Grey skies covered the world from north to south, and from east to west. Standing on the tarmac of the now world famous Botwood field, from which countless planes had been flown by unsung air heroes to eagerly awaiting pilots on the other side of the Atlantic, Dave and Freddy tugged their flying suit collars a bit tighter and looked at each other, bright-eyed.

"Some sight, hey, pal?" Dave grunted, and swept a hand toward the array of war planes of all descriptions that lined all four sides of the field. "It would kind of make Adolf feel sick, if he could get a look at that bunch."

"He'll hear them, if not see them, soon enough!" Freddy replied with emphasis. "And I hope I'll be in one of them that's right over his head. I say! What beastly weather, though!"

"This?" Dave echoed, and looked at him in surprise. "Why, I should think it would make you feel homesick. I've seen plenty of weather just like this on your tea-drinking island. Holy smoke! Every time the sun comes out in England, you birds don't know what it is that's happened for the first couple of minutes. What's the matter, pal? Down in the dumps because you've been hooked for a bit of possible action?"

"No, not a bit of it," Freddy sighed. "Just the usual unhappy feeling. Man! How I'd love to be given a war assignment without having to worry about you being along to probably mess up the whole business! But I suppose that's the cross I must bear."

"You'll bear a punch in the nose, if you don't look out!" Dave growled. "But, kidding aside, I wonder what comes next? Major Barber dropped us like hotcakes the minute we arrived in that Army bomber. Told us to go get breakfast, and have a look around. Well, we've been doing that for a couple of hours now. Me, I could do with those further orders he was talking about."

"Me, too," Freddy said with a nod. "But I fancy he'll get around to it when he's good and ready. This isn't the first time we've been kept in the dark as to what things were all about."

"Nor will it be the last!" Dave grunted. "But I don't blame the Major a bit. In this war you can tell a secret to the Sphinx, and first thing you know it's all over town. But that Major Barber is a good guy. And plenty! Me for him, any day in the week. I'll wait, if he says so."

"Nice of you," Freddy chuckled. "You blasted well will, and jolly well like it, too, my fine friend."

"Okay, okay!" Dave growled. "I was only pointing out—Oh, skip it! What type bomber would you like to go across in, Freddy? There're all makes here."

"Any one of them, it doesn't matter," Freddy replied, "just so long as it gets me to England, and soon. I say! Have a look at those two transports coming in to land! They don't plan to ferry those big things across empty, do they? I don't see any stores of equipment laying around here waiting for transportation across."

Dave didn't reply for a moment. He stared at the two huge Curtiss-built troop transports that were circling the field and coming around into the landing wind.

"Those aren't new jobs waiting to be ferried places," he grunted after a moment or two. "They've seen service. They're not right off the factory assembly line. They're—Well, what do you know!"

Dave breathed the last as one of the two planes touched ground and braked to a gentle stop. The fuselage doors opened and U. S. Commando-garbed troops started pouring out. The second transport landed and started unloading its cargo of fighting Commandos. There were forty-five in each plane, complete with equipment, and looking as though they were ready to land on the French side of the English Channel any time the whistle was blown.

"Which means we're going to have company on the ride across, I guess," Dave spoke again. "Some of the boys who also passed Major Barber's little check test with flying colors. Let's go over and see if any of them were in training with us. I think I recognize a couple of them from here."

"Right you are," Freddy Farmer murmured. "Let's go over and see."

They hadn't taken more than a dozen steps apiece, however, before a headquarters orderly came running up to them.

"The Field Commandant wants you to report to his office at once, Captains," the orderly informed them. "It's over there at that corner of the field."

"I see it, and thanks," Dave answered for both of them. "On the way, now."

Inside the field office, they found Major Barber seated with Colonel Stickney, Commandant of the field. He smiled at them and pointed at a couple of empty chairs.

"Were you beginning to think I had forgotten about you two?" the Major asked. "Have a chair, and relax. Colonel Stickney, here, will give you your further orders."

The two youths seated themselves and looked respectfully at the Field Commandant. Colonel Stickney was the kind of a man who brushed formalities aside and got right down to brass tacks. Maybe that's one reason why he was one of the most able officers in the U. S. Army Air forces.

"You two are taking off at ten o'clock tonight," he said. "You're not going across with the ferry bombers or troop transports, however. I've got two Lockheed P-Thirty-Eights that are waiting to be delivered in England. You'll each take one of them. For the crossing extra gas tanks have been fitted. As you both probably know, we've been ferrying pursuits across, as well as bombers, for several weeks now. They fly without guns, or ammo, and have extra tanks fitted. You drop the extra tanks into the sea when you've used up their fuel. Naturally, you switch them in first so's to be carrying less weight on the last half of your trip."

The Colonel paused and stared down at his fingers for a moment or two.

"You saw those two Commando transports that just sat down?" he asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, "Well, those troops are being carried across in the ferry bomber flight that'll take off before you do. Your P-Thirty-Eights make faster time, of course, so the take-off times will be set so that you'll catch up with the flight of ferry bombers a hundred miles or so this side of Ireland. Obviously, it will be part of your job to escort them along the final lap to Land's End, England."

