brow wrinkled.
“Well, I’ll be seein’ you.” He climbed into his plane and was once more
in the air.
“If only those big bombers would come!” Sally echoed his words as she
returned to the tower.
Now, once again, a large sub, apparently assigned to the task, slipped
in close to the aircraft carrier, and life on board became tense indeed.
Two additional airplanes were thrown into the battle. One of these
brought the sub to the surface with a depth charge. Sally drew in a deep
breath as she saw the sub’s size. “Big as a regular ship,” she murmured
to herself.
“And twice as dangerous,” said the young lieutenant who stood at her
side.
The truth of this was not long in proving itself, for suddenly a shell
went screaming past them and a second tore bits of the tower away.
But the sub was not having things all her own way. A daring young flier
swooped low to pour a deadly fire across her bow. For a moment her guns
were silenced, but no longer. This time she directed her fire skyward
and with deadly effect. A fighter, some three thousand feet in the air,
was hit and all but cut in two.
“Oh!” Sally exclaimed. “They got that plane.” She knew the plane and the
boys who flew her. Now her eyes were glued on the sky. Her lips parted
with a sigh of relief as a parachute blossomed in the sky. But where was
the other one? It never blossomed. The plane came hurtling down to
vanish instantly.
“If only those big bombers would come!” Sally’s cry was one of anguish.
She could not stand seeing those fine boys go down to death.
Another shell sped across their deck. At the same time there came again
the cry, “Torpedo off the port bow.”
Once more, with terror in her eyes, Sally watched a torpedo speed toward
the broad side of their ship. This time it seemed it could not miss. But
again came that strange hum, as the gun crew began to sing, “I got
shoes, you got shoes.”
There was a splash close to the speeding torpedo, and another and yet
another. It seemed impossible that any gun could fire so fast. And then
an explosion rocked the ship. What had happened? Sally had looked away
for the moment.
“That’s some gun crew,” the lieutenant exclaimed. “They just blew that
torpedo out of the water.”
“Wonderful!” Sally exclaimed. “All the same, this can’t last. There are
too many of those subs. I do wish the big bombers would come.”
As if in answer to her prayer, there came a great rumbling in the clouds
that hung high over them in the evening sky and suddenly, as if it had
seen all and had been sent to deliver them from the giant sub, a
four-motored bomber came sweeping down. As Sally watched, breathless,
she saw a dozen white spots emerge from the big bomber and come shooting
down. It was strange. At first they seemed a child’s toy. Then they were
like large arrows with no shafts, just heads and feathered ends. And
then they were a line of bombs speeding toward their target. She
watched, eyes wide, lips parted, as they hit the sea. The first one fell
short, and the second, and third and then once more there was a roar.
“A direct hit!” the young lieutenant shouted. “That does it.”
When the smoke and spray had drifted away, Sally saw the giant sub
standing on one end. Then, as the last rays of the setting sun gilded it
with a sort of false glory, the sub slowly sank from sight.
“Oh!” Sally breathed. “How grand!” For all that there was a sinking
feeling at the pit of her stomach. The men on that sub too were human,
and some were very young.
[Illustration: They Watched Breathlessly as the Bomb Struck]
Suddenly the sky was full of giant bombers and the air noisy with the
shouts of thousands of voices welcoming the deliverers.
“Here,” Sally handed the blinker to Nancy, “take this. I’ve just thought
of something that needs doing.” At that she sped away.
A moment later Sally was in her stateroom listening to the secret radio.
The question uppermost in her mind at that moment was: How will the
enemy subs take this new turn in the battle? She had the answer very
soon; they were not taking it. At first there came a series of hurried
and more or less jumbled messages from very close in. After that the
enemy radio messages settled down and were spaced farther apart. Each
new burst of “put-puts” came in more faintly, which meant that the subs
were withdrawing.
When at last she was sure that, for the time, the fight was over, she
hurried to the Captain’s cabin.
“The subs have withdrawn,” she announced.
“Good!” the Captain exclaimed. “How far? Are they still withdrawing?”
“That’s hard to tell,” Sally replied cautiously.
“They’ll withdraw for now,” he prophesied, “and come back to the attack
at dawn. Their theory will be that the big bombers will have to return
to their land bases.”
“Which they must.”
“That’s right. But there is no reason why they should not return at dawn
if there is still work for them to do. Our enemy does not yet realize
that, thanks to your secret radio, we can keep track of their movements.
Perhaps we can catch them off guard at dawn and finish them. That,” the
Captain added, “will depend on you and your secret radio.”
“It’s a terrible responsibility,” was the girl’s quiet reply, “but I
accept it. I shall be listening, all through the night.”
That night will live long in Sally’s memory. She slept not at all. At
all hours the headset was over her ears. At first there were few
messages passing from sub to sub.
“They are sleeping,” she told herself. Then the lines of a very old poem
ran through her mind:
At midnight in his guarded tent the Turk lay dreaming of the hour
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, should tremble at his power.
“There will be no trembling,” she told herself stoutly. She knew that
all had been arranged. If she reported that the subs were again moving
in to the attack, the big land bombers would be notified and would
return to surprise the wary foe. But would the subs attack? Only time
could tell.
At the eerie hour of three in the morning, she began picking up
messages, sent from sub to sub, some near, some far away.
“I think reinforcements are coming in,” she phoned the Skipper, who was
at the bridge.
“Good! Then we will have more to destroy,” was his reply.
The hour before dawn came at last and with it the enemy subs, at least
ten in number, slowly closing in. With a radio message sent to the
mainland, they could but wait the dawn.
This time, confident of success and eager for the kill, the subs
surfaced and came racing in. They were met by bombs from every plane the
aircraft carrier could muster and from thirty land bombers as well.
Their rout was complete, and the destruction, insofar as could be
learned, was to them a great disaster.
Leaving the land-based bombers to finish the job, the convoy steamed on
toward its destination.