The Chief of Combined U.S. Intelligence seemed purposely to allow three or four moments for the importance of his statement to have its effect upon his listeners, and then he made a little gesture with one hand, and flashed them a brief smile once more.

"And the reason you gentlemen have been selected for this job," he said, "is because your commanding officers consider you best fitted and equipped to tackle it. To put it another way, you pilots are the cream of the crop. Perhaps some of you may be wondering why you were not asked to volunteer for the job. Well, the answer to that is easy. In the first place we would have been forced to reveal somewhat the nature of the job, and it was our desire to keep everything a secret right up to the last minute. And in the second place, and just as important, asking you to volunteer would be just a matter of routine. Your war records show that no matter whether you volunteer for a job, or receive orders to perform it, you go at the job all out just the same. However, before I go any further, just for the sake of the record I'd better say right here that any pilot who does not wish to take part has my full permission to withdraw right here and now. No questions will be asked, and his withdrawal will not be held against him in any way."

The colonel stopped talking and let his eyes wander about the Ready-Room again. Nobody said anything. Nobody even so much as moved. They all just sat there in their seats waiting patiently for the colonel to continue. He did, with a grin and a little hunch of his shoulders.

"See what I mean?" he said. "Just a waste of time finding out if you fellows want a crack at this thing. Incidentally, I'm very proud of all of you, and very grateful in the name of your country. But to get on with this thing. As you've probably come to realize by now, we've not only picked crack pilots for this job, but also crack flying teams. By selecting pairs that have had considerable experience together against the enemy, we believe that we will get far better results than if we had simply picked a crack pilot from one squadron, a crack pilot from another squadron, and put them together in the same plane. There isn't enough time for you to get to know one another in the air. And so we have selected teams instead of individuals."

The colonel paused, half turned to glance at the commander of the task force, and then faced the pilots again.

"You will probably not take off on the first phase of this vitally important Jap hunt until tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest," he continued. "However, I want all of you pilots to remain on constant alert, just in case the unforeseen does happen. Right after I finish this little talk you will be assigned to your planes, and you will also be given instructions about take-off orders, take-off rules and signals, and communication code-words to be used while in flight. And, of course, before each patrol the team of each plane will be given complete instructions as to the patrol course to be flown, and exactly what is to be done in the event any units of the enemy are sighted. Admiral Jackson, here with me, and the executive flight officer, will have charge of those details. My job—"

The colonel paused and half grinned."Call me the team coach, if you wish," he said. "I'm the coach giving you the old pep talk before the big game. And believe me, it is the big game. If we don't find this Jap force reported moving southward; don't find it and do something about it, our initial offensive against the Japs in the Southwest Pacific can easily be turned into a most disastrous defeat for our forces. That possibility you must not forget for a single instant, and act accordingly."

The Chief of Combined U.S. Intelligence took another couple of moments out, and Dawson, watching him intently, saw the corners of his mouth tighten, and a hard, steely look come into his eyes.

"And let's not try to kid ourselves either," he suddenly said in a low, quiet voice that contained just a faint ring of steel against steel. "It is going to be the hardest job any of you have yet tackled. And some of you, only a few I hope to God, will not be coming back. We are playing for surprise one hundred per cent, but we've got to remember that the Japs have not thus far shown themselves to be stupid and dumb when it comes to the question of pulling a fast one. For that reason, we've got to be on the alert against any surprises they might pull out of the hat. Frankly, nobody knows where this carrier force is right now, or where it's headed. Not even our own Navy Department. This maneuver is strictly hush-hush. And that's just as it should be, everything considered. We have a tough job ahead, and there's no sense making it any tougher through being careless and not on the alert. And now, just one more thing. You can consider it an honor to be selected to take part in this maneuver, but don't let it go any farther than that. I mean, there are pilots, and air crews aboard this carrier, and the Hawk, who will not take part in your work. That, however, doesn't mean they won't have a job to do, and a mighty important one, too. So just don't get the idea that you are something special—even if you are. See what I mean? All right, then. Thanks for listening, and a million in luck. Very good, sir. Your turn."

The colonel spoke the last to the carrier task force commander seated beside him. The high ranking naval officer rose to his feet, spoke a few words of greeting to the pilots, assured them that they were most welcome aboard the ship, and expressed the hope that they would find their stay aboard pleasant for themselves, and profitable for the cause for which they were fighting. Then the Naval officer turned them over to the executive flight officer. He in turn led them out into the deck hangar, and with the aid of a few junior officers assigned the planes to be used on the Jap hunt.

The plane given to Dawson and Farmer was a Wright "Cyclone" powered Douglas "Dauntless." That suited them both right down to the ground. Or rather, right down to the deck. It did because they both had flown that type of carrier-based plane quite often. And in their combined opinion it was the very latest thing in long range scout-bombing planes.

"Nice, very nice!" Dawson breathed happily, as he ran his eyes over the sleek, yet powerfully built aircraft. "I was worrying a little about what they were going to give us to fly. But I'm not worrying any more. This baby is all that I'd ask for."

"Quite; me, too!" Freddy Farmer echoed. "It's got the range, and the power."

"Also, it has the what it takes, in case we bump into Zeros and such," Dave reminded him. "Gee, I wonder if they're going to let us try out the ships before they send us off on the hunt job?"

"Naturally," Freddy Farmer replied, as though he considered such a question quite unnecessary. "After all, you know, even aircraft of the same type are different in lots of little things."

"Yes, I know," Dawson grunted. "But—"

And that's as far as he got. It was almost as though his question about test flying the Douglas Dauntless had been overheard, because at that moment a junior officer came up with the announcement that most of the aircraft were about to be taken up onto the flight deck so that they could be test flown before darkness set down for the night.

