Sailing through the lake was like a pleasant excursion trip on a lake steamer. The thick jungles were unlike anything most of the men had seen before and they looked about them with curiosity. Through the locks at Pedro Miguel and then at little Lake Miraflores, and they were once more at sea level—this time at the level of the Pacific. They dropped the pilot at the edge of the long breakwater and then headed out to sea, looking back at the lights of the city of Panama which were beginning to twinkle in the growing darkness. “Not much time for sightseeing when you’re on submarines,” Stan said, as he and March climbed down to the control room. “Not when there’s a war going on, anyway,” March said. “We’re in the Pacific now, Stan. How does it feel?” “Just like the Atlantic,” Stan said. “Not to me,” March mused. “This is the ocean we’re going to do our fighting in. This is the ocean where I’ve already done a fair amount of battling Japs. But this time, I think I’m going to do a lot better.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER ELEVEN UNDER WAY AGAIN In San Francisco, Stan and March had two days for a little of the sightseeing they had looked forward to, but they both spent most of their time at other tasks. March passed several hours at a telephone stand trying to get through a call home. When it finally went through he talked for five minutes with his mother and gave her his San Francisco address. She sounded cheerful and not at all worried, and asked him if he might see Scoot Bailey. “Scoot’s address is San Francisco, too,” she said. “I know,” March laughed, “and the address of quite a few thousands of other sailors and soldiers. I think he must have got out of Frisco before this, unless he was held up here for lack of transportation. I might as well try to find out, though.” “Maybe you’ll see him out where you’re going,” his mother said. “I doubt it very much,” March said. “Even though we did have a joke about how my submarine would probably have to save him from the Japs out there.” When he finished talking to his mother, he decided he might as well try to find out if Scoot were still in town. He had probably arrived two or three weeks before. It wasn’t likely that he’d still be around, but sometimes men were held up that long. “If Scoot _were_ held up that long,” March said to himself, “he’d be just about crazy. I think he’d start swimming to get out to his carrier or plane or base or wherever he’ll be.” March spent most of the afternoon trying to find out about Scoot. Each office said it didn’t have the information or couldn’t give it to him, until he finally reached the right place and learned that Scoot had left San Francisco by plane for his “destination” twelve days before. He met Stan for dinner, after which they went to a movie. The Skipper had given them leave until a few hours before they were due to sail.