ore it. Presently three more figures, carrying some bulky black
object carefully between them, emerged from one of the buildings.
Tenderly they placed this object in the lone plane, which had been
stripped of radio outfit and gas bomb compartment to provide room.
Then the two original figures were left alone once more before the
fighting machine. Far to the rear, the heavy American guns barked in
their regular nightly bombardment.

"A good night for it," Colonel Douglas, scanning the sky, said, "and
also a bad one. If only that damned lightning would stop!"

Lance, pulling on thick gloves, did not reply. The colonel consulted
his watch.

"What time do you make it?" he asked.

"Exactly eight," the other answered.

"Right. At eight-six, you leave. At nine, on the dot, you meet Hay at
Sola Ranch. At nine-ten, the torpedoes take off. At quarter to ten,
they arrive over their destination--San Francisco and the surrounding
territory. And quarter to ten, if things go correctly--which they
must!--is the minute that ends the Slavish invasion of America. At ten
minutes to ten, five minutes after the torpedoes strike, our troops
charge forward in general attack. God be with you, Lance! The fate of
America is resting on your shoulders to-night, remember!"

"I'm remembering."

* * * * *

Colonel Douglas looked at the young man's grim, set face, looked at
his lithe, clean-limbed figure and his steady black eyes which burned
with a purposeful fire. And the colonel smiled.

"We'll win!" he said.

An orderly sped from his office, saluted, and rapped crisply:

"Order just received from Washington, sir, to proceed."

Lance clasped Douglas' hand, and leaped into the snug, enclosed
cockpit. The four motors bellowed as the thin-sprayed oil cascaded to
them. The helicopter props spun around.

"Go to it, kid!" cried Douglas. "Spy or no spy, you're coming out on
top! And give Hay a last handshake for me!"

And he swung to the salute.

Lance extended his hand. Then he gave his ship the gun, and the tiny,
streamlined scout teetered, roared, and rose with a scream into the
dripping darkness high above.

The Torpedo Plan had started.

PART IV

Lance hung for a moment at one thousand feet. A crack of lightning lit
the base below for a second, and he perceived the colonel's straight
figure with hand outstretched. Lance grinned, and gunned to forty
thousand--an easy flying height, with his super