r could he do anything about
the ocean of ground fire that swept up toward him. Maybe their 110 would
be "drowned" in that ocean of machine-gun and rifle fire, but not before
Freddy and he had made that secret desert airdrome a shambles of burning
aircraft that would block off all other attempts to take off.

With every cubic inch of air seemingly filled with death-whining bullets
from the ground guns, Dave rocketed the 110 recklessly downward and let
go with all his guns and air cannon. One, two, three huge Junkers 88's
seemed to crab sideways and then break out into flame before he was
forced to pull up out of his mad dive, or go roaring in to his doom. His
heart was smashing against his ribs, and his face was bathed in hot
sweat as he pitted every ounce of his strength against the downward
momentum of the Messerschmitt. Then, with but half a second to spare, he
got the nose up and went engine-howling for the dawn gray sky.

"Dave! They are--"

Whatever Freddy Farmer had to say was drowned out in a tremendous
thunder of sound. Sound that billowed up from the ground directly under
the power zooming plane. Sound that seemed to envelop the Messerschmitt,
to grab it with many hands and fling it cartwheeling end over end out
across the North African dawn. All the fireworks in the world popped and
crackled in Dawson's head. A thousand steel fists hit against his body
from every conceivable angle. The nose of the Messerschmitt and the
instrument panel started spinning until all he could see was a whirling
blurr. The air that he sucked into his lungs was as liquid fire, and it
seemed to dry up every drop of blood in his body. In a crazy, abstract
sort of way he knew that some of the Junkers bombs had let go before he
had been able to zoom out of range, and concussion had caught the
Messerschmitt to make it as helpless as a dried leaf in a cyclone.

"Dave! Man your guns! Two planes got off! There they come down. From in
front--_from in front_!"

Freddy Farmer's screaming voice seemed to tear away the blurred veil
that covered Dawson's eyes. His vision cleared, and he looked up to see
the two Messerschmitt 109's streaking down at him from in front. Freddy
Farmer's guns were already blazing away, but the angle was bad, and the
tracers were smoking well above the diving planes.

Even as Dawson looked up and spotted the two planes, he was pulling up
the nose and fumbling for the electric trigger button on his control
stick.