that looked like meat. Don't try to kid me,
Red. You've dragged me into too many dog fights. Do you think I have
forgotten the day we were out having a look-see, five of us, and spotted
five Albatrosses below? Bingo! Down you went like a shot, and the rest
of us had to follow to keep you from being made into mincemeat. Talk
about being blind! All the time a bigger flock of Fokkers were in the
sun above us and they came down like 'wolves on the fold.' Fellow, you
had your little faults. Don't be too hard on Siddons."

"Cutting formation to get in a fight and cutting to go joy-riding are
two different things. If it were anyone else but Siddons I'd ask Cowan
to ground him."

"You like him?"

"Emphatically, NO! And he knows it. That's why I hesitate to make an
example of him. He would think that I was satisfying a grudge. Besides,
he has some sort of a drag with someone. Cowan thinks he is a great
flyer. He is, too. Knows more about both the technical and practical
side of the game than any of the others. That's what's wrong with him.
He is so self-satisfied, so arrogant, and so cocksure of every word he
utters and every movement he makes. He is the coldest fish I ever met.
He reminds me of someone--but I can't remember who it is. Sometimes I
think he is--Listen! What's that?"

McGee's question went unanswered as the shrill blasts of the air raid
siren shattered the peace of the village with its frenzied warning. It
moaned, deep-throated, then became panic-stricken and wailed tremulously
in the higher registers. It was a warning to all to seek the comparative
safety of the _abris_ which the town had constructed against just
such an emergency.

The cafe emptied quickly, but even the quickest followed on the heels of
McGee and Larkin who, once outside, ran briskly down the street toward
the house where they were billeted. They halted at the drive entrance to
gaze upward as great searchlights began playing upon the dark inverted
bowl of the heavens. The long, shifting beams of light were accusing
fingers seeking to point out the unwelcome, stealthy nocturnal sky
prowlers.

"Listen!" McGee gripped Larkin's arm.

Sure enough, from the east, and high above, came the sound of German
motors, a sound unmistakable by anyone who had once heard their
unsynchronized drone. It rose and fell, rose and fell, like the hurried
snoring of a giant made restless by nightmare. The sound was drawing
nearer. Doubtless it had been heard by