Dave Dawson at Casablanca

by Robert Sidney Bowen

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  _Vultures' Nest_

  Dawn was a faint gray line marking the point where the North African skymet the North African Continent in the east. Just a faint gray lineheralding the coming of a new day, though the world was still shroudedin the darkness of night. A new day. A new day of war. A new day--ofvictory, or utter failure?

  The question was like a pin-point white hot flame burning in DaveDawson's brain as he and Freddy Farmer hugged the hard-packed groundbehind a clump of withered desert brush. Just seventy yards beyond thedesert brush was a long level strip of desert, flanked on both sides byscrub-covered hills. Hills? They were little more than mounds of rockand sand. As though Nature throughout the ages had thrust them up fromthe bowels of the earth and covered them with scrub growth for a crazyprank. They looked just about as natural in the middle of the Sahara asa part of the Sahara would have looked in the middle of New York City.Nevertheless, there they were. Another bit of the mysterious Sahara'sphenomena for man to study and wonder about. A desert oasis completelysurrounded by hills! Yet there it was for mortal eyes to view.

  However, the strange freak of Nature's handiwork held no interestwhatsoever for Dave Dawson or Freddy Farmer. What interested themcompletely were the man-made things on that strip of desert valley. Thefifteen Junkers Ju-88's, the six Messerschmitt 109's and the singletwo-seater Messerschmitt 110, that were pulled way back under perfectcamouflage covering on either side of the desert strip--the planes, andthe groups of shadowy figures that were walking about among them.

  For fifteen minutes the two youths had hugged the ground behind thescrub bush and peered out at the weird yet deadly-looking scene insilence. For one thing there was nothing to say. However, the mainreason for silence was that each was close to the point of completeexhaustion and collapse. Not two, but three hours ago they had startedtoward the spot where they now were. Those three hours had been the mosttorturing and grueling of their entire lives. Three hours used to covera distance of but a little over a mile! Simple enough to think about,but how far different the actual execution of that night-shroudedjourney. Cuts and bruises on their bodies were countless. Their uniformswere in shreds and tatters, and there was an utter weariness within themsuch as few men have ever experienced. A hundred times all that keptthem going over the rock-studded ground, with thorn-bush barriers everyother foot of the way, were their fighting hearts and savagedetermination to win through in spite of all odds.

  And they _had_ won through, but were now forced to stretch out on theground and fight another battle--the battle for new strength and newenergy that would carry them forward to the most terrific struggle ofall. Yes, carry them forward to the struggle--and the successfulcompletion of an almost impossible task.

  "Freddy, I'm wondering," Dawson suddenly whispered, and touched theEnglish youth's prone body with his hand.

  "Yes, Dave?" came back the equally faint whisper. "Wondering aboutwhat?"

  "If--" Dave began, and paused. "I mean, maybe we're all wet about thisbusiness. There's not an engine out there ticking over, and it's darnclose to dawn. You'd think they'd be warming them up now, if theyexpected to go out at a moment's notice. In other words, I'm wondering_if_ Major General Hawker was right. If this bunch _really does_ haveany connection with the President's trip to Casablanca?"

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

  The English-born air ace never finished that question. He didn't becauseat 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 desertstrip 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 soabsolute confirmation of the truth was given them.

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

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

  "_Heil_ Hitler!"

  Bombs were exploding in Dave Dawson's brain, and his heart was pumpingmadly 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 thatbird said? They've received word from some rat in Casablanca, just asMajor General Hawker thought they would. Freddy! It's up to us now, orelse! Those confounded bombers just _can't_ take off! And that's got tobe _that_!"

  "Absolutely!" the English youth echoed in a hoarse whisper. "And justlook at the blighters! Like blasted ants crawling all over thoseplanes, 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. Probablygoing 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 offbefore they get us, we can pin the rest of those crates on the groundlike nobody's business. But, Freddy!"

  "Yes, Dave, yes?" the English youth asked impatiently. "What now?"

