Angry black storm clouds swept far to the roar of the Consolidated Catalina flying boat. Brilliant sunshine bathed the craft in its warm glow from the hull nose clear back to the tail, and from wingtip to wingtip. Below and just ahead heaving seas caused by the passing storm were slowly subsiding. Patches of white foam were fast disappearing; dissolving into thin air under the steady rays of the sun.

"It should be soon, Dave," Freddy presently broke the silence in a strained voice. "And if it isn't, I swear I'll blessed well blow my topper!"

"Keep your shirt on, pal," Dave grunted good-naturedly. "We can travel plenty fast, remember. That raider is in the water, not in the air with wings. It'll take time for her to get clear. How about trying a check on her?"

"I did just a moment ago," the English youth replied. "The signals were clear as a bell. She's traveling under forced draft, and her commander begged me not to lose touch with the convoy. He also wanted to know if British navy boats and aircraft were escorting the convoy."

"And you told him?" Dave murmured.

"Same as the first message I tried to get through to him, of course," Freddy said in a slightly hurt tone. "No escorting aircraft as yet, as the convoy hasn't reached the rendezvous point. And that there're only two Corvettes leading the merchant ships."

"Beautiful, if he only swallows it, which I guess he's done," Dave said with a chuckle. "Boy, what a nice surprise that guy's going to get! He figures that he's going to sneak up on the unprotected rear of that convoy and go through it like hot coals through snow. Instead, though, he's going to plow right into a mess of screaming shells from British navy guns, and depth charges, and bombs, and everything else. If only they can ring those U-boats before they duck down deep and skip away."

"The boys of the Fleet Air Arm will take care of that," Freddy said confidently. "They'll be up aloft, and they'll spot the raider long before she spots them. They'll give the range to the gunners on the ships, and then dive bomb the U-boats before they hardly have time to stick their noses under."

"Well, you sure make it listen good," Dave grinned. "And I'm keeping my fingers crossed that you're right. Eureka! Pay me the five pounds, Freddy! Look off down there. Just to the left of that patch of cloud scud. It's a ship. It's our raider, Freddy! See? See? Her U-boats are all on the surface. See those globs of grey in fan shape formation a quarter of a mile astern of her. Freddy! That's her, and no kidding about it!"

The English youth didn't utter a sound. He hunched forward and sighted along Dave's trembling pointed finger. Then he saw her, too. Saw the wolf-pack of U-boats running at top speed on the surface astern of the raider. Smoke from the raider's single funnel was streaming back low over the stern of the craft. A clear indication that she was getting every ounce of drive out of her propellers. She was low in the water and rather than ride up over each roller, her sharp bow cut through it like a knife and sent sheets of frothing water mounting high over her forecastle. A ship of speed, and deadly fighting power, yet ugly and repulsive looking even though you did not know of the mission of murdering destruction on which she was bent.

"And there you are, you dirty sea rat!" Dave grated through clenched teeth. "Think you're on your way to hurt England, eh? Well, you've got another...."

Crack!

The bark of the gun was like the world exploding apart to Dave and Freddy. And even as the sharp sound came to their ears they both saw the tiny hole and mass of cracks that appeared as though by magic in the forward window. For a brief instant they both stared at it as though hypnotized. Then as one man they whirled around in their seats and gaped aft.

If the bark of a gun and a bullet hole in the forward window surprised them, then sight of the figure clutching the gun stunned them completely. He wore the uniform of an R.A.F. Flying Officer, but the uniform was splotched with dirt, and grease, and oil. He wore no cap and his hair dangled down over his forehead. On the right cheek of his not too bad looking face was an ugly gash that ran straight up and down. A few tiny drops of blood seeped out the lower end and dribbled down to the line of his jaw and dropped off to stain the front of his tunic. Apparently he had stowed away in an aft compartment of the plane.

Ten thousand exclamations surged up to Dave's lips but for the life of him he could not speak a word. His throat was bone dry, and his tongue was as big as a baseball bat in his mouth. It was the same with Freddy Farmer, and it seemed almost to be the same with the man holding the gun, for he said not a word either. He simply stood braced on the cat-walk leading aft, a cruel twist to his lips, a burning look of hatred in his eyes, and the Luger in his hand held rock steady and unwavering.

