“Commander Geibel was an officer in the Imperial German Navy. He fought through the war. I’ve never been in action before, but I’ve had a couple of years at the U. S. Naval Academy and I know that our Commander is doing the one thing possible to save his ships.”
“Then I suppose you think it a waste of time and effort for us to be manning the guns?”
Bill laughed good-naturedly and clapped the incensed lieutenant on the shoulder. “Let’s not fight about it. Clearing for action and manning the guns is okay. It’s splendid discipline and helps the morale of the crew. But you know just as well as I do, Schneider, that if we win out, coal will do it, not gunpowder.”
“I’m sorry,” apologized the German, and offered his hand.
Bill took it, feeling rather silly.
“Here it comes!” he cried a moment later, as a white cloud of smoke enveloped the cruiser’s forward turret.
“Missed!” exclaimed the lieutenant. “I can’t hand your compatriots much on their shooting, Bolton. That shot didn’t come within a thousand meters of the ship.”
“That was just meant as a warning,” explained Bill. “Those gunners know they aren’t yet within range of this ship. It’s the next five minutes that’s going to tell the tale.”
Lieutenant Schneider studied the battleship through his sea glasses. “She’s steaming more to the eastward,” he remarked sharply.
“And we’ve sheered off a point or two. The fog’s coming our way—and coming fast. It’s getting darker by the minute. The sun’s almost washed out. Gosh, this is better than a horse race. Doesn’t it give you a thrill, Schneider?”