  "Just a thought," Dawson said in a quiet, steady voice that surprisedhimself. "We'll get that baby off, and we'll raise merry heck with thesebirds, even if it's the last thing we do. That's the idea! Maybe it_will_ be the last. I have a funny feeling that we've had more than ourshare of luck already. So--Well, if you'd rather we tried to swipe asingle-seater Messerschmitt apiece, so that--"

  "Rot!" young Farmer snapped angrily. "So that one of us might get away?Meaning me? Not a bit of it, Dave! We started the balmy businesstogether, and by the Lord Harry we'll _finish_ it together, one way orthe other. So stop your silly talk, and let's get on with things. Youhave your gun, of course?"

  "Right in my hand, kid," Dawson assured him. "And you're a pretty niceguy, Freddy, if I haven't ever mentioned it before. Okay, together itis. Keep low, and run like the dickens. If somebody gets in ourway--well, it will be just too bad for him. They're going half nuts outthere, now, so maybe we'll get the breaks and not be seen. Set, Freddy?"

  "Set, old thing," the English youth replied, and pressed Dawson's arm."Luck to us both!"

  "We don't count," Dawson said, and pressed young Farmer's arm in return."Luck to the Casablanca war conference, please God! Right! Here we go!"

  Dawson pressed Freddy Farmer's arm once more, then wheeled around, bentway over almost double, circled the scrub bush, and went streaking outonto the desert strip at top speed toward the Messerschmitt 110 parked agood eighty yards away. Farmer bolted right after him.

  Perhaps it was Dawson's spinning imagination, or perhaps it was anactual fact, but it seemed that no sooner was he out from behind thescrub bush than the amount of light thrown forward by the swiftlyapproaching day was tripled in intensity. He had the sensation that heand Farmer stood out as clear and as huge as a couple of runaway horses,and that every German eye was fixed upon them. In fact, had a hundredmachine guns suddenly opened up on them, he would not have been theleast bit surprised. With every racing stride he took, with every splitsecond that skipped by, he expected just that.

  However, there were no screams of alarm, and there were no blasts ofyammering machine-gun fire as the two youths covered forty yards intheir headlong dash and reached the first of the parked bombers. At thatpoint, Dawson swerved sharply to the left in order to avoid all noticeif possible. Then he swerved back to the right again without checkinghis speed for a single instant. They had to pass four
more bombers withmechanics and pilots swarming all over before they reached theMesserschmitt 110. They accomplished it in a matter of split seconds,but to Dawson's high-pitched nerves and whirling brain, it seemed athousand years. It seemed as though he was only crawling over theground, and in slow motion at that.

  But the crazy thoughts he had were far from the truth. He was travelingso fast that he virtually ran into the side of the Messerschmitt and wasbounced back, to bump up against Freddy Farmer's plunging body. Theycaught hold of each other in an effort to maintain their balance. Theysucceeded, but no sooner had they regained their balance and wereturning to scramble up into the plane than two uniformed Nazis camerunning around the tail of the aircraft.

  The two Nazis saw Dawson and Farmer. Their jaws dropped, and theyskidded to a halt and reached for their holstered Lugers. But they mightjust as well have tried to jump over the stars and drop straight down onthe two air aces. Dawson's gun barked once, so did Freddy Farmer's, andthere were two less Germans in the world.

  Before either of the dead Germans had hit the ground the two air aceshad whirled and had thrown themselves into the Messerschmitt's cockpit.Though nothing had been decided between them, Dawson impulsively leapedinto the pilot's pit, and Freddy Farmer piled into the gunner's pitaft. It was one of those unspoken agreements, and as Dawson landed inthe seat, his hands shot out for the engine switches, throttles, andstarter buttons. Two seconds later, the grinding of the starter gearssounded like the loudest noise in all the world, and Dave's heartpounded in wild fear that their two shots were bringing a horde of otherNazis on the run. However, he didn't waste time looking about. Hehunched forward in the pit and concentrated every bit of his attentionand all his prayers on getting the two Daimler-Benz engines started.