And then sound exploded from Dave Dawson's lips.

"Baron von Khole!" he cried.

The man with the gun stiffened slightly. Startled surprise and annoyance flashed across his face. Then suddenly he relaxed, smiled tight lipped, and made a short little bow from the waist.

"But, of course," he said in perfect English, as though talking to himself. "That swine, Manners, must have spoken to you. Anyway, you are correct, my young friend. I don't mind admitting it, now!"

"And we first met you as Steffins!" Freddy cried as he suddenly found his own tongue.

The German agent flecked a glance at the English youth and nodded faintly.

"Splendid!" he said with a chuckle. "You two children really aren't fools, are you? You have brains, and you use them. Yes, that is true. I met you as Steffins."

"Steffins, the yellow belly!" Dave blurted out before he could cut off the words.

A cold deadly look leaped into the Nazi's eyes, and his finger crooked about the Luger's trigger seemed to tighten a hair.

"You are asking for death sooner than I had planned it, little boy!" he spat out harshly. "No one who desires to live even for a minute should call me a coward. That little affair on the train was as I planned it."

"And the strafing plane was some kind of a signal for you, too, wasn't it?" Dave shot out the question.

"Donder and Blitzen!" the German exclaimed in a whisper. "It is too bad you do not belong to German Intelligence. Yes, we could make good use of you. It was a signal, yes. And you can probably guess why. That doddering fool, Manners, has probably told you the whole story."

"I know what you mean!" Freddy cried. "That rotten business you were doing in London. The diving plane was a signal that your hide-out in London had been found, and that they were after you!"

"My, my, never have I met such clever little boys!" von Khole said with a marked sneer. "However, that's just about correct. It was a warning. So that is why I did not report to Squadron Seventy-Four. But it wasn't necessary, anyway. Don't, my young Dawson! Don't be a foolish child and think you can move faster than I can shoot!"

Dave had moved slightly in his seat, but he froze stiff as the Nazi's gun muzzle bored straight at a point between his eyes. A smarting retort rose to his lips, but common sense made him choke it back. So long as they kept the German talking, so long would they have the chance to do something about their predicament. Predicament? That was indeed putting it mildly. Not since that day in war blasted France when he and Freddy had first met had they been in such a tight corner as now.[3] And never had death been so close and so certain. No, their only hope was to stall for time. For while there is time there is hope, and while there is hope there is life.

"So you didn't report to Plymouth Base, eh?" he murmured and forced a puzzled note into his voice. "Then how in the world were you able to steal that Fairey Swordfish plane and follow us down to that rendezvous area for the raider and her wolf-pack of U-boats? You sure must have taken plenty of chances."

"Yes, you certainly must have!" Freddy cried eagerly and twitched in his seat. "Ouch, my elbow! But tell us, von Khole. How in the world did you manage that?"

The German's eyes narrowed with suspicion, but when he saw the eager and excited looks on the boys' faces he relaxed and smirked in triumph. He drew himself up straight but didn't take the gun off them for a single instant.

"There is nothing too difficult for Baron von Khole!" he cried in a loud voice and thumped his chest with his free hand. "It was nothing, that little bit at Plymouth. It was so simple. I merely made myself up as a mechanic and walked in through the main gates and past the stupid guards. A question here and there, and I learned of a plane that was going to be tested. I hid in the hangar and took care of the pilot when he arrived! I saw you two little ones take off. Of course I already knew the contents of your sealed orders, and I had made arrangements for the raider and her U-boats to be elsewhere. However, I had decided that Manners should be made to realize what a fool he was to think he could outwit us Germans. So I arranged for one U-boat to remain. A single U-boat to remain and sink the very first British warship that came to the spot. And so...."

"And so that idea fell flat," Dave interrupted with a grim nod.

Von Khole shrugged.

