on the cloud seemed to hang not for seconds, but for
minutes. And then, as though an invisible cable had been cut, the cloud
of fire dropped straight downward.

"Sweet shooting! Pretty!" Dawson heard his own voice yell. "And I've got
a hunch that it was good old Freddy who nailed her! If it--"

He stopped short, as he happened to glance ahead and to the left. By now
the flares were burning out, and were down close to the water. Because
of that he was able to see the seven-or eight-thousand-ton tramp steamer
that was leaving a broad, churning wake as it made off at top speed
toward the darkness to the north. The surface vessel flew no flag, and
there was little to distinguish her from any of the thousands of tramp
steamers.

She was no mystery to Dawson, however. One look at her racing away from
the light of the fading flares was all he needed to know the truth. That
ship was one of the few Nazi sea raiders left, and the Arada seaplane
had come from her decks. By looking carefully he could see a cradle on
the forward deck, and a huge hoisting crane that must have lifted the
seaplane over the side.

"The dirty dogs!" Dawson grated as he glared down at the fleeing vessel.
"If only we had some bombs or depth charges aboard, what a finish we
could put to that sea murderer! We'd--"

"Dawson! Thank God!"

The words seemed to explode in his ears. He jerked his head around and
saw the strained features of Colonel Welsh. The Intelligence Officer's
eyes were wide with both anger and amazement. His lips moved silently
for a couple of seconds before he spoke again. "That was close! It would
have been too close, but for you, Dawson! What's that down--"

"A Nazi raider that was carrying the seaplane," Dawson cut him off. "We
can't do anything about her now, though. Even our radio is smashed, so
we can't send out her position. But the pilot and co-pilot, Colonel! Get
help and get them aft. The pilot is still alive, I think, but this
chap--"

Dawson stopped as he turned and looked at the co-pilot in the seat next
to his. Cold rage filled his heart, and his bitter hatred of all things
Nazi flared up again. Too many times had his youthful eyes looked upon
death not to recognize it now. Nothing in the world could help the
co-pilot. He had passed on to join his buddies in the airmen's Valhalla.

"Better get to work on the pilot behind me!" Dawson said with a
sharpness he didn't realize was in his voice. "There must be a medical
k