The Colonel paused again and caught the look the two youths quickly exchanged. He grinned faintly.

"No, it's not going to be like that in your case," he said bluntly. "Your P-Thirty-Eights will be armed to the hilt. I hope you won't have to use your guns, though!"

Dave looked at him and leaned forward a bit.

"You have reason to believe that we might, sir?" he asked quietly.

The senior officer shrugged and plucked at his lower lip.

"No, I haven't," he said after a long pause. "Anything can happen in this cockeyed war, however. As I said, those Commando troops you just now saw climb from those transports are going across to the other side by air. It will be the first time that ferry bombers have taken troops across in any numbers. Tonight's trip may prove to be the beginning of transporting troops to Europe by air. To date, and contrary to general belief, not one single plane that's been ferried from here to the other side has been lost due to enemy air action. However, as in all things, there has to be a beginning sometime."

Colonel Stickney stopped talking and nodded his head for emphasis.

"The taking of those Commando troops out there to England has been kept as much of a secret as is humanly possible to keep a secret," he said at length. "Right now, not one of them knows that he's going across by bomber tonight. That doesn't mean a thing, though. The Nazis may be women and children killers, but they are no fools. They're every bit as smart as we are, and don't let anybody kid you they aren't. For that reason there is no reason to believe that they haven't found out about this little thing we're trying tonight. Fact is, I'm assuming that they have found out. That's why you two are acting as escort for the ferry ships. In short, in case some Occupied France-based Nazi planes come out to smash up our aerial convoy. If any do, then it will be up to you to see they don't get to first base. You understand?"

Dave nodded, but Freddy Farmer looked puzzled.

"Get to first base, sir?" he echoed. "Where's that base located?"

The other three suppressed their laughter, but they couldn't help smiling at Freddy's innocent inquiry.

"An American baseball expression, Farmer," Colonel Stickney explained. "I mean, it's up to you two to see that any Nazi raiding planes don't even get a chance to get close enough for action. Get it, now?"

"Oh, quite, and sorry, sir," Freddy said, and blushed.

"Think nothing of it, Farmer," the other said kindly. "Yank slang is a language all its own. Takes time to learn it. And when you have, the next generation below you is talking an even different jargon. But that's the American kid for you. Well, if you've got it all straight, and there are no questions, I guess that's all I have to say. Are there any questions? You'll be given flight charts and flight signals to use en route later, of course."

"All clear to me, sir," Dave spoke up.

"Quite, sir," Freddy Farmer murmured. "Can't say I hope you get your wish, though, sir."

"Huh? What's that?" the Field Commandant demanded.

"I mean, that we won't have to use our guns," Freddy replied with a smile. "A bit of Nazi action at the end of the trip would suit me fine. Successful action from our point of view, of course."

"Check, and how!" Dave breathed before he could stop his tongue.

Colonel Stickney tried to give them the hard eye and stern face, but found it too difficult.

"Knowing of the air records of you two," he grunted, "I'm not surprised to hear that from you. Just the same, I hope you don't have to use your guns, either of you. It'll be a mighty big responsibility you'll be flying with tonight, Captains. Don't either of you forget that for a single instant!"

"Quite, sir," Freddy said evenly, and there was no twinkle in his eye now.

"Also, check," Dave grunted, and meant it.

The senior officer glanced at his watch and nodded.

"That's all, then," he said. "Captain Jones, the Field Flight Officer, will show you the two planes you're to fly. Better look him up and test hop the two ships to make sure they're in condition for the ocean hop. And in case I don't see either of you again, good luck, both here, and on the other side. I'll be keeping my eye on the communiquÉs."

The two youths thanked him, saluted, and went outside.

"Well, we're going to England," Dave said when they were alone and walking along the edge of the field. "We know that much for sure, anyway."

"Right you are!" Freddy cried happily, and did a little jig to express his feelings further. "Home to dear old England. I can hardly wait...."

"For a pot of that dish water you call tea!" Dave interrupted with a laugh. "Well, there's the Atlantic out there, pal. You can start swimming right now, if you want."

"I don't," Freddy snapped. "The blinking Navy can have the water. I'll take the air. But I wasn't fooling in there, Dave. I really do hope we meet up with a couple of Nazi beggars in Messerschmitts."

"And they call the Germans blood-thirsty!" Dave jeered good-naturedly. "What a guy! One minute he's singing songs of his dear old homeland, and the next he's saying how he hopes to knock off a brace of Germans on the way. You want everything, don't you?"

"Very much so!" the English-born ace cracked at him. "Particularly if it's Nazi pilots and observers. I want all I can get of those dirty blighters."

"Well, I guess I'm with you there, pal," Dave chuckled. "The fewer Germans I can leave living in this world, the better I'll like it. Well, let's go hunt up this Captain Jones and get a look at those two winged babies we've got dates with tonight."