Nancy seemed a bit startled by this, but Sally said: “That will be swell!”
“It Could Be a Flight of Our Bombers.”
“You see,” said Storm, “when you are on a ship you are constantly changing your position. Once you are at the center of the Atlantic, if these secret broadcasters put on a show like this for you, and if it is north, south, or west of you, you’ll know at once that they are subs and not bombers.
“And then!” he struck the table a blow, “then we’ll go after them. Last year we lost twelve million tons of shipping to those wolf-packs. Think of it! A million tons a month. That might mean the losing of the war.
“But with this secret radio of yours, if things are as we suppose them to be, what we won’t do to those inhuman beasts who have machine-gunned men struggling in the water and women on rafts!”
After that night, Sally had waited, impatiently, for the return of Danny’s ship. Then one day she met Danny on the street.
“Yes,” he whispered. “We are safely back. She’s a grand, old ship. I got a sub.”
“Danny! Good for you!” She wanted to hug him right there on the street.
“We’re sailing tomorrow night with a fresh convoy,” he confided, “and I’ve been told you are to sail with us.”