"You were lucky," he grunted. "And the U-boat's commander was a fool to come to the surface before you were in the water. But it does not matter, now. Your precious Air Marshal Manners knows what a fool he made of himself. And by the by, you two owe me your thanks. I could have killed you very easily, you know. But we Germans do not like to make war on mere boys ... unless we are forced to."

The deadly undernote of the last sent a chill cutting straight through Dave's heart. Von Khole didn't have to write him a letter to explain that the moment to "make war on mere boys" had now arrived!

He covered up his inner feelings however with a beautiful Bronx cheer.

"Says you, von Khole!" he jeered. "You owe us that kind of a vote of thanks. I had you in my sights cold, and you know darn well I did. I could have shot the pants right off you, and with both eyes shut, too."

"And you didn't?" the German echoed in mock surprise. "How strange! Or perhaps it was that your guns jammed at that very crucial moment, eh? I have heard that sort of explanation many times."

"It was my fault!" Freddy Farmer blurted out, and moved some more in his seat. "I was the one who stopped him. And I was a blasted fool for doing it, I can tell you. Rubbish to what you think! Dawson could have shot you down as easy as pie."

Von Khole nodded his head in mock patience.

"Well, well, what a shame!" he sighed. "And what a shame, my young Dawson, we'll never have another chance to see who is the better pilot. Yes, too bad, but one cannot expect everything in war, you know."

As the Nazi finished the last he leaned forward slightly and shot a quick glance down over the bow of the hull. Regardless of orders not to move, Dave turned his head and took a look himself. His heart leaped up into his throat when he saw that the raider had altered her course, and with her wolf-pack of U-boats in tow was steaming at full draft due north! He turned back and shot a quizzical look at von Khole. The German accepted the look with a smile and a nod.

"Yes, your little game is over, my young ones," he said. "There is work, great work for that raider to perform, and so she is hurrying on her way."

"What's that?" Freddy cried and spun front in his own seat to look. "Good grief, it can't be! What made that raider change her course? She headed directly for...!"

The English youth choked himself off and turned back to stare wide eyed at von Khole. The Nazi laughed out loud at the horror and misery on Freddy's face.

"Did you think this was the only airplane in the world?" he cried in a taunting voice. "Do you think all German pilots are asleep? Himmel! What fools to even hope you could be successful! What dunces to even think you could outwit me, Baron von Khole. Mere children! Bah!"

The Nazi agent made as though to spit as he spoke the last, and his whole face flamed red with withering scorn and contempt. A thousand cannons began booming in Dave's brain. He trembled from head to foot with the furious desire to leap at von Khole, and the heck with the Luger pointed his way. But with all his raging fury he still retained his common sense. And so he stayed right where he was.

"I get it," he said suddenly. "Your scouting planes have known the raider's position all along, huh?"

"But naturally," the German said. "And the way that ship is now headed means that our aircraft have sighted your precious convoy and have communicated its position to the raider! True, you contacted her first. I suspected that you probably would, but I didn't care. I decided to wait until you had actually sighted her and then put an end to your little game. From this moment on she will receive the true location and course of the convoy. She will close in and strike at the proper moment. The raider, her U-boats, and our long range bombers. It will be a great victory for Der Fuehrer, and a crushing blow to your doomed England. Himmel! Do you think I would have stayed hidden aboard this flying boat listening to you two children jabber about the British Fleet units and the wonderful things they were going to do, if I did not know for certain that this moment of triumph would arrive? But of course not. I only wish I could see the face of your naval ship commanders as they wait and wait for a raider to come sailing into their gun range. A raider that will be hundreds of miles away, and her work well done, before they even start combing the ocean!"

The Nazi was almost screaming by the time he finally came to a pause. Dave, looking at his flushed face, spittle drooling mouth, and popping eyes, knew that he was not looking at just one man but at a living symbol of the whole rotten to the core Nazi breed. Just as Air Marshal Manners had said, "Clever, cunning, and a genius at his work, but a black hearted, ruthless murderer."

"Your raider will not even get in sight of that convoy!" Freddy cried, his face white and strained. "It's well guarded. I can assure you of that."