  One second, one minute, one hour, or maybe a thousand years dragged bybefore the two engines "caught" and roared in a mighty earth-shakingduet of power. Dawson's heart leaped with wild joy, and for fiveprecious seconds he forced himself to let the engines run to warm up alittle before the take-off. At the end of five seconds, he eased off thethrottles, kicked off the wheel brakes, and let the Messerschmitttrundle forward out of line with the other aircraft. No sooner was he inthe open and swerving left toward the long way of the field, than thechattering yammer of a machine gun rose above the general roar, and heheard the deathly whine of bullets passing overhead. He also heard awild yell from Freddy Farmer's lips, but he didn't dare twist around inthe seat and look back. He didn't because he was pointing the long wayof the desert strip now, and was ready to ram his throttles wide open.In front of him was a milling mass of Germans. He was that a furiousattempt was being made by a Messerschmitt 109 pilot to trundle hissingle-seater out of line and onto the desert strip to block the way!

  Stark terror gripped Dave's heart as he saw the nose of thatsingle-seater moving out toward the line of his take-off. He hadimpulsively rammed both of his throttles wide open, and his aircraft wasleaping forward like a shell leaving the mouth of a cannon. Whether ornot he would pass that moving 109 in time was something that was in thelap of the gods.

  Touch and go, and it was instinct more than sane thought that gave him anew lease on life. As the Messerschmitt 110 rocketed forward toward themilling mass of Nazis and the Messerschmitt 109 rolled out into his pathbeyond, Dawson jabbed the electric trigger button of the ME's guns andpunched the air-cannon firing knob. Instantly the plane bucked andjumped madly as the guns yammered and pounded, and it was all Dawsoncould do to hold it on its straight take-off line.

  "Gangway, bums, or take it!" he roared at the top of his voice. "Leapfor your lives, or else!"

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  _Eagles Come Through_

  Words, crazy, insane words poured from Dave Dawson's lips as he held theMesserschmitt 110 as steady as a rock and guided it forward at fullthrottle. Perhaps his actions were as crazy and insane as his words. Forevery German his guns sent spinning to the ground, two more seemed tocome bounding out of nowhere with blazing sub-machine guns in theirhands. The Messerschmitt 109 that was being rolled out to block his pathloomed up larger and larger with every split second until it seemed tofill the entire desert valley almost directly in front of his prop.

  Yes, perhaps crazy, perhaps insane, and perhaps totally and hopelesslymad. Dawson didn't have time to wonder about that, or to give it asingle thought. The only thought he held in his swirling brain was thathe had to get the Messerschmitt off and into clear air. If he didn't,all was doomed. And the point was that getting the aircraft into the airwas but the beginning of things!

  "Up, up with you! Come on! Get off, _get off_!"

  Shouting the commands at the plane, he hauled back on the controls, heldhis breath, and shut his eyes, as though that would help a little. Aneternity of suspense dragged by. At the speed he was traveling now,there wasn't a hope in the world that Freddy or he would survive a crashwith that other German plane. It was now, or never. All, or nothing butinstant death. With the fate of the entire civilized world hanging inthe balance, was it life, or was it--

  A mighty upward surge of the Messerschmitt caused Dawson's heart toswell with joy. He opened his eyes and instinctively ducked because hisleft wing and the nose of the Messerschmitt 109 seemed to be touchingone another. But not quite, thank God, and the 110 went prop-clawing upclose to the vertical. Prop-clawing upward as the withering fire ofenraged vultures below spewed up after it.

  "Made it, made it!" Dawson choked out, and instantly kicked theMesserschmitt over on wingtip and pulled it around in a screaming turn."Freddy, we--"

  He cut short his words as sudden memory of Freddy Farmer's wild yellcame back to mind. It seemed as though he lived and died a hundreddeaths in the time it took to turn his head and glance back at the rearcockpit. What he saw sent a flood of joy into his pounding heart. FreddyFarmer was still alive and kicking. And very much so, too. He had hisrear guns swung around and down and was blazing away at the ground. Oneof his bursts of bullets had already nailed one of the Junkers 88's, andlivid red flame was shooting upward from the giant aircraft.

  "First blood for you, Freddy!" Dawson screamed into the thunder of histwin Daimler-Benz engines. "First blood for you, and how! Let's go, kid!They think they've got a date at Casablanca. The heck they have, I'llsay! Here, you, a kiss from Casablanca!"

