“That makes the whole works, sir,” said the destroyer skipper to Fraser.
“Yes,” answered he, “but we’re going to keep on sweeping for a while. We can’t take any chances of any of them getting back to tell the tale. It isn’t likely, but there’s just a small chance that some of them, even with visible wreckage blown off, might not be too much damaged to get home. Then, too, an eighth sub might have joined them after they left Gib.”
And so the sweep went on. And at last, early in the afternoon, the nets had been drawn in till there was less than a square mile enclosed. Then it was that the chasers were able to sweep the entire area at a single stroke, their line stretching clear across it. Three times they swept it thus, but nothing more did they find. Then the sweeping ceased, and in single file the chasers left the enclosure. Still the nets were towed closer together as they were being reeled in aboard the ships, and finally they were brought together in pairs till there was no room left for a submarine to lie between them. Then only did Fraser signal that the hunt was over and the fleet would return to its base.
“Evans,” he said, “your radio-compass men, both at Saint Michael’s and Madeira, did a good job in spotting these subs so soon after they left Gib.”
“Yes,” said Barton; “that helped a lot; it gave us a good start. Still, the trump card was the code. By the way, Captain, don’t forget to send the escort out to meet that convoy just as soon as you can spare it.”
Fraser laughed.
“Well,” he said, “I think we all rate a good rest after this.”
As the procession headed for Punta Delgada, the tired officers sought their bunks, all that could be spared from the duties of the watch. For many hours the nervous tension had been unremitting. A sense of triumph pervaded the flotilla, which combined with fatigue made for easy relaxation. But in Evans, underlying this feeling was a sense of oppression due to the horror of the submarine carnage. Added to this there lurked the fear that the story of the trap might reach the enemy and rob his magic talisman of its power to do, possibly, even greater things in the future.
No more doubts were raised as to the utility of the net-layers. The eagerness of all concerned to be out again in search of more submarines was rather inclined to go beyond the dictates of good judgment. For it was not every night that a line of drifters could hope to intercept another such group. At all events, the enthusiasm bred of the adventure was a wholesome tonic, and on every hand the energies of officers and men were bent to the task of bringing about other successful hunts.
Meanwhile Evans devoted his energies to exercising a tireless surveillance over the radio stations in the islands. Wherever there was a transmitter he found an excuse to go and tinker with the apparatus, apparently too much absorbed in the wiring to notice the operators or their handling of the traffic; in reality, looking for any indication that might mean leakage of information to the enemy. Commander Barton installed secret agents at every station from which messages could go out, camouflaged as “strikers” or “makee-learn” operators, and these were charged with the duty of watching with eternal vigilance for evidence of suspicious messages.