Roy J. Snell

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.

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.

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:

“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.