Night had dropped down over the Mediterranean, and the H.M. Aircraft Carrier Victory was running without lights in a southwesterly direction. There was plenty of light below decks, however, but whenever an outside door was opened the bright lights immediately winked out and the pale blue "battle lights" glowed. Thus it was impossible for any telltale glow of light to reveal the Victory's presence to any nearby enemy craft of the sea, or to any enemy aircraft that might be patrolling the air above. True, the pale glow of the battle lights escaped into the night, but it was so dim as not to be noticed even at close range.

In Group Captain Spencer's quarters, Dave and Freddy bent over a huge map spread out on the desk, and listened closely to their senior officer's words.

"Here we are, now," the group captain said, touching the map with the point of his finger. "We have changed course for the last time, and it's pretty certain that the enemy has no idea what we're up to. It was lucky we were still steaming along at the rear of the main fleet unit when those Jerries showed up this afternoon. Had we been in the act of cutting away then, those lads who did get back to their base would certainly have reported us up to something. As it is, though, they probably think we're still tagging along with the fleet."

"And probably hoping we hit a couple of mines," Dave added with a chuckle.

"Probably," Group Captain Spencer agreed with a grin. "I don't believe those lads feel very kindly toward the Victory right now. We certainly gave them something to think about this afternoon. But, as I was saying, here we are right at this moment. In six hours, that'll be two o'clock tomorrow morning, we will be about fifty miles off the Libyan coastal town of Misurata. That is, of course, unless a couple of our destroyers that are way out in front of us sight something to make us change our plans."

"I sure hope not," Freddy said with a frown. "I'm all for this scouting show, and want to get on with it."

"Me, too!" Dave chimed in. "I've got a hunch I'm going to get a big kick out of it."

"I hope that's all you get out of it, except the much needed information," Group Captain Spencer said softly. "I don't want to sound like a phonograph record, but this is a mighty dangerous mission. You see, we haven't the faintest idea what you may or may not run into. Before you've hardly flown in from the coast you may run slap bang into a swarm of Axis planes on patrol. Then, too, much of your flying will have to be done blind. I mean, Libya isn't like England or France where there are towns, and rivers, and lakes, and all that sort of thing to serve as landmarks. It's a blasted expanse of sand, once you get in a way from the coast. And your only landmarks to fly by will be a tiny oasis village here and there that you can miss very easily because they blend in so perfectly with the cursed sand. I've done quite a bit of flying out that way, and I can tell you that it certainly isn't any pleasure hop."

"We'll jolly well be praying that the engine keeps ticking over," Freddy murmured.

"Right you are, and pray hard," Group Captain Spencer said with an abrupt nod of his head. "That's another of the several dangers attached to this show—a forced landing. Behind our own lines, a forced landing in the blasted desert is bad enough. But a forced landing behind the Axis outposts will be doubly unpleasant. And that brings up something I might just as well mention now as later. I said that this show is to be a secret. I meant it! It's to be just that. There will be no Fleet Air Arm markings on your plane. And you will not wear anything or even carry anything that would connect you in any way with the Fleet Air Arm, or the Victory. You'll not even take along your Mae West life jackets. And in case you are forced down in the desert, you will set fire to your ship at once. You understand that perfectly?"

The two boys nodded together.

"And if you are forced down, don't expect planes to be sent out to look for you," Group Captain Spencer continued grimly. "You will be strictly on your own. You can't expect any rescue help from us. That sounds pretty grim, and it is. But we've got to work it out that way. To let the enemy even suspect that the Victory had slipped in close to shore, and that the Fleet Air Arm was taking an active hand in the Libya problem, might result in no end of trouble. For one thing, it would have every German and Italian plane within range out hunting for the Victory. And that would put us in a pretty bad spot, if we were caught so far away from the main body of the fleet. And—By the way, what I've just said doesn't change your desire to tackle the job, does it?"

Neither of the boys said anything. They just sat there looking at him quietly. The group captain flushed faintly and smiled.

