f course, during the
six months of night they have up there. You know, Dave, I--I say! Look!
Look, Dave! To starboard. Way out where the blasted sky meets the
blasted water! Do you see something?"

For a couple of moments Dawson refused to turn his head. It seemed as
though he had spent his entire life in this raft squinting hopefully at
imagined objects, only to be slapped in his burning, stinging face by
lost hope. For twenty-six heart-crushing long hours Freddy and he had
been floating about in the raft on the crest of the Southwest Pacific.
Twelve of those hours had been spent in the darkness of night, hoping,
hoping, hoping that dawn's light would bring them a sight of one of
their own planes, or one of the task force ships. Just to see something
besides sky, water, and darkness would have been something, even if it
hadn't meant rescue for them. But it had been only sky, water, and
darkness. Then sky, and water again, and a blast furnace sun that seemed
to pierce the top of their heads and burn their brains to a crisp.

But presently Dawson did turn his head, cup his hands to his tired eyes,
and peer in the direction Freddy Farmer was pointing. At first he saw
absolutely nothing. Then, suddenly, his heart leaped high in his chest.
There _was_ something way out there! Something on the surface of the
water, or just over it. He couldn't tell for sure. And he definitely
couldn't even guess at what it might be. The dazzling rays of the sun
dancing up off the surface of the water were like hot needle points that
drew blood in his eyes. But there was something way out there on the
horizon. Yes, definitely something, but did it mean life, or death?

That last question pounded around and around inside Dave's head as he
strained his eyes at the distant horizon.

"Do you see it, Dave?" Freddy Farmer's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Yeah, I see it, but what?" he replied. "A ship, a plane, or maybe just
some kind of a bird?"

"My guess is a submarine," Freddy said. Then, an instant later, he
exclaimed, "Yes, I'm sure of it! I can make out the conning tower. Good
grief! Dave! _It's a Nazi U-boat!_"

"Huh?" Dave gasped, and sat up so violently that he rocked the raft.
"You're nuts, Freddy. This is the Pacific, not the Atlantic!"

"That may be!" the English youth shot right back at him. "But that thing
out there is a Nazi U-boat, or I never saw one. See? It's coming toward
us now. It must have sighted us!"

"Nuts again