“You don’t have to do anything,” Denning laughed. “Get down on the floor. We’ll let you know when it’s over.”
Balsinger ran up, his face glistening with sweat. “What are you doing, skipper?”
“What does it look like?”
“You’re heading into shore!”
“Talk him out of it,” Woodson urged Balsinger.
“You’re not?” said Balsinger, astonished. “Don’t!”
“Carlisle is commanding one of those ships,” Denning snapped, his eyes heavy on the pursuing Federal ships. “He won’t give up. We’re going in, Matt.”
“I don’t believe this is happening.”
“Believe it,” Denning said gruffly. “I told you we’d meet up with Carlisle again.”
“But skipper,” Balsinger argued. “This is only the outer line of ships. It’s going to get hotter than this at the mouth of the Cape!”
“Not necessarily. They’ll never suspect it
