March and Larry stood over the navigation table and looked at charts.

“We’re just about here now,” March said, pointing to a spot not far east of the Philippines.

“What’s that?” Larry asked, putting his finger tip on a tiny dot near by.

“A tiny atoll,” March said. “Couple of hundred yards long, that’s all.”

“Let’s pull into the lee of it and surface,” Larry said. “There won’t be any Japs on something that small. We can charge the batteries up full, get plenty of fresh air, and plan our campaign from here on in.”

“Right,” March agreed. “We’ll reach it in about an hour. We’ve gone about two hours since the patrol plane left us.”

So it was that Scoot Bailey, lying at the edge of the beach not far from his wrecked plane, which he had covered with boughs so it would not be seen by Jap patrols, heard a rushing of water a little way from shore and saw a huge black hull appear from the deep, not a hundred feet out!

He scrambled behind a bush quickly and peered out cautiously, though it was so dark that no one on the sub could possibly have seen him.

“A sub!” he exclaimed. “But the question is—Jap or American?”

He tried to find a marking that would tell him the answer to his question, but it was too dark to see anything. Then he made out figures of men on the bridge, two men looking around. One said something to the other, but so low that he could not make out the language. One of the men took up a lookout position.

“If it’s a Jap,” Scoot muttered to himself, “I’d hate to let it get away from me. I’m probably not in any danger. It must just be up to charge batteries. They wouldn’t come ashore here for anything—nothing to come for, unless some of the men just want to plant their feet on solid ground for a change. Even then I can hide.”

He thought hard. “Seems as if there ought to be something I could do, though one grounded flier against a sub is kind of tough odds.”

He was so busy trying to think what he could do to sink a Jap submarine single-handed that he convinced himself that it was Japanese.

“The machine guns in my plane!” he exclaimed suddenly. “They probably still work if I can get at them. The plane’s heading the wrong way or I could just shoot them as is. But maybe I can get one or two out.”

Then he wondered if fifty-caliber machine-gun bullets could possibly sink a submarine.

“Probably not,” he told himself. “But they could pick off quite a few officers and men. And then if the rest decided to come and get me, I’d get quite a few more on their way in.”

Suddenly the Diesels on the submarine roared into life, and quickly settled down to a steady purr.

“Charging batteries is right,” Scoot told himself. “That’s just enough sound to keep them from hearing me try to get a gun out of my plane. Of course, they’ve probably got their own machine gun unlimbered up there. Usually do when they’re surfaced like this. But—well, I’ll see what I can do.”

Scoot crawled over to his plane and started to work. Taking off the engine cowling seemed to him to make a terrific noise and he stopped to listen, wondering if he had been heard. The sound from the Diesels seemed very low. And then he heard something—something that made his heart leap.

“Car—reee me back to old Virginnneee!” sang a high tenor voice. The lookout was indulging in his favorite sport. Scoot leaped out on the shore.

“Yippeeee!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

On the bridge of the submarine, March whirled around at the sound of the strange cry from the tiny island. Without a word one of the enlisted men had leaped to the machine gun and now he poured a round of shots at the shore. Then there was silence for a moment. From behind a palm tree came a voice.

“Say—have a heart!” Scoot cried. “I’m an American!”

“How do we know?” demanded March over the sound of the Diesels. He would like to have shut them off so he could hear better, but he wanted to keep them running for a quick getaway in case there was any sort of Jap force on that tiny atoll. The sound of the American voice sounded genuine, but you could never be sure. Too many Japs who had lived in America went back home to fight in Jap armies. They spoke English fairly well, some of them, and they had used it to trick trusting Americans too many times.

By this time Larry Gray had scrambled up on the bridge beside March who quickly explained what had happened. Stan and Mac joined them, wondering at the sound of machine-gun fire.

“I’m an American flier!” Scoot shouted back. “Crashed here this afternoon.”

“Turn on the searchlight!” Larry ordered, and in a moment the powerful beam found the lone figure on the rocky beach.

“Only one man,” March said. “And it sure looks like a Navy uniform, slightly mussed up. He must be okay, Skipper.”

“Can’t ever be sure,” Larry said. “There may be a pack of Japs back behind those trees. It may be a swiped uniform, anyway.”

“But he looks white and tall,” March said.

“Yes, he does,” Larry agreed. “But if he’s an American—wait, he’s calling.”

“I know you can’t take any chances on a trap,” the voice came to them over the water. “You tell me what to do and I’ll do it—to the letter.”

“All right,” Larry called back. “We’re sure you must be American, all right, but we won’t take a chance. Take your clothes off and swim out to us. We’ll keep the light on you and you’re covered at every minute with a machine gun.”

