Biting his lips, the stocky lieutenant ripped the waterproof silk from his Navy Colt’s revolver. Though he could have led a landing party in the face of machine gun fire, without a qualm of fear, the idea of becoming shark meat while still alive was hard for Red Pennington to get used to.
“Here’s hopin’ there aren’t any other sharks around!” he gulped. “If I don’t see any in the next two minutes, I’m gonna shoot this one so full of holes....”
“Hold it!” Don Winslow rapped out. “I see another fin—no, it’s three more! And more coming, off there to port. Great guns, Red! We’re right in the middle of a school of them!”
Calmly, he took a squint at the chambers of his revolver making sure they were all loaded.
“You see now, Red, why I wouldn’t take automatic pistols,” he said. “Those things jam up after a little exposure to salt water. These revolvers can take it.”
“Yeah!” responded Red bitterly. “But what good’s all that goin’ to do us if they come too fast for us to shoot? HEY! LOOK OUT! HE’S COMING FOR YOU, DON!”
Twenty feet to starboard, a huge fin was driving straight toward them. In another second the killer shark would roll over for the bite, Don knew.
Instead of firing, however, he brought both arms down flat on the water, with a tremendous splash. At the same time, he yelled like a trapped hyena.
With a quick swirl, the shark changed his course; but even so, it was a close call. So close that the killer’s mighty tail slapped against Don’s legs with numbing force.
“Wha-what’s the big idea?” gurgled Red, twisting his neck to watch the shark’s departure. “You had time to shoot him, Skipper!”