No sooner had Dave stuck the Lockheed's nose up through the top of the cloud layer than he leveled off so that the belly was still in the stuff. At that same instant also he and Manners started searching the sun flooded skies ahead and to the left and right. Having scrambled back aft to his tail turret Freddy Farmer searched the heavens to the rear. There was no cause for sudden action, however, for there wasn't a single sign of a Nazi plane in the air. The Messerschmitt One-Ten had been given the slip, and given it as only a pilot of Dave Dawson's ability can perform such a feat.

"Good work!" Manners grunted and relaxed a bit in his seat. "Now find a hole if you can and spot exactly where we are."

Dave nodded, climbed up another thousand feet, and in a minute or so found a hole in the clouds. He peered down through and grinned happily.

"Not so far wrong at that, sir," he said and pointed. "There's Southampton. And we're about a mile off-shore."

The Air Ministry official took a look and nodded his approval.

"Top hole blind flying, Dawson," he grunted. "Right-o. Bear west and take us to Lands End. Sit down in the field just north of the flying boat basin."

Dave's heart sang a song of joy and the blood began to dance through his veins. At Lands End was the main base of the Catalina flying boats that escorted so many merchant convoys in from their danger filled trips across the broad Atlantic. At Lands End were some of the greatest heroes in the R.A.F. Youngsters no more than a couple of years older than himself who fought weather, Nazis, and everything else day and night that England's bottoms might come safely into port. Twenty or twenty-five hours in the air at a stretch was routine stuff for those lads. And for a single Cat-Boat, escorting a dozen merchant ships and Corvette, to battle ten or a dozen Nazi bombers single handed and drive them off, was something you didn't even mention except in your official flight report. Heroes and aces, every one of them, commissioned and non-commissioned officers alike. High adventure, unbelievable heroism, and death. Those lads at the Lands End Base took all three in stride, and without batting an eye.

"That's an outfit Farmer and I will be mighty glad to serve in, sir!" Dave suddenly blurted out.

"You're not going to serve in it," Air Marshal Manners said bluntly. Then as he stared unwinking ahead, "Fact is, by this time tomorrow, or sooner, every lad at that Base will be hunting for you, and very eager to shoot you down. And their squadron will not be the only one out hunting for your hide. No, you're not going to like your visit to the Lands End Base!"

Dave gulped, and couldn't speak for a moment. On sudden impulse he turned his head and saw Freddy Farmer standing in the compartment doorway. The English youth's eyes were popping out like marbles on sticks and he was swallowing rapidly. Dave looked back at Manners.

"I don't think I get you, sir," he said with an effort.

"You will soon enough," the senior officer grunted. "You're in for a venture that will make this morning's doings seem like a solo flight in a training plane during peace time. But don't get all twisted up, now. The prayers of England will be flying with you, though the pilots of the R.A.F. will be hunting you down. It will be an important part of your job to see that they don't find you!"

"And how, if they're coming a-gunning!" Dave gulped. "But, sir, what...?"

"Later, at Lands End," Air Marshal Manners stopped him. "I'll.... By George, I must be getting weak in the head, I'm forgetting things so. I'll take over the controls, Dawson. You and Farmer go aft and get out of those uniforms. In the flare box you'll find some civilian clothes. They'll fit. Put them on. Then stuff your uniforms back in the flare box. Stuff them down deep and cover them up with flare cartridges. Beginning with now, Dawson, you're Charles Lanier. And you, Farmer, you're Henry Devoe. You're a couple of aeronautical engineers recently escaped from occupied France. You don't know a dozen words of English, so look blank if anybody speaks to you. Got all that?"

"Yes, sir," Dave managed to get out as a befuddled haze swirled around in his brain.

"Oh, quite, sir," Freddy echoed weakly.

"Good," Manners said and motioned Dave out of the pilot's seat. "Just act dumb French and take your leads from me. I'd tell you my plan, now, but you might possibly give it away by an unconscious action. Now, don't misunderstand, lads. I have absolute faith in you both. However, as they say in your country, Dawson, I'm going to play this one close to the chest. What you don't know now won't hurt anybody. Fact is, it'll probably make it easier for me to play my part in the game. And by the way, if I act just a bit rude to you, don't pay any attention. This is an inspection flight on order of a ranking member in the Government with whom you have connections. I'm supposedly against such a waste of time, but am only obeying the orders of my superior. You understand?"

Though their heads were spinning the two R.A.F. youths nodded instantly.

"Right-o, then," Manners said and gave them a smile. "Get aft and into those civilian clothes. And don't go exploding with curiosity. You'll know all the details in due time. Goodness knows you'll have to be acquainted with them! Now chase."

Dave and Freddy scrambled aft to the flare box amidships and pulled out the assortment of civilian clothing inside. In less than five minutes they were a couple of French civilians, and their much loved and honored uniforms had been stuffed down out of sight. Dave looked at Freddy and grinned broadly.