  As Dawson roared out the last, he dropped the nose of the Messerschmittlike a rock and went piling down toward the row of parked planes. He sawtwo Messerschmitt 109's taking off, but they were past his line of fire,so he couldn't do anything about them. Nor could he do anything aboutthe ocean of ground fire that swept up toward him. Maybe their 110 wouldbe "drowned" in that ocean of machine-gun and rifle fire, but not beforeFreddy and he had made that secret desert airdrome a shambles of burningaircraft that would block off all other attempts to take off.

  With every cubic inch of air seemingly filled with death-whining bulletsfrom the ground guns, Dave rocketed the 110 recklessly downward and letgo with all his guns and air cannon. One, two, three huge Junkers 88'sseemed to crab sideways and then break out into flame before he wasforced to pull up out of his mad dive, or go roaring in to his doom. Hisheart was smashing against his ribs, and his face was bathed in hotsweat as he pitted every ounce of his strength against the downwardmomentum of the Messerschmitt. Then, with but half a second to spare, hegot 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 tremendousthunder of sound. Sound that billowed up from the ground directly underthe power zooming plane. Sound that seemed to envelop the Messerschmitt,to grab it with many hands and fling it cartwheeling end over end outacross the North African dawn. All the fireworks in the world popped andcrackled in Dawson's head. A thousand steel fists hit against his bodyfrom every conceivable angle. The nose of the Messerschmitt and theinstrument panel started spinning until all he could see was a whirlingblurr. The air that he sucked into his lungs was as liquid fire, and itseemed to
dry up every drop of blood in his body. In a crazy, abstractsort of way he knew that some of the Junkers bombs had let go before hehad been able to zoom out of range, and concussion had caught theMesserschmitt 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 infront--_from in front_!"

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

  Even as Dawson looked up and spotted the two planes, he was pulling upthe nose and fumbling for the electric trigger button on his controlstick. He found it, only to have his fingers slide off. When he lookeddown, he saw that his hand was red and glistening from his own blood.The sight stunned him for a second because he felt no pain. That is, noacute pain. From head to foot his entire body felt numb and weak, butthere was no sense of pain whatsoever. He was even more astonished whenhe saw that the front of his ripped and torn tunic was stained withblood, too.

  One glance, however, was all he could take--one glance to see, realizethe truth, and be dumbfounded. Then he snapped his eyes upward, tappedright rudder just a little to bring one of the diving planes into hissights--and fired!

  The result? He saw what happened with his two eyes, but he did not knowwhether his bullets and air cannon shells, or Nazi panic, caused it. Itseemed that he had hardly jabbed the electric trigger button when theplane in his sights swerved violently off to the right. Maybe his bursthit it and kicked it that way, or perhaps the unthinking Nazi pilotswerved purposely to throw Dawson off his aim. But whether no or yes,the 109 swerved violently to its right, and went side-slashing into theother diving 109. One second there were two planes hurtling downward,and the next they had locked wings, crumpled about each other like wetpaper, and then completely disappeared in an exploding ball of flame andoily black smoke.

  "Good gosh, no!" Dawson gasped, and hurled the no over and around toavoid the flaming inferno as it went plunging past. "Did I get him, ordid the guy go haywire? Hey, Freddy! Did you see that?"

  Silence greeted his question, and terror was his again as he twistedaround in the seat. What he saw brought no yell of joy to his lips. Onthe contrary, it brought a sob of alarm, because Freddy Farmer wasslumped over like a sack of wet meal against the side of the cockpit.One upstretched hand still clung to the trigger guard of the rear guns,but the English youth's face was deathly pale, save where it wasspattered with drops of blood. His eyes were closed.

  "Freddy!" Dawson shrieked. "Freddy! Speak to me, pal! Oh, dear God,_no_! Please, oh, please! Freddy! Freddy, boy!"

  Dawson's voice faltered, and the only sounds he made were dry sobs thatstruggled up out of his throat. He turned front, and hot, stinging tearsfell from his eyes. On the ground was a sight that should have broughtshouts of joy to his lips and filled him with wild, surging happiness.The secret desert-oasis field was now completely covered by clouds ofdirty black smoke that were slashed every few seconds by the bright redand orange flames of newly exploding bombs. Each time a flash of flameslashed its way up through the clouds of dirty smoke, bits of planewreckage came hurtling up after it.

