When Kentucky and two of his night fighting comrades made their way back to the carrier they were greeted with enthusiasm.
“You did it!” The Commander gripped Kentucky’s hand. “You broke up their formation! Not a torpedo found its mark. But where is Ted?” His voice dropped.
“We don’t know, sir,” said Kentucky, wrinkling his brow. “We had to scatter, and go on our own.”
“Of course.”
“Red saw him climbing for altitude, sir—thought his motor might have been smoking.”
“Yes, sir. That’s the way it was,” Red put in. “After that the moon went under for quite a while. When it came out his plane was gone. I thought I saw a white gleam like a parachute in the moonlight quite close to the water, but I wasn’t sure.”
“We’ll hope he made a safe landing,” said the Commander. “We have to go in about a hundred miles. The Marines go ashore at dawn. We must furnish them a protecting screen. You boys have done a fine job. Now get some chow and rest. We’ll need you again soon. It’s going to be a long pull for you, but this is war.”
The moon had come out just in time for Ted’s landing. He sank beneath the sea, lost his grip on the rubber raft, then came up for air.
The moon was still out. His raft was some ten yards away. After disengaging himself from his chute, he swam to the raft, then worked himself into it with great care. This accomplished, he paddled to his chute, squeezed the water out of it as best he could, then deposited it on one end of the raft.
He took off his clothing. The air was warm. He was not uncomfortable. After wringing out his clothes he put them all on again except his heavy flying jacket. He was warm enough without wearing the jacket.