And just twenty-five minutes later by Dave's watch he was seated in the pilot's pit of the Dauntless buckling his safety harness, and making the one hundred and one last minute preparations for flight. Seated in the pit in back of him was Freddy Farmer, making ready himself. The Carrier Carson had turned slightly into the wind and was rushing through the Southwest Pacific at full knots to give the pilots every take-off advantage possible.

"Okay, Freddy?" Dave called back. "All set?"

"Been waiting for hours!" the English youth shot back at him "Right-o! Any time you get the signal."

Dave grunted and fixed his eyes on the flight bridge. The officer there suddenly turned and pointed his flag at Dave. Dawson gunned his engine slightly, and with the aid of a crew man on each wing he wheeled the Dauntless forward and into take-off position. The flight officer raised the flag, looked at Dave, and then brought the flag down fast. Dawson's hand on the throttle shoved it forward. The Wright Cyclone in the nose roared up in its song of power and the Dauntless moved forward down the deck. It picked up speed with every rev of its three-bladed steel prop, and Dave had it clear of the deck in no time at all. He went cutting up and off to the left to make room for the next plane taking off.

"Well, pal, how's it suit you?" he called back to Freddy when there were some five thousand feet of air under the wings.

"What suits me?" the English youth echoed back. "This plane, or your flying, or what? Of course, if you mean your flying, why—"

"Save it, sweetheart, save it!" Dave growled. "No. This pip of a plane, and my expert flying, go without saying. What I meant was, how does this Jap hunt shape up to you?"

"Could be worse, I fancy," Freddy replied. "Truth to tell, though, I could do with a whole lot more details. The colonel didn't say very much, you know."

"Well, for cat's sake, what else could he say?" Dawson demanded. "Somewhere in an area of about a hundred thousand square miles is supposed to be a big Jap force on its way south to make plenty of trouble. Maybe it isn't going south. The colonel doesn't know. Or anybody else, for that matter. However, the colonel can't take chances on our Guadalcanal and Tulagi attack going haywire. I mean, having this Jap force bump into them right at the beginning of the attack. See what I mean?"

"Rot!" Freddy snorted. "As if a ten-year-old child couldn't reason that out? Certainly! Of course, you silly blighter. Naturally the colonel doesn't know where this Jap force is. But I meant, more details on how, and when, and how long we're to patrol, and stuff? He only touched on that part by saying that we're to find the Jap force."

"Okay, okay, fire horse!" Dave grunted. "Just be patient. I promise you, I'll refuse to take off on a single patrol until your craving for details is completely satisfied. Will that be all right, fussy pants?"

Freddy Farmer made some remark, but Dave didn't hear it. He didn't because at that moment he heard the call signal from the carrier in his earphones. He answered at once, and his heart started hammering against his ribs as the crisp spoken orders came through from the carrier far below and several miles to the north of his position.

"Proceed due east from your position, Tiger!" the carrier officer said, using the Dauntless' code name. "Scout for unidentified aircraft. Proceed at full throttle. If it is an enemy aircraft, attack and destroy at once. Repeat! Attack and destroy at once!"

"Orders received and understood, Swordfish!" Dawson called back instantly. "On course, now!"

As Dave had spoken the words he had heeled the Dauntless around on wingtip, opened up the Cyclone wide, and was now streaking across the Southwest Pacific sky toward the east. Their headphones being connected, Freddy Farmer had heard the orders at the same time. And so, naturally, he asked no questions about Dave's sudden and violent maneuver. As a matter of fact he said nothing. He simply sat tight in his pit, and like Dave riveted his eyes on the eastern sky ahead.

The east was a little smudgy because night was approaching. Also there were some cloud banks hanging in the sky that cast all kinds of crazy shadows. As a matter of fact, half a dozen times Dawson was dead sure he spotted the shadow of a moving plane hugging close to the clouds. But each time he opened his mouth to call out to Freddy Farmer the "shadow" just melted away into nothing.

Eventually, though, Freddy Farmer's eagle eyes scored a hit on something that wasn't just a shadow that melted away the next time he looked. He called out sharply to Dave, and pointed with his hand.

"A lone aircraft ahead and about ten degrees to starboard, Dave!" he announced. "See it? Just under that cloud that's shaped like a pear. See it? See...? By Jove, Dave, get us more speed! That's a blasted Jap snooper! Good grief! And this far south? Wait! Yes, Dave, yes! It is one of their four-engined Kawanishi flying boats, just as sure as you're a foot high. Blast them! Way down here snooping on us!"

For some four or five seconds Dawson didn't make any reply. He leaned forward in the seat, as though that would aid his vision, and stared hard at the heavens ahead and ten degrees to starboard. But for those number of seconds he couldn't see a single thing that increased his heart beat. Then, suddenly, he did see it. He saw the huge four-engined long range flying boat type of craft that the Japs had copied from the type of flying boat that the French had used before the war on the mail and passenger run between Dakar and Brazil. Now that he could see it he was amazed that he hadn't seen it much sooner because of its tremendous size. The wing span was a good one hundred and thirty-two feet, and the hull made him think of a good sized destroyer. And as he peered at it and impulsively tried to force the Dauntless on to even greater speed by pressing the heel of one palm hard against the already wide open throttle, he realized without getting any closer that the huge flying boat was well armed.

"Don't you see it yet, Dave?" Freddy Farmer's voice cut into this thoughts. "It's just under—"

"Don't worry; I spot it, eagle eyes!" Dawson cut him off. "I'm just selecting which part of it to smack first. Come snooping down here on us, huh? Not today, my little Jap rats. At least, not any more. Just another couple of shakes, now, and you're going to only have eyes that are blind! And how!"