On shore Scoot gulped at the idea of the machine gun pointing at him every minute. But he agreed, knowing that in a similar situation he would be just as cautious about any possible Jap trick. He quickly stripped to his underwear, leaving his clothes on the rocks at his feet. Then, arms in the air so the men on the sub would see that he carried nothing, he waded into the water, always in the bright spot of the searchlight. When the water came up to his chest he bent forward and started swimming, being careful to raise both arms well out of the water at each stroke. But he had to keep his head down and his eyes averted because of the bright glare of the light.

Soon his hand struck the steel side of the hull and helping arms reached down to pull him up on the deck. Two enlisted men and McFee were there, looking him over carefully.

“He’s okay, Skipper!” Mac called up to the bridge. “Not a thing on him and he’s as American as Uncle Sam.” Then to Scoot, “How are you, fellow? Glad we found you. Come on up.”

He led the dripping Scoot to the ladder leading up to the bridge. As he climbed over the edge, Scoot saw a familiar face—and almost fell over backward to the deck again!

“March!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

“Scoot Bailey!” March cried, rushing forward. He threw his arms around the shivering and wet flier and pounded him on the back. “Scoot, my boy! It’s really you! How on earth—”

But Scoot was shouting and talking, too, laughing and dazed by the many things that had happened to him in the last few hours.

McFee and the enlisted men looked on in amazement at the scene, but Larry Gray was smiling. He remembered the name of Scoot Bailey from the many things March had told him about his closest friend. And he had seen enough strange things happen in the war not to be too startled at anything that happened out in the middle of the ocean.

In a few minutes they had gone below and Scoot was wrapped in a blanket while two men put out in a collapsible boat to bring his clothes from the island. Scoot sat with the others in the tiny ready-room and drank a cup of hot coffee, while they talked and asked questions and answered them.

Soon everyone was brought up to date on the most important things that had been happening. McFee and Stan, who had joined them, knew who Scoot was and how he came to be there. Outside, word went scurrying around among the men that they’d picked up a Navy flier, that it had turned out to be the exec’s oldest and best friend. Everybody felt happy.

“With a stroke of luck like that,” Pete Kalinsky said, “maybe we can find that Jap convoy now.”

March told Scoot about their search for the convoy, their encounter with the Jap patrol plane that very afternoon, and how the American plane had chased him away. Scoot was serious right away.

“Two-motored Aichi flying boat?” he asked.

“Yes, why?” March asked.

“I took care of him for you,” Scoot said with a smile. “He will try to depth-charge my friend, will he? Well, he won’t do that any more.”

Scoot told them about his leaky oil line, his encounter with the Jap plane, shooting it down, and then making the tiny island in a glide.

“And then I came along and picked you up,” March laughed, “with only a few hours’ wait.”

“Remember—a long time ago,” Scoot said, “you told me you’d probably have to come along in your sub and save me from a bunch of Japs?”

“Sure I remember!” March cried. “Didn’t know I was such a good prophet.”

“You didn’t save me from any Japs,” Scoot snorted. “Just from boredom spending the rest of the war on that island. But let me tell you another thing—you don’t know how close you came to getting killed.”

“What do you mean?” Larry asked.

“I mean you ought to pin a medal on whoever it is in your crew that sings ‘Carry me Back to old Virginny,’” Scoot said. “Up to that time I had decided you were Japs and I was getting a machine gun out of my plane.”

“You mean you were going to attack us single-handed?” demanded Stan Bigelow.

“Sure—I didn’t have anybody else to help me, so it had to be single-handed,” Scoot said. “I didn’t think I could sink the sub, but I thought I could wait till a lot of officers and men were on deck and pick off most of them.”

“Now, that’s the spirit I like,” Larry said. “Glad to have you along on this trip with us.”

“Oh—” Scoot looked startled. “I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose I have to go along with you.”

March laughed. “Of course, you do. We’re not a bus service. We’re out looking for a Jap convoy and we can’t very well take time to run you back to your base or carrier before going on.”

“Well, so I’m a submariner after all,” Scoot said. “Nice looking boat, I must say. Can I look her over?”

“Sure, from stem to stern,” Larry agreed. “But not until you’ve eaten something. I imagine that island didn’t provide you with much of a dinner. The cook is fixing up something for you.”

So Scoot got into his clothes and ate a delicious meal over which he exclaimed mightily.

“Say, there’s something to pigboat service, anyway,” he said. “I thought we ate pretty well on the Bunker Hill but this is fit for a king.”