"Now, can you, my little fellow?" von Khole sneered at him. "You are completely wrong. Perhaps you do not know it, but you are! Until the rendezvous point is reached, only two Corvettes are guarding that convoy. That is another stupid blunder on the part of your willy-nilly superiors. They decided to let the convoy come across with but two Corvettes to protect her until close off shore, instead of sending out naval ships to a rendezvous far at sea. But, no. They decided to spread their navy ships about the ocean and trap our powerful raider and her U-boats. Clever, they thought. Fool the Germans completely. Ah, yes! They thought it was a wonderful idea. Well, you see what a wonderful idea it turned out to be? Long before the convoy reaches the rendezvous point with your Catalinas and your destroyers it will be at the bottom of the Atlantic. Every ship. All of them!"

For a second Dave thought Freddy was going to hurl himself right out of the seat and lunge for the Nazi's throat. Instead, the English youth suddenly threw back his head and roared with laughter. Von Khole's face went dark, a scowl creased his brows, and a puzzled glint came into his eyes.

"So, you laugh when your countrymen are about to die?" he snarled as Freddy subsided a little.

"My countrymen die?" Freddy shot at him. "Why, you balmy Jerry, if they do, it will be from laughing. Laughing at you, and your blessed Fuehrer, at the whole lot of you silly Nazis. Shall we tell him, Dave?"

Freddy looked at Dave and winked the eye turned away from von Khole. Dave had no idea what the act was about, but he played up to it instantly. He shrugged and made a little gesture with his hands.

"Why bother?" he grunted. "Let him find out for himself."

Freddy pursed his lips, half turned and gave von Khole an accusing look.

"I say, let's stop playing with this stupid game," Freddy said. "I jolly well fancy you know all about it. Good grief, man, you must know if you're as clever as they say you are."

"I think you are talking in riddles," the Nazi said in a wary tone. "And I do not like riddles. What is this interesting thing you feel positive I should know?"

Freddy gave an exasperated shake of his head.

"The convoy, of course!" he snapped. "Its arrival! What else, my dear fellow?"

"Arrival?" von Khole echoed in a harsh voice.

"Certainly!" Freddy snapped at him again. "It docked at English ports early last night. All this business is simply an attempt to remove your wonder raider and her school of tin fish out of this blasted war once and for all."

"You little lying swine!" the German hissed as his eyes clouded up with thunder heads of berserk rage. "Do you think I'd believe that for an instant? No, my little boy. Your precious convoy has not made port, yet. And it never will! I can see that you have learned some things from your American friend, Dawson, here. He has taught you how to bluff. But I am one you cannot bluff."

"Okay, have it your way," Dave said, catching on to Freddy's effort to stall for time, and keep stalling. "You know your own codes, don't you? Your aircraft codes?"

"But naturally," the German said. "What of it?"

Dave lifted his hand enough to indicate the main radio fitted to its panel in front of Freddy Farmer's seat.

"Then get to work on that thing, and check," Dave said in a defiant tone. "Call your scouting aircraft and find out if they've spotted a big convoy. Yes, I said big convoy. Go on! Contact them and find out how many ships there are in the convoy you think that raider's headed toward. Go on, I dare you!"

Baron von Khole raked Dave's face with his eyes as though he were attempting to look right into the brain and read the truth there. Dave returned his stare and grinned a challenge.

"Farmer and I know that we're all washed up, von Khole," he said. "You beat us to the punch before we could guide the raider to within range of the British warships. Okay, you win that one. But if you think there's any big convoy waiting to be picked off, you're all wet. And I mean, all wet!"

The German continued to glare at them out of half closed eyes, and Dave kept the taunting grin on his face though his heart was pounding like a trip hammer against his ribs. Perhaps von Khole's next move would be the break that he and Freddy needed so desperately. If the German took up the challenge and bent forward to take the head phones from Freddy and use the radio the movement would bring him close. Please, God, close enough to make a wild grab for that Luger. It was their only chance. To overpower von Khole and get back on the job. The raider and her U-boats were moving northward fast. She had to be stopped. She had to be stopped! Please, God, make von Khole move closer ... move just a couple of feet closer!