"Sorry, lads," he said. "Just thought it was up to me to ask, you know. But, back to the job. The minute you leave the flight deck you will be on your own. You will have extra tanks that should last you about eight hours. You will have your guns, and such, in case you do bump into Axis winged trouble. You will have a camera and plenty of plates. You won't have a radio, though, because to use it might give your position away, and the Victory's, too. There must be no radio contact between you chaps and the Victory. Another part of your equipment consists of items I hope you will not be called upon to use. Briefly, they are water flasks, emergency rations, pocket compass, sun helmets, service automatics, and one or two other things."

"Say, could I make a suggestion, sir?" Dave suddenly spoke up as the senior officer paused. "It might help in case we did run into trouble and went down."

"Certainly you may make suggestions," Group Captain Spencer said with a broad smile. "My word, you chaps are doing the show, you know. What is it, Dawson?"

"The clothes we wear, sir," Dave said. "Why not go all the way in fooling them about a connection with the Fleet Air Arm and the Victory? Why couldn't Freddy and I wear regulation desert infantry or machine gun company uniforms? Say, British, or Australian, or New Zealand? Uniforms from one of General Wavell's outfits?"

Group Captain Spencer looked impressed, but Freddy frowned slightly.

"But what about the plane, Dave?" he objected.

"Well, what about it?" Dave wanted to know. "If we can't set it afire in the air before we bail out—if we have to—we'll certainly destroy it as soon as we're on the ground. Later, if we are picked up, we're just a couple of infantrymen who got lost from a desert scouting patrol. See what I mean? What plane? Sure we saw a plane land and burn up, but it looked to us as if the poor devils in it burned up, too. See what I mean, Freddy?"

The English youth's face suddenly lighted up and he became all smiles.

"Sure, of course!" he cried. "Am I stupid! Not a chance in the world of them connecting us up with the plane and perhaps trying to force a story out of us."

"Right!" Dave echoed. "And as a couple of captured infantrymen, we won't be so important to them as a couple of captured airmen. They might not watch us so closely, and if we should get a break, why—Well, figure it from there."

"I say, hold it up a bit!" Group Captain Spencer cried. "I've half a mind not to let you tackle the show. My word, you've practically failed and got yourselves taken prisoners already. However, that's a good suggestion of yours, Dawson. I'll see Ship's Stores after we finish talking and have them fix up a couple of infantry uniforms for you. Now, get your eyes on this map again."

All three of them bent closer to the map, and the group captain continued speaking.

"Here's Wavell's most advanced outpost," he said, and pointed his finger, "here at El Aghelia, in the curve of the Gulf of Sidra. Eight hours after you take off the Victory will be at this point off the Libyan coast. See, I've written down the exact latitude and longitude. Take a good look, both of you, and get that location reading stamped in your brain."

Dave and Freddy repeated the figures several times to themselves until they were sure they would not possibly forget them. Then Dave looked at Group Captain Spencer.

"That point's only some thirty miles off Bengazi," he said, "and some three hundred miles east of the point where we'll take off. The Victory will have to do a lot of steaming to get there in eight hours."

"Yes," the group captain nodded. "But she can do it, with a bit to spare. I know what's in your mind, though. You're wondering why the Victory doesn't just put out to sea a bit, and then come in again to take you aboard?"

"I was wondering about that, sir," Dave admitted.

"Well, she's not going to do that for two reasons," the senior officer said. "First, because it will be daylight and it would be too much of a risk to cruise around so far to the west. We might be sighted by Axis planes crossing over from Sicily. The other reason is for your protection as well as ours. As you can see by looking at this map, your return flight will take you from El Aghelia up the eastern coast of the Gulf of Sidra to Bengazi and then on out to sea to our rendezvous point. That way you'll have less of an overwater flight to make to reach us. Also, if you are chased by enemy aircraft and get into trouble, you'll be in a position to make a run for a safe landing on British-occupied ground. The Victory will have an advance scouting plane aloft all the time, and if its pilot sees you in trouble the Victory will be notified at once so that she can make tracks away from the rendezvous area."

The group captain paused for breath and to light a cigarette.

"And that is another thing I want to warn you about," he said presently. "If you are chased by enemy aircraft, make no attempt to reach the Victory until you have completely shaken off and lost all such aircraft. In short, and to sum it all up very bluntly, you have about two chances of making the scouting patrol a success as against ninety-eight chances of failing."

