The commander nodded. “She attacked a convoy last night. Gave no warning. Sank three ships, then was away.”
For a moment the commander sat staring at the wall. “It’s very irregular,” he murmured.
“This is an irregular war, not fought by rules. Fought by men. Thank God for that!” The young Lord’s chin was up.
“All right. I’ll see what I can do.” The commander stood up. “Report to me here at noon.”
The young Lord saluted, then marched away.
An hour later he was engaged in a heated argument with his good friend, Alice. “But, Alice!” his voice rose. “It’s impossible! A woman on a sea-patrol bomber! Suppose we catch up with that ruthless pirate.”
“All right.” Alice stood up sturdy and tall. “Suppose we do?”
“It won’t be a one-sided fight. That raider carries anti-aircraft guns. Death may be waiting at those crossroads of the sea.”
“Death.” Alice’s voice was low. “In this war not just young men are giving their lives for the land they love. Men and women and children are. It’s everybody’s war.
“Harm!” (She seldom used that name of other days. In her soul was written traditional homage to nobility.) “It is Cherry who is out there on those black waters. Our Cherry! Peggy and Tillie are with her. A woman’s eyes are always sharper than a man’s. Always when we were children it was my eyes, not yours, that saw the lark soaring skyward or the finches hiding in the hedges. Harman, let me go!”