“Submarine men are kings,” March said, and for once Scoot would not argue on their favorite subject of the past.

Soon they went to bed, except for those on watch, and at dawn the next morning proceeded on their way, submerged. Scoot was fascinated at the diving operation and looked with some awe on March as he carried out the complicated maneuver. It was only then that he learned that March had become second in command of Kamongo. March then led his friend on a tour of the submarine, explaining the workings of all the complicated machinery, introducing him to the crew, who welcomed him warmly.

“Not bad, not bad,” Scoot said. “I begin to see why you like all this so much. Nice small crowd here, all getting along well together. And I don’t mind the idea of being under water at all, the way I thought I would.”

Scoot and March and Larry sat down in the wardroom to go over their plans.

“You see,” Larry explained, “I have a hunch the Japs are following a course with this convoy entirely different from any they’ve followed before. They are aware that we know they’ll reinforce Truk as fast as possible. So we’re looking for them to take a direct route. But the Chinese reported that there was something strange about the route. What is it? It’s that it is so indirect.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Scoot agreed.

“Well, they don’t want to take forever getting there, however,” Larry went on, “so they’re not being too indirect. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if they went down the western side of the Philippines, as if heading for Indo-China or Burma or the Dutch East Indies. Then they might cut through east above Mindanao, the lower of the big islands in the Philippines. After that they’d make a fast dash straight east for Truk.”

“Why wouldn’t we catch them easily there?” March asked.

“We might,” Larry explained. “But for some time they’d be under protection of land-based planes from the Philippines. Then, too, we’d be anxious to scout them out as early as possible, so our subs would be farther north, looking along the more direct routes. They’d have a chance of getting through without a scratch, but anyway they’d not have far to go after we did sight them.”

“What do you want to do now?” Scoot asked.

“I’m heading west toward the Philippines trying to test my theory,” Larry said. “But I can’t make much speed, having to run submerged in the daytime. I’m afraid they may be out in the clear before I can get there, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”

All day long they ran submerged, keeping a constant lookout. They saw a Jap patrol plane and dived out of sight before he got near them. But there was no sight of the convoy. Darkness began to creep over the ocean and they were getting ready to surface when Larry, at the periscope, saw a Jap seaplane.

“Over to the right,” he said. “Doesn’t see us. He’s too low. We won’t need to dive unless he pulls up higher again. No—he’s coming down on the water. Must be something there.”

March took a look and thought he saw a small island near the Jap plane.

“Getting too dark to see clearly,” he said. “Shall we go over and have a look, Skipper?”

“Yes, let’s do,” Larry said. “I’m curious about a seaplane here. That’s the kind that’s got pontoons and is usually catapulted from a battleship or cruiser. You wouldn’t expect them out here. They can’t do long cruising.”

March gave the order to change course, and they stayed under the water as they neared the island.

“Hope there’s still enough light by the time we get close enough to have a good look,” Larry said as he peered through the periscope. “Good thing it isn’t overcast today or we couldn’t see a thing. And I wouldn’t want to hang around until morning just for a look at what might turn out to be nothing.”

In another few minutes they were close enough to see, and Larry reported to the others that a small boat was just putting off from the seaplane which was anchored to a buoy in the little harbor. Scoot took a look.

“Boy, those periscopes are wonders,” he exclaimed. “Sharp as can be. Sure, I know the ship. And there’s two naval fliers in the dinghy with two Jap soldiers rowing them to shore. A whole flock of soldiers on shore. Wonder what it’s all about.”

As March and the others had a look, Larry told them all what he thought this latest event meant.

“Seaplanes come from battleships or cruisers usually,” he said. “I think this plane might well be from some of the warships protecting the convoy headed for Truk. The Japs have got lookout posts on a lot of these little islands here—probably plenty more than usual right now. They aren’t trusting to radio, even in code, any more than we are. And they’re having a seaplane or two go out ahead of the convoy to pick up reports from their garrisons on the various islands. This is the plane’s last stop for the night. In the morning he’ll go back to his ship and make his report as to how many American patrol planes or subs have been seen in the area by these outposts.”

The others thought this over and agreed that it was a likely hypothesis. Then Scoot asked for another look at the periscope, and the others sensed that there was some excitement in his attitude. When he turned away from the ’scope he said to Larry. “Can I talk to you about an idea I’ve got?”

“Sure, come into the wardroom,” Larry said with an eager smile. “Come along, March.”

They sat down around the little table.

“Now what is it?” Larry asked.

“Here’s the idea,” Scoot said. “I know that plane—all about it. They made us study those things, though I couldn’t see the point of it at the time. It usually has two men in it. Two men went ashore. So the plane’s unattended. I’m going to swipe it!”

