He wore his full-dress uniform,with the heavily braided white cap pulled down rakishly over one cold gray eye.We can't make it,sir. It's spoiling for a hurricane' if you ask me.I'm not asking you'lieutenant Berg, said the commander. Throw on the power lights! Rev her up to 8,500! We're going through! the pounding of the cylinders in creased:ta-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa. The Commander stared at the ice forming on the pilot window. He walked over and twisted a row of complicated dials.Switch on No. 8 auxiliary! he shouted.Switch on No.8 auxiliary! repeated Lieutenant in No.3 turret! shouted the commander. Full strength in No.3 turret! The crew,bending to their various tasks in the huge, hurtling eight-engined Navy hydroplane, looked at each other and grinned. The Old man'll get us through, they said to one another. The Old Man ain't afraid of Hell!