“March,” Gray said. “I don’t know what the devil this is, but I feel like passing out. Anyway—and this is an order from your Captain—carry out plans exactly as we have laid them out. You’re in command of this submarine when I’m—er, incapacitated. McFee will help you carry on. Go get that convoy!” “We’ll get it, Larry,” March said. “But you’ll do the job, because you’ll be up and around by the time we get there. Or at least you can direct the battle from your bunk.” Gray smiled and let his head fall back. He seemed to be sleeping. Then Sallini reappeared and Mac and March stepped to the companionway and watched through the door while the pharmacist did what he could for Gray. The Skipper was unconscious and they had done all they could. March, with a heavy heart, stepped back into the control room and took the interphone from the orderly. “The Skipper’s been wounded,” he said to the entire ship. “I know that makes you all feel just as badly as I feel right now. Sallini’s done all he can for him and he’s resting. Can’t tell much about his condition, but I’ll let you know regularly how he is.” Then he gave the order to surface the boat and they went ahead on course in the darkness. March stood his watch on the bridge, looking ahead in the blackness, wondering how Scoot was making out up there, and how the Skipper was making out in his own blackness down below. Sallini had given Larry some blood plasma to overcome some of the loss of blood that the Skipper had suffered, but Gray was still unconscious. When March went below as Stan came to relieve him, he found Sallini worried. “His fever’s going up,” he said. “I’ve just given him more sulfa. Don’t know what it can be but there’s infection somewhere. Wish I could get those slugs out of him, but that’s a ticklish business.” “We’ll wait and see,” March said. “Maybe the sulfa will lick the infection and the fever will come down. If not—well, we’ll decide then what to do. Meanwhile, get some sleep. You’ve been up all night.” March lay down on his bunk for a while and managed to drift off to sleep for three hours. Just as dawn was breaking he got up and had a cup of coffee, had the boat submerged to periscope depth, and traveled ahead more slowly, checking regularly to make sure he was exactly on the course he had agreed on with Scoot. [Illustration: _The Skipper Was Still Unconscious_] “I wonder how Scoot’s making out,” he said. “He might be pretty near that convoy now—if there’s a convoy there.” Scoot was at that moment disgusted. He had been able to do nothing with the Jap plane’s radio during all these hours, and now, even with more light to see by, he could not get it working. “Maybe when the Japs order radio silence,” he told himself, “they enforce it by gumming up the radio some way so it _can’t_ be used. Anyway, I can’t do anything with this baby. I’m going to be keeping radio silence whether I want to or not.”