  Yes, Goering's Snoopers were doomed. They would never fly to Casablanca,or to any other place, for that matter. But that wonderful, thrillingrealization left Dawson untouched. Somehow, he was beyond all feeling.His brain was numbed, his heart was dead, and there was hardly thestrength in him to go on living. His tattered tunic was now drenchedwith blood. Drops of blood fell from his fingers curled about theMesserschmitt's controls. A gray curtain seemed to hover before hiseyes, and it took every ounce of effort that he possessed to peerthrough it and make out the instrument panel.

  "Can't be done, can't be done!" He heard his own mumbled voice as thoughfrom miles and miles away. "We plastered them for keeps. But--but theygot old Freddy. And maybe they got me, too. Oh, dear God, I'm so tired,so darn tired. I--I can't fly this thing back to Casablanca. I just--Ijust want to quit now, and go to sleep. What does it matter, anyway?Freddy's gone. And without old Freddy, I--"

  His mumbling voice trailed off, and there was nothing but the continuedthunder of the Daimler-Benz engines in his ears. Suddenly he heardanother voice. A voice? Or was it something inside of him speaking?

  "Quitting, huh? Just like that! You get a couple of scratches, and youwant to let down and quit. Isn't that just dandy? So Freddy's gone, huh?How do _you_ know? You can't tell from here! But, no, you don't evenwant to _try_ to get back to Casablanca, where maybe he could be saved_if_ he's still alive. No! You just want to quit and make _sure_ that hedies. Okay, quitter! There's hard earth down there. Dive in _and makesure of death_!"

  The little voice kindled a spark of anger within him, and it flared upinto a bright hot flame. Quitter, huh? The heck he was! Maybe Freddywasn't dead! Please, God, let that be true! He'd get Freddy back. Honesthe would. He'd get Freddy back, no matter what. This wasn't the end foreither of them. Remember how they had once kidded that the Nazi was notyet born who could polish off either of them? Well, that was true. Yes,doggone it, that was _true_! Casablanca? Okay! You bet! It was hard tomove, and that darn gray veil made things hard to see. But he'd getthrough just the same. Casablanca, here we come! Here we--

  The wheels of the bullet-riddled Messerschmitt 110 touching hard groundseemed to snap something inside Dawson's head, and drag him back fromanother world. In a daze he looked about and saw that he was rollingalong the Casablanca field. Above him, the air was filled with Alliedaircraft. A sharp stab of fear passed through his heart when he realizedthat this Nazi plane had been in the air with those other aircraft. Hevaguely remembered they had spotted him way out from Casablanca, closedin, and then dropped into escort position.

  And now _he_ was down on Casablanca base! He'd made it, but he hadn'trealized it until just now! Could a pilot fly a course whilesemi-conscious? Maybe he could, because Dave had very littlerecollection of this flight except for the very start. And--Wait!_Freddy Farmer!_

  As the thought flashed through his brain, he lurched upward out of theseat and looked back. Fresh fear and terror gripped him. Freddy wasstill slumped lifelessly against the side of the pit. His face seemedeven paler, and it was covered with more dots of blood. Dawson startedto call out, when he heard the pounding of many running feet. He turnedhis head in that direction and saw a large group of figures, led byColonel Welsh, racing toward the plane. He waved frantically with onehand and called out.

  "Ambulance!" he shouted. "Get the ambulance at--"

  At that exact moment a dark cloud swooped down on top of him. A greatroaring started up inside his head. He knew that he was tumblingheadlong out of the pit and down onto the wing, but he was absolutelyhelpless to do anything about it. Something, probably the wing stub, hithim one last and final smash on the head, and there was nothing butdarkness, and utter silence.

  Dave Dawson found himself suspended in a world of clear, fresh-smellingand soothing white when he again opened his eyes. It did not puzzle himthat all should be white, because his brain was too contented to botherfiguring it out. His whole body felt contented, too. A lulling warmthenveloped him, and he did not care whether anything ever changed again.This lulling warmth and this soothing contentment were all that he coulddesire.

