“Right!” grunted Don, pushing the other toward the ladder. “You take Jerry up and get him down to the boat. I’ve got a little job to do before I follow you; so don’t wait.”
“But, Don!” protested the red-haired officer. “I can’t leave you here....”
“On your way, Lieutenant!” snapped the young commander. “Obey orders and get that seaman down to the boat. Lively, now!”
Talking to himself in a bitter undertone, Red Pennington toiled up the ladder with his heavy burden. He’d obey those orders, all right, but Don hadn’t forbidden him to return after seeing Jerry safely in the boat. If his commanding officer was going to stick around where the bombs were dropping, a certain husky lieutenant meant to share the danger with him!
Meantime, Don Winslow had returned to the chartroom, and was hastily disconnecting the main electric cables leading to the Scorpion’s weather mapping machine.
The invention was priceless, if it could be salvaged. Heavy as it was, Don thought he might be able to carry it up the ladder.
As he worked, with flashlight and screwdriver, wrench and pliers, two more bomb explosions shook the underground base.
Little by little, a stifling, smoky odor filled the air of the chartroom. Tears filled Don’s smarting eyes, inflamed by the acrid fumes. His breath came raspingly between dry coughs.
Reluctantly he dropped his tools and fumbled for the doorknob.
“Those were gas bombs, not TNT!” he mumbled thickly, as he stumbled from the room. “Smoke’s coming down the hatch. Got to get up where there’s some—uh—air to breathe!”