A roar of voices went up from the decks of the destroyer in reply to this cheer. A gun fore and aft spoke; both crews had been ordered to fire at the same object. That was the open conning tower of the submarine. If ever American shells fell true, those two did! Right at the start the submarine’s chances for escape were made nil. The conning tower was wrecked and the craft could not safely submerge. But she could fight. Her gunners turned their weapons on the destroyer, and the shells began to shriek through the upperworks of the fast naval ship. There were several casualties aboard the _Colodia_ within the first few minutes. But the submarine’s most dangerous projectiles, the auto-torpedoes, could not be successfully used. As the destroyer swept past, the Germans sent one of these sharklike things full at her. But the _Colodia_ darted between the submarine and the flaming ship, and the projectile passed her stern, landing full against the side of the _Western Star_. The reverberating crash of the explosion was enough to wreck one’s eardrums, so near was it. But all the time the destroyer was giving the crippled submarine broadside after broadside of guns; the upperworks of the German craft were fast becoming a twisted mass of wreckage! Again and again the Americans’ guns swept the fated submarine. But the latter was a spitfire. Behind armored fortresses her men fired her guns with a rapidity that could but arouse the admiration of the boys on the _Colodia_. “Got to hand it to the Heinies!” yelled somebody. “They have bulldog pluck.” “Put a shell where it will do some good, boys!” begged one of the officers. “We haven’t landed a hit in her ‘innards’--and that is where the shells tell.” “My goodness!” gasped Whistler, working beside Al Torrance on one of the forward guns, “_that_ shell told something--believe me!” The shot he meant seemed to have exploded under the deck of the submarine. Yards upon yards of the armorplate was lifted and splintered as a baseball might splinter a window. The destroyer was rounding the submarine at top speed. Volley after volley was poured into the rocking German craft. One shell wiped out a deck gun and all the Germans manning it. The slaughter was terrible. And yet her remaining guns were worked with precision--with desperate precision. She could not hold the range as the Americans did, but her crew showed courage as well as perfect training. The position of the submarine was hopeless, yet they fought on. Sweat was pouring into Phil Morgan’s eyes as he worked with his crew members over the hot gun. The sun was scorching, anyway; it was the very hottest place he and Al Torrance had ever got into, counting the big fight when they were with the _Kennebunk_, and all! The destroyer received very little punishment. If the submarine did fight like a spitfire, her shells accomplished little damage.