it aboard this bomber. I'll stick here and keep us going. Or do you
want to turn back?"

"No, keep going!" the colonel replied. "It wouldn't do to turn back now.
Here, Corporal! Give me a hand with your pilot. Where's the medical
kit?"

The last words were directed to one of the aircraft's crew who had come
forward into the compartment. Dawson paid no attention to him, for at
that moment the port engine started to kick up a bit, and he had to give
all his attention to getting it to run smoothly again. By then the glow
of the flares had faded out, and the B-25 was thundering on through the
darkness of the night. Dawson switched on the small-instrument light so
that he could keep a careful check on engine performance and hold the
aircraft to her course across the Atlantic. Only once did he take his
attention from his flying, and that was when the dead co-pilot was
lifted from his seat and taken aft. Once again red rage burned within
Dave, as it always did when one of his countrymen was killed. He gripped
the control wheel hard to prevent his hands from shaking.

Presently somebody slid into the co-pilot's seat and touched him on the
arm. It was Freddy Farmer.

"Well done, old thing!" the English youth said in a voice that shook
with feeling. "Fancy we've all got you to thank for saving our hides.
Personally, I was too scared to move for hours, and--"

"Nuts!" Dawson interrupted with gruff affection. "Anybody can haul a
plane out of a dive. If it hadn't been for your sweet shooting, that rat
might have nailed us!"

"Good grief, how did you know?" Freddy gasped. "You couldn't see me from
here!"

"I didn't have to look back," Dawson chuckled. "I simply saw the kind of
shooting it was and knew at once you were behind the guns. How's the
pilot making out, or don't you know?"

"Not too bad, for which he can thank his lucky stars," the English
youth replied. "He'll pull through all right, but I guess the chap will
be out of the war for some time. What kind of blasted business was it,
anyway, Dave? That beggar was waiting for us right up on top, with his
confounded flares. We were--well, as you would say, a sitting duck."

"Yeah, and we were darn near a dead pigeon, too!" Dawson said grimly.
"But how, and why? Don't ask me, pal! I just haven't got the brains it
would take to figure out this crazy mess. To me it looks like one of
those little items of fate the colonel was talking about. Unless--"

"Unless what, Dave?"