“Darrin, I wish we had you in our Navy!” he said, simply.
There was little more left to be agreed upon. It was decided, however, that a combined fleet of British and American patrol boats should be in readiness to swoop down and save lives in case any of the American troopships should be torpedoed.
The council soon broke up. All that was now left to be done was for the vice admiral and his immediate staff to formulate the exact plans for the protection of the One Hundred and Seventeenth Division. Even after the destroyer fleet had turned itself loose on its task, further instructions could be sent in wireless code.
“Gentlemen,” said the vice admiral, rising, “I thank you for your attendance, for your consideration of the problem, and for whatever help you have been able to extend. And I can see no objection,” he added, a twinkle in his eyes, “to your giving three cheers for Lieutenant-Commander Darrin.”
Proud? Not a bit. As the volleys of cheers rang out deafeningly, Dave Darrin felt as though he would enjoy sinking through the deck.
But Danny Grin was there, and he undertook the job of feeling proud for his chum.
[CHAPTER VI—THE GLOW-WORM OF THE SEA]
Out upon the tossing sea once more. It was a wonder that the “Logan” did not sit much deeper in the water, for she carried a most unusual load of ammunition of every useful kind.
Out upon the sea, and seemingly alone at that. Not a sail was visible to the officers on the taut little destroyer, not a trail of smoke appeared on any part of the horizon. Indeed, the present speed and low fuel consumption aboard the “Logan” allowed only the thinnest wisps of smoke to issue from the raking funnels of the destroyer.
Had Dave needed other destroyer company, for any urgent reason, a signal snapping from his radio aerials would bring one, perhaps two, American destroyers to him within an hour. For some of these bulldog little fighting craft, that were out after the deep-sea pests, were capable of making more than thirty knots an hour.