y high performance
gliders of forty, or even thirty-five, gliding angle ratios, he would
have been lost.

"Nothing else you can toss out?" he growled at Freddy.

"What the Zen!" Freddy muttered nastily. "You want me to jump?"

"That's an idea," Joe growled wolfishly, even as he circled, circled.
"I should have realized when you were giving me your fling about
reintroducing aerial warfare, that it wasn't an idea that others
couldn't have. It was just as easy for Bob to mount a gun as it was
for us. Now we're both being kept from doing reconnaissance by the
other and--"

Joe Mauser broke it off in mid-sentence and his face blanched. He shot
a quick look downward. All three gliders had climbed considerably, and
the terrain below was indistinct.

Joe snapped, "Hand me those glasses!"

"What glasses? What's the matter?" Freddy complained. "Try to get
closer to them and let me get a close-up of you giving them a burst."

"My binoculars!" Joe snapped urgently. "I want to see what's going on
below."

"Oh," Freddy said. "I threw them out. Along with all the rest of the
equipment. Glasses, semaphore flags, that sun blinker you had. All of
it went overboard with my extra lenses."

The craft was so banked as almost to have the wings perpendicular to
earth. Joe shot an agonized look at the smaller man, then back again
at the earth below, trying desperately to narrow his eyes for keener
vision.

Freddy said, "What in Zen's the matter with you? What difference does
it make what they're doing down below? We're all occupied up here,
thanks."

"This is a frame-up," Joe growled. "Bob and that other pilot. They
weren't out on reconnaissance, this morning. They were laying for me.
They're out to keep me from seeing what's going on down there. And I
know what's going on. Jack Altshuler's pulling a fast one. Here we go,
Freddy, hang on!"

He slapped his flap brake lever with his left hand, winged over and
began dropping like a shot as his gliding angle fell off from
twenty-five to one to ten to one. In seconds the other two gliders
were after him, riding his tail.

Freddy Soligen, his eyes bugging, shot a look of fear at the two
trailing craft, both of which, periodically, showed brilliant cherries
at their prows. Maxim guns, emitting their blessings.

The Telly reporter turned desperately back to Joe Mauser, pounding him
on the shoulder. His physical fear was secondary to another. "Joe!
You're on lens with every Telly tea