“Dan-Danny?” he sputtered, coughing up salt water. “Why yes, once. He was after a sub. Got him, I guess. But there were the AA guns, you know.”
Yes, Sally knew. She had heard them. Her heart ached at the thought of them.
Other planes came in. Had they seen Danny?
“No Danny.”
Were they going out again?
Orders were not to go. All subs had been accounted for. Looked as if a fog would blow in any time. It had been a grand day.
At last all planes were in but one, and that was Danny’s.
Then came the fog. Drifting in from the north, where fogs are born, it hid every ship of the convoy from Sally’s view.
Turning, she walked bravely along the deck, climbed down the ladder, entered her room, threw herself on her berth, and sobbed her heart out to an empty world.
Finally, she sat up resolutely, and her eyes fell on the secret radio. Here was an idea, perhaps a way out. Danny was out there on the sea. He must be. His plane carried a rubber raft. She would not give up hope. They were not yet too far from shore for heavy searching planes to reach the spot. She would get their location. Then she would radio to Silent Storm. He’d send out a plane, a dozen big planes from the shore. They could not fail to find Danny.