“Swipe it!” Larry and March exclaimed together.

“Sure!” Scoot said. “If you can surface enough to let me out—later when it’s good and dark—I’ll swim to it, get in, cut the anchor, and be off before those Nips know what’s going on.”

“Then what will you do?” Larry demanded.

“I’m in a Jap seaplane,” Scoot said. “Outposts won’t pay any attention to me, because I’m right where a Jap seaplane ought to be flying along, going back to its battleship in the morning. Nobody will question me by radio because they’re keeping radio silence.”

“All this is assuming that my hypothesis is correct,” Larry said.

“I think it is,” Scoot said. “At least it’s what a hypothesis is—a good basis on which to work until it’s disproved. So let’s go ahead. You want to find this convoy faster than your sub can get you there. In that plane I can find it in a hurry—if it’s there.”

“You certainly can,” Larry agreed, beginning to get excited about Scoot’s idea. “But when you’ve found it—what then?”

“Well—I get word to you somehow,” Scoot said. “Now, let’s see—”

“I’ve got an idea,” March said. “Scoot sights the convoy, gets a line on its size and direction, then turns around and heads right back again. He knows our exact course. He’ll come down on that course at a spot we designate. We’ll surface and pick him up there. That eliminates all radio communication—even if that Jap plane has a radio and Scoot can get it on our wave-length and use it. And if he did we’d have to be traveling on the surface to get his message any distance away, and we’d better not do that too much.”

“Sounds okay,” Larry said. “But what happens on that Jap convoy when they see their seaplane approach, look around, and then head back again? Won’t they think that’s mighty funny?”

“Sure they will,” Scoot said. “And I can’t quite guess what they’ll do about it. Maybe nothing, just put it down as another Jap pilot gone wacky. Anyway, they won’t feel there’s any danger. But they might send another plane up to have a look and see what’s wrong. I’d just hope to be on my way by that time and out of his reach. Anyway, that’s one of the chances we take. While I’m flying there I can get the Jap radio in shape, so that I could radio a message to you if I saw I was going to be shot down. You could surface for a short while about the time that might be happening, so you’d get any message.”

“Well,” Larry said, “there are a lot of if’s in this whole proposition, but for some reason I like it.”

“What’s the gamble?” Scoot demanded.

“You,” Larry said. “Your life.”

“And that’s mighty little chance for the U.S. Navy to take if it means finding this convoy early enough to wipe it out before it reaches Truk. If the idea doesn’t work, then we’ve just been wrong and missed our convoy. Maybe you pick me up safe and sound as planned and maybe not. That’s all.”

“What do you think, March?” Larry asked.

“Well—” March hesitated. “Well—I think it’s worth a shot, if Scoot thinks he can get that plane away.”

“That’s the easiest part of it,” Scoot said. “Remember what a good swimmer I am. I swam to get to the sub and now I’ll swim away from it.”

Larry Gray thought for a while before making up his mind. It was his responsibility, this decision, and he had to weigh it carefully. Finally he spoke.

“All right, we’ll try it,” he said, and Scoot allowed himself a mild whoop of pleasure. “Here’s the plan, to get it clear. We surface in about six hours, when everybody except a sentry or two will be asleep. Scoot is ready to go and he swims to the plane. We stay up just long enough to see that he gets away, then we dive and set out on our course which Scoot knows. He flies toward the passage above Mindinao, where I think the convoy might be. If he doesn’t sight it within two hours flying he turns around and flies back, landing on the sea at a spot agreed on in advance. If the weather’s bad, that’ll be tough, of course. We surface for a while, riding the vents and ready to crash-dive. So we can pick up Scoot if he’s even near the designated spot.”

Larry paused for a moment and the others remained silent.

“If Scoot sights the convoy, he can tell fast how many ships, what speed, what direction. He heads back for that spot on the ocean as planned and we pick him up. If the Japs send up a plane or planes to get him, and if they attack him, he’ll try to parachute out with his life belt, or get his plane down whole or something so he can be picked up on our course. Anyway, if attacked, he may radio us about the convoy first if he’s been able to get the plane’s radio going.”

“What do we do,” March asked, “if Scoot does find the convoy?”

“Then we radio,” Larry said. “The Japs may hear us, but we can’t help that. But we’ll go on in to the attack alone. We’ll try to get under and come up in the middle of the convoy so as to scatter it in time for the other subs and the planes that will be coming after they get our radio message.”

“All clear,” March said. “Now let’s set our course and select our spot for picking up Scoot.”