.
And that one flaw was making itself known right now as Dawson coasted
the Lockheed about in the North African sky over the prearranged
rendezvous point. In short, he had not seen the Nazi bombers, and he had
not heard so much as a whisper over the radio, though he had called
Freddy Farmer several times for a check. No bombers! Radio silence since
Casablanca! So--

"So," Dave said to himself as he tried to still the fearful pounding of
his heart, "So something has happened to Freddy! He's bumped into
trouble, and his radio went haywire on him. Or he's lost and has missed
the Nazis completely. Or--or he's dead!"

Dawson hardly realized that he had spoken the words until they were out.
Their echo in his ears caused his mouth and throat to go dry, and
fingers of ice to curl about his heart. He shook his head savagely and
pounded one clenched fist on his knee.

"Stop it!" he ranted at himself. "Don't even let yourself think of it,
you dope! Freddy will show up, or call you. He's just got to. He's--"

He cut the rest off short and stiffened in his seat as he caught sight
of a plane ripping through the air toward him. As he opened his mouth to
let out a shout of joy at meeting up again with Freddy Farmer, his
breath stuck in his throat.

"But that can't be Freddy!" he mumbled as he squinted his eyes at the
oncoming plane. "That plane is coming from the east, and Freddy would be
coming up from the south. And--Hey! My gosh! That--that plane is
_German_! It's a Messerschmitt 109, a Nazi fighter plane, and heading
right my way!"

He cut off the last with a vigorous shake of his head, as though to
clear his vision. However, when he took another look, the plane was
still a Nazi Messerschmitt 109, and it was still racing straight toward
him from out of the east. A moment later, though, just as Dawson
instinctively slid the guard off the electric trigger button of his
guns, the on-streaking Messerschmitt swerved southward, and its nose
went slanting up in a climb.

"What the heck?" Dawson cried, as a faint sensation of disappointment
rippled through him. "Is he getting cold feet so soon? Or didn't he see
me?"

A couple of moments later, his last thought seemed to be proven true.
The Messerschmitt pilot leveled off after he had climbed a couple of
thousand feet, and Dawson could tell by the decrease in the plane's
speed that the pilot has eased back to cruising throttle. No more than a
couple of miles separated the two air