“You didn’t save me from any Japs,” Scoot snorted. “Just from boredom spending the rest of the war on that island. But let me tell you another thing—you don’t know how close you came to getting killed.”
“What do you mean?” Larry asked.
“I mean you ought to pin a medal on whoever it is in your crew that sings ‘Carry me Back to old Virginny,’” Scoot said. “Up to that time I had decided you were Japs and I was getting a machine gun out of my plane.”
“You mean you were going to attack us single-handed?” demanded Stan Bigelow.
“Sure—I didn’t have anybody else to help me, so it had to be single-handed,” Scoot said. “I didn’t think I could sink the sub, but I thought I could wait till a lot of officers and men were on deck and pick off most of them.”
“Now, that’s the spirit I like,” Larry said. “Glad to have you along on this trip with us.”
“Oh—” Scoot looked startled. “I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose I have to go along with you.”
March laughed. “Of course, you do. We’re not a bus service. We’re out looking for a Jap convoy and we can’t very well take time to run you back to your base or carrier before going on.”
“Well, so I’m a submariner after all,” Scoot said. “Nice looking boat, I must say. Can I look her over?”
“Sure, from stem to stern,” Larry agreed. “But not until you’ve eaten something. I imagine that island didn’t provide you with much of a dinner. The cook is fixing up something for you.”