"Unless they come out with hands up, instantly shoot to kill," I replied positively.
She brought the rifle across the gunwale, resting on one knee in the cockpit, her body tense and alert. Her steadiness was inspiring. I knew then that the man I most wanted, the man with the bandaged hand, would know I was protected, for he had already tested her markmanship.
A moan came from the reviving father drinking the life-giving oxygen.
"Yes, Daddy, I will be there in a few minutes. Breathe the oxygen deep and you will be up soon," she called to him affectionately, at the same time gazing steadily along the rifle barrel trained upon the Boche boat.
"Is there another 'terror' in the Titian?" I asked as I stepped into the boat and pushed off.
"Under the stern seat," she replied, without taking her face from the gunstock.
I started the motor of the little boat, swung around and came boldly down upon the sunken bow of the Boche boat, fastened to it, and took a position just in front of the cabin. There was no sound of life inside.
I called to them to surrender and come out with hands up or I would dynamite the wreck and send them to Hell there and then.
This order started muffled voices inside, but with no apparent inclination to obey.
I repeated the order, and added, "I will give you just one minute to line up or be blown up."