For the second time that day the fighter pilots of the Carrier Victory filed into the Ready Room and found seats. Group Captain Spencer grinned and nodded to each youth as he entered. To Dave Dawson he gave a broad grin and a wink that made the Yank R.A.F. pilot feel as good as though the Distinguished Flying Cross Medal had been pinned on his tunic. Finally all were seated and every eye was fixed on the group captain standing on the little platform.

"Sorry about that little interruption," he presently said with a chuckle. "I give you my word, it wasn't something I arranged just to see if you lads were up on your toes. I knew that all the time. And I fancy the Jerries know it now, too. A good job, and I'm jolly well proud of you. Well, on with the unfinished business."

The senior officer picked up the service cap filled with folded slips of paper and stepped forward to the edge of the platform.

"Right-o, line up again," he said. Then, with a grin, "If there's another blasted raid alarm, we'll just pretend that we didn't hear it. Mustn't keep you fire eaters in suspense forever, you know. Right-o! Line forms on the left."

The pilots formed a line again. By mutual consent they gave Pilot Officer Parks the number one position, but they didn't bother figuring out who else had had what position in line the first time. They just all sifted into places in back of Parks, and let it go at that. As a matter of fact, Dave found that he was four men in front of Freddy. The pair had become separated during the shuffling into line.

Eventually everything was set. A hushed stillness settled over the Ready Room as Parks dipped his hand into the cap and pulled out a folded slip. He took a step to the side and opened it with trembling fingers. Every other pilot watched his face, and waited expectantly. They saw hope fade into bitter disappointment. The pilot crumbled the slip into a little ball and threw it disgustedly on the deck.

"That's Parks luck for you!" he growled. "A blasted blank!"

"Chin up, old fellow," Group Captain Spencer smiled at him. "Maybe your best pal will draw it. Right you are. Next chap!"

One by one the pilots drew slips from the cap and examined them, full of hope and eagerness. And one by one they were laughed at by Lady Luck just as she had laughed at Pilot Officer Parks. Finally it was Dave Dawson's turn. He reached up his hand, then hesitated and looked down at his other hand to make sure that his fingers were crossed. Group Captain Spencer followed his look, and chuckled softly.

"Did doing that help you in that close shave upstairs, Dawson?" he asked. "If so, I must do it myself from now on. Blessed if I didn't see one of those Jerries stick his machine gun right square in your face, and still he missed you. Oh well, go ahead and draw."

Dave dipped his fingers into the cap, fingered a couple of the folded slips, and then drew one out. His head was singing faintly, and the blood was surging, through his veins as he stepped to the side and unfolded the slip. What he saw, gave him the sensation of a bucket of ice water spilling down over him. The slip was blank on both sides! He grinned weakly, wadded up the slip of paper and flipped it away in disappointed disgust just as the others had done. Then he walked over to a chair and sat down to watch the rest of the drawing.

He stopped watching, and so did everybody else, when Freddy Farmer unfolded the slip he had drawn. The English youth's eager face suddenly lighted up like a Christmas tree, and his hands trembled so much with excitement that the slip fluttered down onto the deck.

"Got it!" he shouted, and bent down to retrieve the slip. "I really have. See?"

He jumped around on first one foot and then the other and wildly waved the little slip about over his head.

"I say, land, will you, Farmer?" Group Captain Spencer shouted at him good-naturedly. "I'm sure you're not pulling our leg, but let's have a look at the thing, anyway."

Freddy stopped jumping around and held out the slip so that all could see the X marked on one side.

"That's it, right enough," Group Captain Spencer said, and tossed the cap with the remaining folded slips back on the table. "Well, congratulations, Farmer. And I guess we don't have to guess whom you want to take along with you, eh?"

Dave's disappointment at not having drawn the slip blew away into nothing when he saw the X on Freddy's slip. He looked at his pal and grinned, and waited to hear Freddy ask him to go along on the dangerous venture. A couple of moments later, though, a cold wave seemed to spread through him, and his heart became a hard lump in his chest. Freddy had passed his eyes right over him and was studying the faces of the other pilots. Could it be that Freddy—? Was Freddy going to choose somebody—?

"I don't know, sir," he heard Freddy say through a dull rumbling in his ears. "It's a very important job, and a chap must be sure of the fellow he takes along with him. Yes, sir. Must give it a bit of serious thought, you know. Now—let me see. Blessed if it isn't a hard job to choose the right man."

Dave could hardly believe his ears as he heard the words that fell from Freddy Farmer's lips. And he could hardly believe his eyes as he saw the English youth almost deliberately turn his back on him and look at the other pilots. He was conscious, too, of the general air of stunned amazement that pervaded the Ready Room. It was obvious that everybody else had expected Freddy to ask Dave at once.

"As difficult as that, Farmer?" Group Captain Spencer presently asked with a puzzled frown on his face.

"Oh yes, sir, quite difficult," Freddy said, turning to him. Then, with a wink at the group captain that everybody saw, he turned to look at Dave, and asked, "Would you like to go along, my little man?"

Dave blinked, gulped, and then realized in a flash that Freddy hadn't actually given a single thought to anybody else. He had simply been paying him back for those wise-cracks while on advance scout patrol, just as he had promised; paying him back by keeping him hanging on tenterhooks. Dave's first impulse was to leap forward and turn Freddy over his knee. He beat back the urge, however. Instead he let loose a loud sigh of relief that snapped the tension in the room and caused everybody to burst out laughing. He looked at the impish I-told-you-so expression on Freddy's face and nodded gravely.

