fifteen planes. Thirteen had crumpled
beneath that treacherous, stabbing curtain of disintegrating flame.
Only two of them were left--he and Praed.

Praed, of course!

The fellow's plane was pirouetting nearby. Lance was the squadron
leader. He jammed his thin-lipped mouth close to the "mike" and
rasped:

"They trapped us again! There's some damn spy at our base. Stand by,
Praed! They'll send up a few men to wipe us out, too ... and we're
goin' to square the account!"

He listened for Praed's answer. Presently it came.

"I can't! They got two of my motors. I'm limping badly. We'd better
beat it while we can."

Lance's mouth curled. He roared:

"Go on, then, beat it! But I'm goin' to take a couple of 'em, anyway."
Disgusted, filled with red anger, he flung the phones from his head,
watched Praed's plane whirl its stubby nose for home, settled himself
alertly in the low, padded seat and concentrated his attention on the
ground below.

He'd been right. Tiny, gray-clad figures were pouring from their
barracks, rushing madly towards the dozen or so planes neatly drawn up
on the field. Lance's mouth twitched. They probably wondered, down
there, why the devil he didn't beat it--like Praed! He stroked the
lever which controlled his five gas bombs, centered his battery of
incendiary-bullet machine-guns and ruthlessly shoved the control stick
full over.

* * * * *

The Rahl-Diesels pumped at full power; his plane plummetted downwards
with the speed of light, a hurtling shell of steel. His unexpected
move took the men below by surprise. Lance knew they needed at least
ten minutes to prepare another salvo of disintegrating flame; he had
about four minutes left.

There was a restless, thudding chatter, and his bullets began to mow
them down.

Lance could see the horrified expressions of the men beneath, and
chuckled grimly as they sought to escape the wrath of his hot guns. He
flung bursts of spouting, acid-filled lead at the defenseless planes,
and saw two of them collapse in shrouds of acrid white smoke. And
still he dove.

At a bare one hundred feet he tugged the control stick back, and the
tiny scout groaned under the pull of her motors. Then her snout jolted
upwards. Lance pounded the gas bomb lever, and smiled a tight smile as
he sensed the five pills sloping down from their compartment in the
scout's belly.

A second later came a rolling, ear-numbing crash. Lance, safe at a