p distress flares?" Colonel Welsh queried with a frown. "What
good does she think flares will do? The captain of any other ship near
by would be a fool to come close to her. The U-boat might still be
lurking around."

"I know, sir," the pilot said. "Maybe she hears us and wants us to send
out her position because her radio shack is gone. Maybe she thinks we're
a flying boat on patrol."

For some unknown reason a sudden eerie chill rippled across the back of
Dawson's neck. He looked at Colonel Welsh and tried to convince himself
that this was none of his business, but that eerie chill forced him to
blurt out, "And it could be something _else_, sir! I mean, if we send
out the ship's position, our radio will reveal _our own_ position."

The pilot of the bomber glared quickly at Dawson, and the corners of his
mouth stiffened. "It isn't fun to be torpedoed at night," he said
quietly. "I lost a brother that way."

Dawson flushed slightly, but he didn't drop his eyes before the other's
stare. Before he could say anything, though, Colonel Welsh addressed the
pilot.

"Circle her and continue to maintain radio silence, Captain," he said.
"Just before you pass her to port, drop a flare so that we can get a
good look at her. If she seems in trouble, then maybe we'll do something
for her. Meantime, though, I want all members of the crew to go to
battle stations."

The bomber pilot's eyes widened in surprise, but he had sense enough not
to ask any questions. He nodded, glanced at Dawson, turned and went
forward to his compartment. Dawson waited until he was out of earshot,
and then gave Colonel Welsh an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, speaking out of turn like that, sir," he said. "I guess the
captain must think I'm a little cracked."

"Let him think so," the colonel remarked quietly. "All he knows is that
he's flying me to Casablanca for a meeting with my agents, and that it's
up to him and his crew to get me there. If he'd been through what you
have, he'd be the first to agree with you. Maybe the flare will tell us
something. If it is a torpedoed ship, I think I will take a chance and
have her position radioed. Poor dev--"

That was as far as the colonel got. The savage yammer of aerial
machine-gun fire interrupted him. An instant later they all heard a yell
of pain from the pilot's compartment. Even before the echo had died
away, the North American B-25 heeled over on one wing and started to
slide off and down with both