“They are sleeping,” she told herself. Then the lines of a very old poem ran through her mind:
At midnight in his guarded tent the Turk lay dreaming of the hour
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, should tremble at his power.
“There will be no trembling,” she told herself stoutly. She knew that all had been arranged. If she reported that the subs were again moving in to the attack, the big land bombers would be notified and would return to surprise the wary foe. But would the subs attack? Only time could tell.
At the eerie hour of three in the morning, she began picking up messages, sent from sub to sub, some near, some far away.
“I think reinforcements are coming in,” she phoned the Skipper, who was at the bridge.
“Good! Then we will have more to destroy,” was his reply.
The hour before dawn came at last and with it the enemy subs, at least ten in number, slowly closing in. With a radio message sent to the mainland, they could but wait the dawn.
This time, confident of success and eager for the kill, the subs surfaced and came racing in. They were met by bombs from every plane the aircraft carrier could muster and from thirty land bombers as well. Their rout was complete, and the destruction, insofar as could be learned, was to them a great disaster.
Leaving the land-based bombers to finish the job, the convoy steamed on toward its destination.