day ago, he
would not have dreamed it possible. A day ago, he would have proclaimed
with the cynical Barkley, "A sailor's got no politics. What the hell's
it to me if Garson is Big Boss? I'm just a little tooth in a big gear.
Uncle pays my keep. I ask no questions."

And now he was running like hell and stealing several million bucks
worth of Uncle's Navy, all because Garson's pomposity and a radio
operator's voice got under his skin. How could a man be so crazy?

But no, that _couldn't_ be it, he thought. Jeezil! He must have some
better reason. Sort of a last straw, maybe. But he had been conscious of
no great resentment against the war or the Navy or the government.
Historically speaking, wars had never done a great deal of harm--no more
harm than industrial or traffic accidents.

Why was this war any different? It promised to be more destructive than
the others, but that was drawing a rather narrow line. Who was he to
draw his bayonet across the road and say, "Stop here. This is the
limit."

Mitch turned his back toward the whipping spray and stared aft along the
phosphorescent, moon-swept wake of his mechanical shark. The radio was
still barking at him with Barkley's clipped tones.

"Last warning, Laskell! Get on that microphone or suffer the
consequences! We know where you are. I'll give you fifteen minutes, then
we'll come get you. Over and out."

Thanks for the warning, Mitch thought. In a few minutes, he would have
to submerge. His eyes swept the moon-washed heavens for signs of
aircraft, and he watched the dark horizon for hints of pursuit.

He meant to keep the northeasterly course for perhaps ten hours, then
turn off and cruise southeast, passing below Bermuda and on out into the
central Atlantic. Then south--perhaps to Africa or Brazil. A fugitive
for the rest of his days.

"Sugar William Niner Zero," barked the radio. "This is Commsubfleet
Jaybird. Over."

Mitch moistened his lips nervously. The voice was no longer Barkley's.
Commsubfleet Jaybird was Admiral Harrinore. He chuckled bitterly then,
realizing that he was still automatically startled by rank. He remained
in the conning tower, listening.

"Sugar William Niner Zero, this is Commsubfleet Jaybird. If you will
obey orders immediately, I guarantee that you will be allowed to accept
summary discipline. No court martial if you comply. You are to return to
base at once. Otherwise, we shall be forced to blast you out of the
ocean as a desert