CHAPTER X

THE HOTTEST WORK OF ALL

From the troopship line, as the “Logan” dashed away, Darrin could hear the guns of the transports that were coming up and near enough to take part in the fight. Wherever a periscope showed itself it was bound to invite fire from half a dozen gunners in almost the same instant.

“Sorry, but you soldiers will all have to go inside and remain there,” ordered Lieutenant Dan Dalzell. “We have no room for any one on deck except our crew.”

To most of the soldiers it seemed hard to be deprived of a view of the only thing that interested them, but Navy officers, in issuing orders, have a way of speaking that does not admit of doubt as to their meaning.

“There goes the ‘Castle City’ by the bow,” called a lookout, but Dave Darrin, his eyes searching for a torpedo trail, took his word for it and did not turn to look.

“Torpedo wake, sir, three points off port bow!” sang out a lookout.

Dave turned this time; the telltale line was there. His orders rapped out and the “Logan” started by the shortest cut to reach that line and to locate its source.

Even as they raced to find that submarine, a gunner on the “Logan” fired at the briefly visible periscope of another enemy craft.

Suddenly, not more than two hundred yards away, a periscope reared itself in their path, though not more than two feet of its length appeared above the water.

Intensely alert, Lieutenant Beatty himself sighted and gave the order to fire. Nor was this an easy task, for the destroyer, to avoid ramming and ripping out part of its own hull, veered aside from the direct line.

“Fire!” yelled Beatty.

The shell gave a good report of itself. It was plain that it had made a hit of some sort, though below the surface.

The destroyer swung again to face its prey. Higher came the periscope, then the conning tower emerged. It was then observed that the conning tower had been struck and a hole put through it on one side. Small though the hole was, if the craft had submerged further instead of rising, she would have been submerged for all time.

Lieutenant Beatty calmly sighted for the next shot. Just as the deck of the undersea boat came awash the manhole sprang open and the heads of two German sailors appeared.

“They’re going to try to man a gun and fight us,” Darrin concluded, swiftly.

“Fire!” ordered Beatty, calmly.

That shot could not have been better placed. It struck the tower fairly, exploding inside. It killed both men at the manhole, hurling them into the sea. Probably it killed the officer in the conning tower as well.

Beatty did not stop here. Another shell had been loaded in at the breech of the gun, and he bent forward to sight just as the upper part of the hull came into view.

“Fire!” It was a clean hit, just at the water line. Hardly an instant later, it seemed, the same gun spoke again—another water-line hit.

“Bye-bye!” murmured Dave, as he ordered the course changed. There was no need to wait, or to plant another shot, for the inrush of water had settled the fate of that submarine so speedily that there wasn’t the slightest chance for any of the Huns to save themselves. That pest settled quickly, then disappeared from view.

“Clean work—great, Mr. Beatty!” Dave called down briskly.

Mr. Beatty, though he acknowledged the compliment with a salute, did not turn to look at his superior, as prescribed by regulations, for his keen, swift glance was sweeping over the waters ahead.

And not more than a hundred yards ahead of them a faint “wake” crossed their bow, headed for one of the ships of the transport fleet. Instantly the “Logan” turned into that trail, following it back at racing speed.

It looked like Dave Darrin’s lucky day, for they plunged over the dark, heavy shadow of something that was not far below the surface.

Knowing his speed and the length of his own craft Dave timed the instant just right, then shouted:

“Let go the bomb!”

A depth bomb was instantly released over the stern.

By the time that it exploded the speeding destroyer was safely out of the way of any danger from its effects. A huge, thick column of water rose, as if overboiling from a monster pot.

“Put about and go back to observe,” Darrin directed, nodding to the watch officer.

Even before they were fully about an exultant hurrah came from a lookout forward.

“Was she hit, lookout?” Dave shouted.

“‘Hit’ is the right word, sir,” came the response. “On that spot, at this minute, there’s more oil than water.”

In another instant Dave also beheld the big, spreading mass of oil. There was no need of investigating further. He turned in search of other enemy craft.

Ten minutes passed without sight of one near enough to engage Darrin’s attention. It would not be good judgment for the “Logan” to go hunting in some other craft’s territory.

At last, a thousand yards away, a conning tower, with only a stump of a periscope remaining, rose through the waves. Time was, in the war, when a shattered periscope obliged a submarine to choose between rising to the surface and sinking, but later periscopes were so adjusted that they could be shot away without imperilling the safety of the underseas craft. This emerging craft showed also a damaged tower, and the rising had to be of the quickest order.

“I hope that chap isn’t going to surrender,” muttered Dave, as he ordered the “Logan” headed straight toward the sea monster. “It takes too long, in a fight like this, to receive a surrender and remove the prisoners.”

In a very few seconds, however, the enemy relieved his apprehensions. Beatty fired two shots, both of which went a few feet wild. In that time the German commander rushed men out to the bow gun. Though her tower was damaged, the craft could still fight on the surface.

One after another eight German sailors leaped out to the deck, throwing their six-inch forward gun into fighting position.

R-r-r-r-rip! Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat! Two machine guns on the “Logan” were turned loose. One German sailor, then another, was hit, fell and rolled from the wet platform into the sea.

Bang! roared out Lieutenant Beatty’s gun, but the shot did nothing more than tear away a part of the conning tower’s top.

Still the machine guns played upon that Hun gun-crew. Three more of the enemy were laid low, two of them rolling overboard into the sea.

A flash leaped from the German gun. A swell, lifting the bow of the submarine at that instant caused the shell to go screaming overhead, so close to the bridge that the three officers there “ducked” without realizing that they were doing so.

Aiming for the German gun, Beatty sent in a shell that pierced the top of the hull twenty feet ahead of the gun.

“Cooler, old chap!” Lieutenant Beatty breathlessly adjured himself, and spent perhaps half a second more in the sighting this time.

Just before he fired, the Huns let go with their big piece again. The shell struck the “Logan’s” foremast, damaging it, though the mast did not go overboard.

Two sailors on lookout, hit by flying pieces of steel, were hurled into the air. One dropped to the deck, a hopelessly mangled mass of torn flesh; the other seaman was knocked overboard.

Dave turned to look at that wreck of a human being as it struck the water. He knew there was no life in the man, so gave no order for recovering the body.

Down below sailors sprang to lift the dead man, who had dropped there, on to a stretcher. They carried him below, to be buried later.

Beatty did not delay his firing an instant. This time the shell struck at the base of the enemy’s tower. A fragment of the exploding shell must have hit one of the German gun-crew, for a man fell on his face and rolled overboard. However, that mattered little in the fight, for still Hun reinforcements came through what was left of the conning tower.

“I seem able to hit everything but that gun or the water-line,” fumed Lieutenant Beatty, enraged with himself.

Hit though the tower had been, and though, also, three or four members of the Hun crew must have been killed in those hits, the steering gear of the submarine was still left and the grim craft was maneuvered in a way to challenge admiration.

Considerate of the feelings of the officer with the forward guns, Darrin had refrained from giving one order, but now passed the order to the machine gunners to concentrate their fire on the enemy hull at the water line.

The water alongside the submarine began spurting in tiny jets. This sieve-like riddling would presently settle the fight, unless the Hun gunners got in just one shot where it would tell best. The fight, therefore, was not yet won by the destroyer.

“Fire!” ordered Beatty, in forced calm. Then, all in an instant, that young naval lieutenant threw up his hands.