tor. The flames licked in around
the stricken ship. A rancid whiff came to Stan and reminded him that
his own fuel tank was on fire. It would be only a matter of seconds
until he would be in a flaming coffin himself.

The Merlin was still hitting beautifully. Stan squirmed about and jerked
loose a fire extinguisher. He turned the handle and pumped frantically.
The liquid spray feathered out and blanketed the fire. Stan sucked in a
deep breath and looked down at the plummeting Heinkel. The Jerry was
trying to bail out, but he wasn't making much headway. Stan nosed down
and watched the struggle.

He was sorry for the pilot but it was not pity that made him circle
lower and check the field toward which the Heinkel was spinning. Stan
wanted to ask that Jerry a few questions, and the Jerry had to be
rescued from his firetrap or he couldn't do it.

The Heinkel turned over, flattened and eased up, then plunged into a
tangle of bushes beside a road. Stan gauged the rolling field which
spread beside the road. He could have set a Hurricane down on that field
easily, but a Spitfire was different. Her landing gear was high and
narrow. He side-slipped and leveled off, then skimmed over the grass
and bumped down, jerking and swaying. The Spitfire rolled up to within a
safe distance from the burning plane and Stan leaped out.

The Jerry had almost made it out of the plane. He was draped over the
side with his parachute harness caught in the smashed hatch cover.
Risking an explosion which would have finished them both, Stan jerked
the pilot loose and dragged him a safe distance from his ship. They were
less than fifty feet from the Heinkel, when her tank cut loose and
billows of smoke and flame rolled up, licking at the grass and brush.

The Heinkel's pilot sat on the grass. He watched his ship vanish and his
face worked. If it had not been for the Royal Air Force pilot bending
over him, he would at that moment be frying to a crisp. He shuddered and
licked his lips.

Stan gave his attention to the fellow's wounds. He was badly hit in the
shoulder and bleeding freely. His face was white.

"Who tipped you off that I'd be flying solo along this route?" Stan
demanded.

The Nazi lifted blue eyes to Stan and shook his head grimly.

"Better talk, son, you are bleeding plenty."

"That would be revealing a military secret," the Nazi said in clipped
English.

"I suppose you think I followed regulations and war rules in ducking
down