oment's notice. In other words, I'm wondering
_if_ Major General Hawker was right. If this bunch _really does_ have
any connection with the President's trip to Casablanca?"

"I'm sure it must have, Dave," Freddy Farmer replied after a few seconds
of silence. "Everything absolutely adds up to that. In my mind, there's
no doubt about it. As for warming up the engines, the blighters are up
and about. No doubt they'll start them up any minute now. May be waiting
for a bit more light, you know. The point is, what are we--"

The English-born air ace never finished that question. He didn't because
at that moment a figure garbed in the uniform of the Nazi _Luftwaffe_
rushed out of a little camouflaged hut on the left side of the desert
strip and shouted orders at the top of his voice. He spoke in German,
of course, but both Dawson and Farmer knew the language, and so--and so
absolute confirmation of the truth was given them.

"All pilots and crews report to _Herr Kommandant_ at once!" the voice
bellowed in a note of wild, frenzied excitement. "_Der Tag_ has come!
The signal has just been received from Casablanca. Your targets are
approaching there now. The American _Schweinehunds_, and the English
ones, too. _Der Tag_ has come! _Heil_ Hitler!"

A brief moment of silence settled over everything. And then a
silence-shattering roar came from many throats.

"_Heil_ Hitler!"

Bombs were exploding in Dave Dawson's brain, and his heart was pumping
madly in his chest as he pushed up onto his hands and knees.

"Freddy!" he got out in a choking gasp. "This is it! You hear what that
bird said? They've received word from some rat in Casablanca, just as
Major General Hawker thought they would. Freddy! It's up to us now, or
else! Those confounded bombers just _can't_ take off! And that's got to
be _that_!"

"Absolutely!" the English youth echoed in a hoarse whisper. "And just
look at the blighters! Like blasted ants crawling all over those
planes, and--Dave! Do you see--"

"Right!" Dawson cut in, and gripped his arm. "That Messerschmitt 110.
They're not touching it yet. Must be the _Kommandant's_ plane. Probably
going to tag along and watch the slaughter, but keep out of the way."

"Yes, yes!" Freddy said excitedly. "But we--"

"My idea all along, pal!" Dawson breathed fiercely. "That's not the rat
_Kommandant's_ baby, that's _ours_, Freddy! If we can only get it off
before they get us, we can pin the rest of those crates on the