"I accept, Pilot Officer Farmer," he said in solemn tones. "However, on one condition."

"Condition?" Freddy echoed, and his grin faded.

"Yes," Dave said with a very straight face. "On Group Captain Spencer's guarantee."

"My guarantee?" gasped the group captain. "What in thunder do you mean, Dawson?"

Dave hesitated and acted as though he were reluctant to speak.

"You're sure it would be safe, sir?" he asked gravely. "I mean, with this officer along? He wouldn't get in my way, or anything?"

There was pin-dropping silence for a second, and then the Ready Room rocked with the roar of laughter that went up. Freddy went beet red to the roots of his hair and glared at Dave.

"Safe?" he shouted. "I'm jolly well the one who has to worry about being safe. Oh well, I've made my choice. I'll act the gentleman and stick by it."

"All right, all right, you two!" Group Captain Spencer called out as Dave opened his mouth to reply to that one. "Do the rest of your leg pulling in the plane. Man, how I pity the Jerry who takes you two prisoners. You'd drive the poor devil clean off his topper with your crazy talk. Well, anyway, that's that. You two, of course, are relieved of all other duties beginning with now. Meet me in my quarters right after evening mess. We'll do a little bit of plotting and planning, in case it should come in handy. Right-o, chaps, that's all. Dismissed!"

Three hours later Dave and Freddy were stretching their legs up on the flight deck. They had had mess and in a short time they would report to Group Captain Spencer in his quarters. First, though they felt they would like a stroll and a few words together. Since the drawing, they had not had much of a chance to be alone. Though they had been relieved of all duties, they had not merely sat back and taken things easy. They were real pilots, right to the core, and as soon as Group Captain Spencer had dismissed them they had gone below decks to the repair station to have a look at the Skua that had been hoisted aboard. An inspection of the plane, as the Victory's mechanics worked on it, had brought to light the true reason for the retractable landing gear's failure to function. As Freddy had guessed, bullets had parted one of the cables, and a free end of the cable had been whipped up by the propeller wash to catch in the retracting gear and jam it so that the right wheel couldn't go more than a quarter of the way down.

That, however, was not the most important thing they found out. Inspection also showed that both of them had come within three inches or less of becoming dead pilots. Bullet holes in the fuselage and cockpit cowling (or hood) showed clearly how narrow had been the margin by which death had passed them by. Two or three inches one way or the other and they would most certainly have joined their Junkers and Heinkel victims down in the gentle blue swells of the Mediterranean.

And now they were walking down their dinner along the long narrow flight deck of the Victory.

"In case you didn't get the idea," Dave said, breaking a moment's silence, "you sure gave me a sweet case of heart failure in the Ready Room this afternoon. No fooling, I thought sure you were honestly giving me the cold shoulder. Gosh! I didn't know what to think."

"Let it be a lesson to you," Freddy replied with a grin. Then, in a serious tone, "But I should be sore at you for even thinking I'd pick anybody else but you. After that landing you made? I should say not."

"Thanks," Dave said. "But I was scared stiff bringing that ship down. And between you, me, and the stern of this deck, there was an awful lot of luck mixed up in that landing. A couple of times I thought she was getting away from me. I'd sure hate to have to do it every day."

"Well, it was perfect," Freddy said. "A hundred times better than a landing I recall you once made in the English Channel."[1]

"You recall?" Dave scoffed at him. "How could you? You were out cold that time, and you know it. And, boy, when I turned around and saw you—!"

Dave left the sentence hanging in midair and shook his head as though to drive away the heart-chilling memory.

"Gee, it sure is different down here, isn't it?" he said, changing the subject.

"Meaning what?" Freddy asked.

Dave pointed a finger toward the east.

"The way day becomes night," he said. "Up north you have a couple of hours of twilight. But down this way you have only a couple of minutes of it. The sun goes down and then, bang, it's dark in nothing flat. I never realized that before about this section of the world."

"Well, it's a good thing when a pack of Jerries are on your tail, I fancy," Freddy grunted. "You can dive and lose them in the dark. And speaking of the dark, watch your take-off just before dawn tomorrow. Wouldn't be nice to crack us up before we get started, you know."

Dave turned his head and stared in amazement.

"Me watch the take-off?" he ejaculated. "Where do you get that stuff? You drew the marked slip. That makes you the pilot of the plane. Me, I'm the back seat driver."

"Oh, no, you're not!" Freddy argued. "I'm a very bright lad, I'll have you know. I know a pukka pilot when I see one. And I'm looking at you, see? Besides, I guess I never told you, but I'm a regular camera fiend. And the passenger works the camera. No, Dave, you do the flying. I'll take the pictures and try to bother you with back seat talk as much as I can."

"You really mean that, Freddy?" Dave asked. "You want me to take the controls?"

"That's right," the English youth nodded. Then, with a quick frown, "But don't take it as a compliment, my lad. I'm simply the lazy type, that's all. I like to have other people work for me."

"Aw, nuts!" Dave breathed in mock disappointment. "Just when I thought the guy was admitting I was good."