Both managed to take the water safely, though they began to sink a moment later. Their crews plunged overboard, swimming toward the Gatoon.
Immediately a boat was lowered by the yacht. Glancing down Don Winslow cut his throttle.
“We’ll land on the other side of the Gatoon, Red, and taxi in under the stern. Splendor will moor his plane near the bow until they hoist it aboard, and....”
“Wait, Don!” Red Pennington cried sharply. “Splendor’s waggling his wings to signal us. He’s trying to tell us something.”
Don Winslow, banking in a slow turn squinted out over the sunlit ocean. Against the horizon, just over the tail of the other seaplane appeared a V-shaped group of dots.
“It’s the Navy squadron we radioed for!” the young commander chuckled. “I’d forgotten all about them, Red! And, say—will those boys be peeved at having missed the fight!”
He was still grinning at the thought when he set the captured seaplane down on the bumpy water, in a cloud of spray. His expression changed, however, as the craft developed a sharp list to port, which grew steeper every second.
“Hey, Skipper!” cried Red Pennington, in alarm. “Those bullets must have made a sieve of our left pontoon. The wing’s goin’ to 'catch a crab’!”
As he spoke, the left wing tip caught a wave and went under. The whole plane shuddered, swung about and lost the remainder of its speed. Another wave slapped loudly against the listing fuselage.
Don Winslow unsnapped his safety belt and faced around.