ry sign, and
banked the MK-11 around until he was headed due south. True, his
navigation depended only on the compass. And a Jap compass at that.
However, he felt sure that if he kept on heading as he was going now he
would eventually hit some part of the New Guinea coast. And that would
be good enough. He'd find Port Morseby soon afterward, or--

"Or bust a wing in the attempt!" he finished the thought grimly.

And so, southward went the Mitsubishi MK-11. And southward, also,
trailed the three Jap Zeros no more than two miles behind, and some four
or five thousand feet higher up in the air. And for an hour the picture
remained the same. There was nothing to be seen below but the rolling
endless swells of that part of the Southwest Pacific. And in the air the
three Jap Zeros tagging doggedly along. Ten thousand times, at least,
Dawson twisted around for a squint at those trailing Zeros. And ten
thousand times, too, he glanced at the last glow of the sun's rays that
tinted the western heavens, and at the shadows of night racing up out of
the east.

Soon, now, night would come with a rush as it always did in that part of
the world. Soon darkness would be all about the MK-11, and he and Freddy
Farmer could lose those trailing Zeros. Soon--

But at that exact moment he heard Freddy's wild cry of alarm and felt
the English youth's fist thump down on his shoulder.

"Here they come, Dave!" Freddy cried. "Here come the blighters, blast
them!"

Dawson instantly twisted around in the seat, and just as quickly cold
fear clutched at his heart. It was true enough. The three Zeros had
suddenly speeded up. But, more than that, they were coming down in a
dive straight for the MK-11. One look at the way those Zeros were piling
down and Dawson knew that one of two guesses was true. And possibly
both. The Zero pilots had decided that the two youths planned to shake
them off in the darkness, after leading them astray. Or else they
figured that the American carrier force was due south, and that they
could finish off their "unsuspecting victims" and use the rest of the
gas in their tanks to get back to their own carrier. It was one or the
other, and maybe both. But down they came, anyway, and a spell of cold,
helpless fear was Dawson's.

"Get set with your rear guns, Freddy!" he called out sharply. "I should
have figured this. Those rats are tired of playing around, and I've got
a hunch they're going to do something about it. Somethi