.
The secret desert-oasis field was now completely covered by clouds of
dirty black smoke that were slashed every few seconds by the bright red
and orange flames of newly exploding bombs. Each time a flash of flame
slashed its way up through the clouds of dirty smoke, bits of plane
wreckage came hurtling up after it.

Yes, Goering's Snoopers were doomed. They would never fly to Casablanca,
or to any other place, for that matter. But that wonderful, thrilling
realization left Dawson untouched. Somehow, he was beyond all feeling.
His brain was numbed, his heart was dead, and there was hardly the
strength in him to go on living. His tattered tunic was now drenched
with blood. Drops of blood fell from his fingers curled about the
Messerschmitt's controls. A gray curtain seemed to hover before his
eyes, and it took every ounce of effort that he possessed to peer
through it and make out the instrument panel.

"Can't be done, can't be done!" He heard his own mumbled voice as though
from miles and miles away. "We plastered them for keeps. But--but they
got old Freddy. And maybe they got me, too. Oh, dear God, I'm so tired,
so darn tired. I--I can't fly this thing back to Casablanca. I just--I
just want to quit now, and go to sleep. What does it matter, anyway?
Freddy's gone. And without old Freddy, I--"

His mumbling voice trailed off, and there was nothing but the continued
thunder of the Daimler-Benz engines in his ears. Suddenly he heard
another voice. A voice? Or was it something inside of him speaking?

"Quitting, huh? Just like that! You get a couple of scratches, and you
want to let down and quit. Isn't that just dandy? So Freddy's gone, huh?
How do _you_ know? You can't tell from here! But, no, you don't even
want to _try_ to get back to Casablanca, where maybe he could be saved
_if_ he's still alive. No! You just want to quit and make _sure_ that he
dies. Okay, quitter! There's hard earth down there. Dive in _and make
sure of death_!"

The little voice kindled a spark of anger within him, and it flared up
into a bright hot flame. Quitter, huh? The heck he was! Maybe Freddy
wasn't dead! Please, God, let that be true! He'd get Freddy back. Honest
he would. He'd get Freddy back, no matter what. This wasn't the end for
either of them. Remember how they had once kidded that the Nazi was not
yet born who could polish off either of them? Well, that was true. Yes,
doggone it, that was _true_! Casablanca? Okay! You bet! It