"Well, your clothes look Frenchie," he said, "but I can't figure the nationality of that face you're wearing."

"Is that so?" Freddy snorted and wrinkled his nose in disgust as he looked Dave up and down. "Fact is I can't place either your clothes or your face. The nearest I can come is a touch of Japanese with just a slight Eskimo resemblance. And, frankly, that's said with apologies to both races. But, seriously, Dave, what in the world do you think we're stepping into this time?"

Dave looked toward the pilot's compartment and slowly shook his head from side to side.

"I just tossed my brain overboard," he said. "I gave up trying to figure out this puzzle. So help me, if anybody had told me I was going to run into this many blank walls since dawn I'd have told them they were nuts. Sweet tripe! Spies, stolen planes, secret orders, a swim in the Atlantic, bullets coming too darn close, mystery planes, French clothing, no speak the English, the R.A.F. after my hide, and.... Pal, that's a mess of fish right there. You cook it. I can't!"

"Well, I gather we're in for some flying," Freddy said with a puzzled sigh. "And that's something."

"Yeah," Dave grunted, and jerked a thumb forward, "unless he comes up with some more cockeyed unfinished business that sends us both to the bug-house for keeps. Oops! We're heading down. Guess we must be getting close. Luck, pal!"

"I'll jolly well double that wish," Freddy breathed and led the way forward along the cat-walk.

Air Marshal Manners had nosed the plane down and as the two youths reached his side and looked down over the nose they saw the southwest tip of England pointed like a crooked finger at the little cluster of Scilly Island and the broad rolling expanse of the North Atlantic beyond. Dave looked at the mooring basin with a dozen or more battle tried Consolidated Catalina flying boats at anchor. There were also two or three Short Sunderland flyingboats. Huge battle wagons of the air that in peace time serve England's Atlantic air lanes just as the mighty Clipper flyingboats serve American ocean travel by air. Just north of the basin was the airfield for land planes and amphibians. The hangar side was lined with twenty or more different types. And as Dave peered intently he saw several planes of American design. Bombers probably ferried from Nova Scotia last night. Right now they were receiving a check inspection before being flown on to England's active service fields for final installations and assignment to the ever growing armada of wings that went hurtling across the Channel day and night to dump thousands upon thousands of tons of bombs down on Adolf's head and his bandit hordes striving to wipe humanity and civilization from the face of the earth.

Lands End Base! The jumping off point for their greatest aerial adventure. The jumping off point for glory, and for perhaps death, too!

"Well, I've seen better dressed Frenchmen, but I guess you look the part."

Air Marshal Manners' outspoken comment brushed the rambling thoughts away inside Dave's head. He glanced at his superior officer and gestured in a polite but blank sort of way.

"Pardon, mon Capitaine?" he murmured. "Ze Eengleesh, I speak no, yes?"

The Air Ministry official threw back his head and laughed.

"Fine!" he exclaimed. "Couldn't be better. Be sure and carry it through no matter what anybody says to you. But I'll take care that nobody says very much. Well, hang on. Here we go down for the next to the last landing on this job, please God!"

Dave and Freddy exchanged muddled glances and steadied themselves as Manners flew the Lockheed across the field and then circled around into the wind and slid down the last couple of hundred feet to a feather-on-velvet landing.

"Do I hope to be able to fly like that some day!" Dave breathed without thinking.

"Shut up, you Frenchman!" Manners growled. "But thanks for the compliment just the same. On guard, now. Here they come."

At the sight of a Staff plane with Air Ministry markings landing, the commanding officer of the field and one or two of his junior officers hurried out to greet the new arrivals. The C.O. was a Wing Commander, and the row of ribbons under his R.A.F. wings was proof positive that he had not earned his rank by sitting in an office chair with his feet on the desk. He recognized Air Marshal Manners at once, and with his juniors saluted smartly.

"Well, welcome to Lands End Base, sir!" he said in pleasant surprise. "Had no idea you'd be popping down this way for a bit of a visit."

"Had no idea myself, Otis," Manners said and shook hands. "Not until this noon, anyway. These two with me are the reason. Couple of French aeronautical engineers who got out of France somehow. Seems they were able to pull a few right strings in the Government. Anyway, I was picked to tootle them about the country for a courtesy inspection trip. As if I didn't have a thousand more important things to do! Oh, well, you can't have a war without blasted politics, I suppose."

"Aren't you right!" Wing Commander Otis sighed and gave Dave and Freddy a polite but cold nod. "I take it they don't speak English, eh?"

"Not half a dozen words," Manners replied in a disgusted voice. "And I rue the day I learned to speak French. However, we'll be off your hands by morning. Meantime, you carry on with your work, Otis. I'll herd these two here and there and try to show them as little as possible. Any hush-hush stuff here you think I should steer clear of?"

