About This Book
"Anything sighted?" called Lieutenant-Commander Dave Darrin as he stepped briskly from the little chart-room back of the wheel-house and turned his face toward the bridge. "Nothing, sir, all afternoon," responded Lieutenant Dan Dalzell from the bridge. Dave ran lightly up the steps, returning, as he reached the bridge, the salutes of Dalzell, executive officer, and of Ensign Phelps, officer of the deck. "It's been a dull afternoon, then?" queried Darrin, his eyes viewing the sea, whose waters rose and fell in gentle swells. No land was in sight from the bridge of the United States torpedo boat destroyer, "John J. Logan," which was moving at cruising speed westerly from the coast of Ireland. The course lay through the "Danger Zone" created by the presence of unknown numbers of hidden German submarines. For a winter day the weather had been warm. Forward the two men of the bow watch and the crews of the rapid-fire guns had removed their coats and had left them below. Though there was neither enemy nor friendly craft in sight, Darrin noted with swift if silent approval that there was no evidence of lax watch. At port and starboard, amidships, there were men on watch, as also at the stern. Members of gun-crews lounged close to their stations, to which additional men could be summoned in a flash. Aft, also, two men stood by the device from which it might be necessary, at any instant, to drop a depth bomb.
