"Never!" Colonel Welsh echoed grimly. "And we can both hope, and pray. But may I ask you something, sir?" "Why, certainly, Colonel," the other replied instantly. "I don't think you and I have any secrets aboard this ship. Go right ahead and ask." "Your plans," the Intelligence Chief asked bluntly. "Just what do you plan to do now, sir?" The Admiral didn't answer at once. Yet it was not because he was reluctant to speak. It was simply a case of wanting to choose his words first. "The Solomons," he said, and glanced at the huge naval chart of the Southwest Pacific that covered all of one wall in his quarters. "By pushing things we can get within striking distance by early dawn. I think that's the thing to do. The only thing we can do. Get right down in there and do what we can to help the land forces." "Yes, I guess that's best," Colonel Welsh said, and glanced sadly out one of the ports at the red ball of fire that was the dying sun balanced on the western lip of the wall. "But what if we get down in among those islands and that Jap force comes up on us by surprise? You'll be in mighty tight waters. And they're bound to send dive bombers over from their Lae base, too." "Do?" the task force commander echoed in a harsh voice, as his chin came out in a fighting pose. "I'll slug it out with them until I haven't a plane left or a deck under my feet, sir! And I can tell you, sir, that my ships and planes will not be the _only_ ones lost, if the Japs catch us with our bows to those islands. Our forces have _got_ to take Guadalcanal! And that's all there is to that. We can't let them trim us this time. By God, no, sir!" Colonel Welsh smiled, nodded, and lifted his coffee cup and held it poised in midair. "To whatever happens, sir," he toasted. "And may we have all the best of it!" The task force commander lifted his own coffee cup, and nodded, too. "And we will, by God, sir!" he said through clenched teeth. "Just as long as we've got a ship floating or a plane flying! Amen!" And the two high ranking officers drank silently. CHAPTER SIXTEEN _Luck of the Doomed_ "And now, the sixty-four dollar question," Dave Dawson got out in a bitter, puzzled voice. "What in thunder is the big idea? Go ahead and answer, Freddy." "I can't even make a guess," the English youth groaned, and turned from staring out the empty cabin port. "All I can say is that I am absolutely and completely baffled. I don't understand it at all. What the deuce suddenly caused that Sasebo to have us herded back to this empty cabin again? After the way you raved at him, if he had drawn his samurai sword and chopped off your thick head, I could have understood. But to not so much as bat an eye, and then obviously order that big chap to bring us back here...? Well, it's quite beyond me. Quite!" "You can say that again for me!" Dawson grunted. "But where do you get that chopped off your thick head stuff, huh?"