"In our drive against the submarines off the Irish coast," Dave continued, "we met perils enough to satisfy the average salt water man. But this——"
"Is going to prove the very essence and joy of real fighting work at sea!" Dan interposed.
"Oh, you old fire-eater!" laughed Darrin.
"Not a bit of a fire-eater," declared Dalzell with dignity. "I'm a business man, Davy. Our business, just now, is to win the war by killing Germans, and I've embarked upon that career with all the enthusiasm that goes with it. That's all."
"And quite enough," Darrin added, soberly. "I agree with you that it's our business to kill Germans, yet I could wish that the Germans themselves were in better business, for then we wouldn't have to do any killing."
"You talk almost like a pacifist," snorted Dan Dalzell.
"After this war has been won by our side, but not before, I hope to find it possible to be a pacifist for at least a few years," smiled Darrin, rising from his seat at the chart table.
Dan stood looking out through the starboard porthole. His glance roved over other craft of war tugging at their anchors in the goodly harbor of a port on the coast of England. As the destroyer swung lazily at her moorings the little port town came into view. On all sides were signs of war. Forts upreared their grim walls. Earthen redoubts screened guns that alert artillerymen could bring into play at a moment's notice. Overhead, dirigibles floated and airplanes buzzed dinfully to and fro.
Readers of the preceding volume in this series know how Dave Darrin came to be ordered to the command of the brand-new, big and up-to-the-minute destroyer, "Asa Grigsby," while Dan Dalzell, reaching the grade of lieutenant-commander, had been ordered to the command of the twin destroyer, "Joseph Reed."
At the door there sounded a knock so insistent that Darrin knew instantly that it was a summons. Springing from his chair, reaching for his uniform cap and setting it squarely on his head, he drew the curtains aside.