"One chance in forty-nine," Freddy murmured, and then shrugged. "Well, I fancy that's better than one chance in a hundred."

"Tell us this, sir," Dave said. "Supposing we have to land at Bengazi, or some other British held point, what then? I mean, how do we make contact with the Victory?"

"You don't," Group Captain Spencer said bluntly. "Not unless you have information of vital value to the Fleet Air Arm, or the fleet itself. Any information, and all pictures you obtain of Axis positions and so forth, you will turn over to the commandant of the Bengazi post for immediate transfer to General Wavell's headquarters. If your plane is in a condition to permit you to fly on to H.Q., then do so. The main thing, though, is to get the information and pictures to General Wavell's headquarters the fastest way possible."

"And if we have information of value to the Air Arm or the fleet?" Freddy prompted.

"In that event," the group captain said with a frown, "we'll have to take a chance on the Bengazi radio informing us so that we can arrange for some other point of rendezvous, or some way of your getting the information to us. But I repeat once again: the Victory is playing a sort of lone wolf game in this thing, and she cannot run any risk of being caught and sunk by Axis planes, or even seriously damaged. You don't build an aircraft carrier in a day, you know. And we all know we have all too few of them as it is. The loss, or a long lay-up, of the Victory would be a serious blow to the Air Arm as well as to the fleet. Naturally, I'm counting on you two—and all other pilots we may have to send out on this job—not to put the safety of the Victory in jeopardy at any time, no matter what the cost may be to yourselves. In fact—"

The senior officer paused and made a face.

"In fact, she may even play a dirty trick on you," he continued after a moment. "I mean, she may find it too dangerous to make a rendezvous contact with you—and won't be there when you show up. However, there is a very slim chance of that. If it does happen, you will try to make land if you possibly can."

Dave nodded, then looked at Freddy and chuckled.

"What's funny about that?" the English youth wanted to know.

"Not a thing," Dave replied, but kept a grin on his face. "It was just a crazy thought I had. The way this thing stacks up, you'd think the Victory doesn't want to see us any more. But we'll fool her, eh, Freddy? She can't toss us out into the cold, cruel world like that, can she?"

"I should say not!" Freddy said with a short laugh. "I like the Victory very much. The old girl can't give me the cold shoulder. No, not a bit of it."

"Now I'm sure of it!" Group Captain Spencer exclaimed with an abrupt nod.

The two pilots stared at him.

"What's that, sir?" Freddy murmured.

"That you'll jolly well come through this with flying colors," Group Captain Spencer said. "I've met a lot of chaps who right now would be worrying themselves sick and biting their nails over the danger possibilities of this venture. But the way you two—well, to use a bit of your American slang, Dawson—the way you two take it all in stride, and fun around, makes me feel sure that you'll come out on top. Chaps like you two worry about the dangers afterward, not before. You take care of things as they pop up, and I suppose that's the way it should be."

"Well, don't worry, sir," Dave said. "Freddy and I'll both be in there pitching."

"Eh, pitching?" Group Captain Spencer murmured with a frown.

"More American slang, sir," Dave explained. "It means, we'll be swinging all the time, right from the bell. We'll be right on the old beam—in the groove, and—Well, you know what I mean, sir."

"Er—er, yes, of course," the senior officer said a bit dubiously. "Oh, quite! Well, I guess that ends this session, unless either of you chaps have anything to ask?"

"Not me, sir," Dave said with a shake of his head. "I reckon I've got it all down pat."

"Me, too, sir," Freddy echoed with a nod.

"Right-o," Group Captain Spencer said, and crushed out his cigarette. "Go rest up a bit, now, and relax. I'll see about those infantry uniforms from Ship's Stores. Afterward we'll check over everything you're taking along. Right now, though, relax and try to get your thoughts on other things. That's all."

After the two boys had left, the group captain stared silently at the closed door of his quarters for a long moment. Then presently he smiled and nodded his head.

"Just youngsters," he murmured softly, "but, by George, they've got the fighting hearts and courage of a dozen men!"