he blue at 350 miles an hour, he suddenly found he
was impatient for even more speed. Behind him men were even now fighting
and dying. He wanted to get back into it, start doing his part again.

An alien sound obtruded suddenly into the throbbing of his Spitfire. He
heard it almost without consciousness of what it portended, then was
abruptly aware that a stream of bullets was ripping through his
fuselage.

A Heinkel had slid up behind him from nowhere and its smoking guns were
streaming hot, leaden death at him. For a moment he was too amazed to
properly meet this unexpected danger. He had a curious feeling that it
was after _him_. That it wasn't merely a stray enemy plane making chance
contact. It was an absurd thought, but it gripped him strongly and he
couldn't shake it off.

Another burst of lead hosed from the Heinkel. Stan rolled the Spitfire
to the left, then pulled it up tight and hard. The Heinkel shot under
him, went into a loop, then faked a turnover. Stan smiled grimly.

"That won't fool me, son," he muttered. He leveled off fast and eased
over into a three hundred yard safety zone. Setting the Spit on her ear,
he faced the Heinkel, testing his Brownings as he slid into place.

The Jerry was a crack flier. The Heinkel came in with a roaring thrust,
her Madsen slugs drilling away at the Spitfire. Stan heard the stingers
zipping through his fuselage. A blue flame began playing up and down
over a hole in his fuel tank.

"Well," Stan muttered sourly. "I'll have to put a stop to this, or
else----"

He sent the Spitfire off to the right like a streak. The Heinkel zoomed
past, building altitude for a death thrust. Stan cracked the throttle
wide open and kicked in the emergency booster. The Merlin answered
splendidly.

Glancing into his mirror he took in the setup, then faked a steep climb.
Up he went, 500 feet, then sent the Spitfire into a screaming back-over
roll, holding his ship upside down until he was behind the Heinkel and
above it. Then he dropped the Spitfire as though she were crippled. This
placed him under the Heinkel and he went up. The Jerry was now trying to
make a run for it. Stan saw a spread of fuselage and a wing through his
windscreen and he pressed the gun button. The Brownings spat fire and
lead. The Jerry was trapped and knew it. He swayed and rocked and
twisted in an attempt to get away. The bullets drilled out again, a
four-second burst.

Fire and smoke rolled out of the port mo