“I wasn’t here. They carried him out,” said Sally.
“And Tobin?”
“He has two broken ribs,” was the quiet reply.
“I’ll send you a young second lieutenant. He knows radio.”
“We—we’ll make out.” Sally hated herself for stammering.
“Good!” He was gone.
Had the enemy gun crew had their way, Sally would by this time have been among the missing. But, thanks to the timely warning, all the men of the aircraft carrier had been at their posts when the sub appeared on the surface.
The instant the sub poked its snout out of the water the long noses of five-inch guns were being trained on it. The first enemy shot had crashed into the radio cabin, but every other shot went wild. One went singing over Sally’s head and another cut a stanchion not ten feet from where she stood, but she had worked on.
More and more guns were trained on the sub. A colored crew chanted: “’Mm, I got shoes, you got shoes, all God’s chillun got shoes.”
“Bang! Pass up another shell, brother. That un wrecked the conning tower. ’Ummm, I got shoes, you got shoes—”