He found it, only to have his fingers slide off. When he looked
down, 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, no
acute pain. From head to foot his entire body felt numb and weak, but
there was no sense of pain whatsoever. He was even more astonished when
he saw that the front of his ripped and torn tunic was stained with
blood, too.

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

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

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

Silence greeted his question, and terror was his again as he twisted
around in the seat. What he saw brought no yell of joy to his lips. On
the contrary, it brought a sob of alarm, because Freddy Farmer was
slumped 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 was
spattered 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 that
struggled up out of his throat. He turned front, and hot, stinging tears
fell from his eyes. On the ground was a sight that should have brought
shouts of joy to his lips and filled him with wild, surging happiness