engines wide open.

"The pilot's hit!" Dawson yelled, and lurched to his feet. "Pilot hit
and his co-pilot, too, I guess. By what? How the heck--"

Dawson didn't finish, either. At that instant the night outside was
lighted with a brilliance like that of high noon. A terrific roar seemed
to slam into the B-25 from all sides and spin her around until she was
as helpless as a dried leaf in a gale.

CHAPTER TWELVE

_Fighting Hearts_

The crazy motion of the bomber knocked Dawson off balance and sent him
lurching heavily against the flare rack as he reached the navigator's
nook just aft of the pilot's compartment. The air whistled out of his
lungs, and balls of colored fire danced before his eyes. Fortunately,
though, his outflung hands caught hold of something, and he was able to
prevent himself from pitching headlong on his face.

The B-25 was still flooded by brilliant light, and above the screaming
roar of the over-revving Wright-Cyclones, Dawson could hear the chatter
of aerial machine guns. He gave no thought to the thing that was
happening. He had but one idea in his head, and that was to fight his
way forward to the pilot's compartment. As he dived past the navigator's
nook, a hand grabbed him by the arm, and he heard voices, but he could
not understand the words above the din of other noises. With a savage
wrench of his arm he freed himself, and piled forward into the pilot's
compartment.

One glance gave him a complete picture, and his racing heart seemed to
stand still. The glass of the pilot's compartment was shattered to bits.
The pilot was slumped over against the Dep wheel, and the weight of his
limp body was pushing the control forward so that the bomber remained in
its mad dive. Beside the limp pilot was the co-pilot, flopped over
against the side of the compartment and looking for all the world like a
man dead tired who had simply leaned over to brace himself and catch a
couple of minutes of sleep. That is, he looked like such a man except
for the crimson blood that gushed from a gaping wound in his neck just
below the left ear.

After one look at the hideous sight Dawson flew into action. Bracing
himself behind the pilot's seat, he grabbed the limp figure by the
shoulders and pulled him back on the seat. Holding him upright with one
hand, he reached around and opened the catch of the pilot's safety
harness. That done, he braced himself again and eased the man to the
floor boards. The pil