“Well,” Larry said, “there are a lot of if’s in this whole proposition, but for some reason I like it.”
“What’s the gamble?” Scoot demanded.
“You,” Larry said. “Your life.”
“And that’s mighty little chance for the U.S. Navy to take if it means finding this convoy early enough to wipe it out before it reaches Truk. If the idea doesn’t work, then we’ve just been wrong and missed our convoy. Maybe you pick me up safe and sound as planned and maybe not. That’s all.”
“What do you think, March?” Larry asked.
“Well—” March hesitated. “Well—I think it’s worth a shot, if Scoot thinks he can get that plane away.”
“That’s the easiest part of it,” Scoot said. “Remember what a good swimmer I am. I swam to get to the sub and now I’ll swim away from it.”
Larry Gray thought for a while before making up his mind. It was his responsibility, this decision, and he had to weigh it carefully. Finally he spoke.
“All right, we’ll try it,” he said, and Scoot allowed himself a mild whoop of pleasure. “Here’s the plan, to get it clear. We surface in about six hours, when everybody except a sentry or two will be asleep. Scoot is ready to go and he swims to the plane. We stay up just long enough to see that he gets away, then we dive and set out on our course which Scoot knows. He flies toward the passage above Mindinao, where I think the convoy might be. If he doesn’t sight it within two hours flying he turns around and flies back, landing on the sea at a spot agreed on in advance. If the weather’s bad, that’ll be tough, of course. We surface for a while, riding the vents and ready to crash-dive. So we can pick up Scoot if he’s even near the designated spot.”
Larry paused for a moment and the others remained silent.