"Any losses?" asked Sefton, feeling ready to kick himself for being out of the scrap.
"Don't know yet," was the reply. "I only----"
The lieutenant's words were interrupted by the blare of a bugle. Turning on his heels he rushed forward at top speed, for at last the rousing order "Action at the Double" was given.
In an instant all was a scene of "orderly confusion", each man running with a set purpose. For the most part the crew were stripped to the waist--a crowd of muscular-armed, deep-chested, clean-shaven men in the very pink of condition. Still exchanging banter, they disappeared to their battle-stations, eager and alert to let loose a hail of shell upon the first hostile vessel that came within range.
"Come along, old man," exclaimed the young sub who had previously "cottoned on" to Jack Sefton. "Now's your chance if you want to see the fun."
The two junior officers made their way for'ard, past the starboard guns in their isolated and closely-sealed steel turrets, until they reached the foremast.
"Up with you," said Sefton's companion laconically.
Sefton agilely ascended to the dizzy perch known as the fire-control platform. The other sub followed quickly at his heels, squeezed through the narrow aperture in the floor of the enclosed space, and slammed to the metal hinged cover.
"At last!" he exclaimed gleefully.
Sefton only nodded in complete accord. A clock on the after side of the steel wall indicated 5.45. A glance to the deck a hundred feet below showed no sign of life. There was nothing to show that confined within that double-wedge-shaped hull were close upon seven hundred human beings, all with one set purpose, as the thirteen thousand tons of dead-weight forged ahead at full speed towards a distant blurr just visible through the ever-varying haze.