hy can't I move!" The plane lifted and
lurched. A thunder of sound crashed against them, an intolerable force.
They were crushed to the floor as the plane was hurled over and upward.

Out of the mad whirling tangle of flying bodies, Thurston glimpsed one
clear picture. The face of the pilot hung battered and blood-covered
before him, and over the limp body the hand of Slim Riley clutched at
the switch.

"Bully boy," he said dazedly, "he's cutting the motors...." The thought
ended in blackness.

There was no sound of engines or beating propellers when he came to his
senses. Something lay heavy upon him. He pushed it to one side. It was
the body of General Lozier.

* * * * *

He drew himself to his knees to look slowly about, rubbed stupidly at
his eyes to quiet the whirl, then stared at the blood on his hand. It
was so quiet--the motors--what was it that happened? Slim had reached
for the switch....

The whirling subsided. Before him he saw Slim Riley at the controls. He
got to his feet and went unsteadily forward. It was a battered face that
was lifted to his.

"She was spinning," the puffed lips were muttering slowly. "I brought
her out ... there's the field...." His voice was thick; he formed the
words slowly, painfully. "Got to land ... can you take it? I'm--I'm--"
He slumped limply in his seat.

Thurston's arms were uninjured. He dragged the pilot to the floor and
got back of the wheel. The field was below them. There were planes
taxiing out; he heard the roar of their motors. He tried the controls.
The plane answered stiffly, but he managed to level off as the brown
field approached.

Thurston never remembered that landing. He was trying to drag Riley from
the battered plane when the first man got to him.

"Secretary of War?" he gasped. "In there.... Take Riley; I can walk."

"We'll get them," an officer assured him. "Knew you were coming. They
sure gave you hell! But look at the city!"

Arms carried him stumbling from the field. Above the low hangars he saw
smoke clouds over the bay. These and red rolling flames marked what had
been an American city. Far in the heavens moved five glinting specks.

His head reeled with the thunder of engines. There were planes standing
in lines and more erupting from hangars, where khaki-clad men, faces
tense under leather helmets, rushed swiftly about.

"General Lozier is dead," said a voice. Thurston turned to the man. They
were br