  However, that perfect spell of both mind and body was not long-lasting.As complete consciousness finally returned, the aches and pains tookcharge of his body, and his brain awakened fully with a terrible memory.

  "Freddy! Freddy Farmer!"

  Hardly realizing that his lips had gasped out his pal's name, hestruggled to push himself up. But even as he started the effort, otherhands were placed upon him and he was gently pressed down to hisoriginal position. A position that he then realized was flat on his backin a hospital bed. And then the face of the owner of those gentlypressing hands
came into his vision, and he recognized Colonel Welsh.

  "Don't, son," the Intelligence Chief said softly. "Just let yourself go,boy, and relax completely. Farmer is all right. Shot up a little, justas you were, but he'll pull through with flying colors."

  "You're sure, sir?" Dawson choked out. "You mean it? You wouldn't kida--"

  "My word of honor," Colonel Welsh stopped him. "He's weak, yes, from theloss of blood, just as you are. But he'll be all right, just as you'llbe all right after a period of mending and resting. And if you'llpromise to get another good sleep, I'll have you moved into Farmer'sroom so that you can be together. And, son--"

  "Hey!" Dawson blurted out, as the thought suddenly came to him. "ThePresident's party, and--"

  He would have said more, but Colonel Welsh put a hand to his lips."Don't waste strength talking, son," he admonished with a smile."Believe me, everything is perfect. The war conference is under wayright now. And never mind giving me a report, either. Both you andFarmer have babbled it all in the two days since you've been here. Idon't know what to say, Dawson. Wonderful isn't half the word that'sneeded. I can only say that it is another great debt that civilized manowes to you two. But for what you did, just you two alone, there's notelling what terrible changes there might have been in this war. Wecaught the Nazi agent here who sent the signal of the President's comingto that secret base. He was one of von Steuben's men my agents had beenwatching, hoping he would lead them to bigger fish. But it turned out_he_ was the big fish here at Casablanca. We caught him at his hiddenradio, but the message had already gone through. He admitted it, evenboasted about it, saying that it was too late for us to do anything. Nomatter how many planes we put in the air, some of those Junkers wouldget through in time. That was no lie. Some of them, and maybe all ofthem would have gotten through, because _we_ had no idea from whichdirection they would come to deliver their attack. Or when, so that wewould be ready. But you and Farmer--"

  Colonel Welsh stopped talking, blinked his eyes, swallowed hard, andsmiled.

  "All I can say," he finally got out, "is that I thank God from thebottom of my heart that you two are fighting on our side. And, son--"

  The Chief of U. S. Intelligence was about to add that the President ofthe United States had said that he wished to see Dave Dawson and FreddyFarmer before he left Casablanca and personally decorate them for theirbrave and gallant service above and beyond the call of duty. But ColonelWelsh decided to wait until another time, because what use is it to tella fellow anything when he is fast asleep with a happy and thoroughlycontented smile on his face?

  ---- THE END ----

  _A Page from_

  DAVE DAWSON WITH THE EIGHTH AIR FORCE

  After carefully checking the readings of his "black light" instrumentdials, Dawson raised his eyes and scowled out at the ocean of inkydarkness that seemed to sweep in on him from all sides.

  "Right on course, unless those instruments are haywire, which of coursethey're not," he murmured. "But just the same, I'd sure like to get outof these clouds. The darn stuff must stretch all the way to China!"

  As he spoke the words he absently fingered the switch button of hisradio, but when he suddenly realized what he was doing he snatched hishand away as though the thing were red hot.

  "Radio silence at all cost, chump!" he growled at himself. "And stopworrying about Freddy. He's somewhere right back there behind you. Yousaw his ship as clear as could be only thirty minutes ago! So take iteasy."

  Yes, only thirty minutes ago Freddy Farmer had been right there at hisright rear in the other plane. Sure! But kingdoms have fallen,

  Transcriber's Notes:Page 92: Changed givin to givingPage 127: Changed thanks to tanksPage 144: Changed Washingtan to WashingtonPage 146: Changed blust to blurtPage 161: Changed tto to toPage 180: Changed Georing's to Goering's