"There's an experimental job in a flight hangar," Otis replied. "But.... Well, I mean.... That is...."

"That I wouldn't trust them out of my sight," Manners said as the other floundered for words. "You're right. Ten to one they're the real true French, but I'm a bit leery of anything that comes across the Channel these days. You never can tell, you know. Frankly, I raised merry Ned about taking them on this inspection tour, but the word came down from high up, and.... Well, that was that, blast it!"

"A bloody shame!" Wing Commander Otis growled and gave Dave and Freddy a look that wasn't even polite. "I'm free for a short spell, and I'll be glad to lead the parade, if you like. Matter of fact, I wouldn't mind brushing up on my French. I mean, what there is of it."

"Fine, splendid!" Manners cried. "That'll make two pairs of eyes we can keep on them. But first, I guess I'd better make introductions."

Manners half turned to smile at Dave and Freddy, and then went through all the flowery business of presenting them to Otis, and presenting the Wing Commander to them. The two youths bowed and beamed and spouted perfect French at a mile a minute clip. Otis returned the wishy-washy compliments in bad French, and with a pained look in his eye.

And then began two of the most cockeyed hours Dave and Freddy had ever spent in their young but adventure-crammed lives. With Wing Commander Otis leading the way they were taken on a round of inspection of the field and hangars, and then over to the flying boat basin. At every stop interesting details were explained to them in French by either Manners or Otis. And in turn they played up to their part by jabbering out excited comments and compliments. But it was a hard act to play because Manners and Otis exchanged helpless glances every so often. And little by little it was plain to see that Otis wished with all his heart that "these two young Frenchies who talked like lightning had never got out of France." In other words, Dave and Freddy had to almost gag themselves to kill a smile or an outburst of laughter in the wrong place.

Just before they moved on and away from the flying boat basin Manners pointed to a battle grey Catalina flying boat some one hundred yards from shore.

"You see that craft, Gentlemen?" he said in French. "That is the fastest flying boat in the entire Coastal Command. And it has a record of which the entire Air Force is proud. The pilots and crew of that craft have twelve Nazi planes and a U-boat to their credit. It is of American design as you doubtless have noticed. I wish we had ten thousand like her. I've flown her myself, and she is a beautiful craft. Is that not so, Wing Commander Otis?"

"Quite right, sir," Otis replied. "That Catalina is our pride and joy. There isn't a ship here that can touch her for speed, or for standing up in bad weather. And now, perhaps you'd like to see the repair shops?"

Dave and Freddy nodded eagerly, but it was Air Marshal Manners who spoke first.

"You've done your job, Otis, old fellow," he said switching back to English. "Don't you bother with these two any more. I'll carry on with them. You get on back to your office. We'll walk a ways with you, and then see you later at mess. I'll explain to them that duty calls, and all that. They won't mind just so long as there's one of us to lead them around and let them stick their noses in here and in there."

"Sure you don't mind, sir?" Otis murmured. "Matter of fact I am a little behind on my patrol reports."

"Then by all means get on with it, man!" Manners said. Then turning to Dave and Freddy, he explained to them in French.

They let understanding light up their forced blank faces, and then went into a verbal song and dance telling Otis that it was quite all right, and ten million thanks for showing them so much. Otis mumbled some polite words in return, and then the trio walked part way back to the Base office. Finally Otis left them, and hurried away as though scared to death that he might be called back.

"By George, you two should be on the stage!" Manners chuckled when Wing Commander Otis was well out of hearing. "A dirty trick we played on real Frenchmen, because right now I think Otis is one man who hopes the Nazis keep France! He never was very strong for the Tri-Color anyway, but you two certainly finished him for good. The thing to do, though. The word will get around what pests you are, and I don't think you'll be bothered much later on. And that's exactly what I want."

"Why, sir?" Dave asked bluntly, but made gestures with his hands like a Frenchman in case Otis or somebody else might be watching from a distance.

Air Marshal Manners didn't reply at once. He half turned and glanced at the sun that was dropping down over the horizon like a giant ball of livid red flame. Then he glanced at his watch, and then at Dave and Freddy.

"Right-o," he said. "You two have certainly earned the whole story these last two hours. But walk up the shore with me just to make sure we won't be overheard. Take a good look at that sun, though, and let's the three of us pray that by the time it sets again tomorrow you two will have safely accomplished what in my opinion will be the most daring and dangerous feat of the entire war to date and probably in the future, too!"

Neither Dave nor Freddy said anything. They walked along the shore with their eyes fixed on the red ball of fire slowly sinking down out of sight below the Atlantic horizon. And in their hearts and in their very souls was the sacred promise that whether or not they ever saw that sun again they would exert every effort and make every sacrifice to accomplish successfully whatever the mission was that lay ahead of them.