n't you understand, Dave?"

"Sure, sure!" Dawson called back, though every word seemed to burn holes
in his lungs. "I see them, and I'm heading over. Just--just taking a
couple of minutes out to enjoy life again."

"Wait, jolly well wait until you get aboard!" the English youth yelled.
"Maybe you like being in this confounded aircraft, but I don't. Get us
over there, quickly. The sooner we give our report to Admiral Jackson
the better it will be for everybody concerned. Man, Dave, just think of
it! We found Sasebo's force, and _now_ we've found Admiral Jackson's.
Imagine that!"

"Yeah, imagine that!" Dawson mumbled, as a spell of cold shivers started
taking charge of his body. "Just the way you see it happen in the
movies. Only--"

He let the rest die because the effort cost him too much, and banked the
MK-11 around until it was heading full out for the Yank task force far
ahead. And then it was he woke up to a fact that had been in the back of
his brain for some considerable time. And what woke him up to the truth
was sight of three Navy Grumman Wildcats streaking up off the flight
deck of one of the carriers, and coming up and around toward them at top
speed.

"Get set to wave and signal those guys somehow, Freddy!" he choked out.
"We're in a _Jap plane_, you know. Only those guys _don't_. So stand up
and wave, or hold your hands up in surrender, or something. Navy Wildcat
pilots don't take chances. They've learned you can't against the Jap
rats. So, for cat's sake, wave, or do any old thing to get them to hold
their fire. Here, I'll help you!"

Dawson started to stand up in his pit of the MK-11, but before he was
half-way up invisible steel claws seemed to tear his chest wide open,
and he fell back into the seat gasping and choking for air. And
countless dancing red and black dots filled his eyes. It seemed years
and years before he could get air into his burning lungs, and drive the
red and black dots away. By then the first of the three Wildcats was
within shooting range, but Freddy Farmer was standing up straight,
waving his arms, pointing at his American uniform, and yelling blue
murder at the top of his voice.

The leading Wildcat, however, came boring in at terrific speed, and
Dawson died a thousand deaths as he expected with each new split second
to see the leading edges of the Grumman's wing start spitting out
stabbing tongues of flame, and to feel the Wildcat's bullets and air
cannon shells smash an