"Our bombs, Dave! Can you get us down lower and right over the blasted thing?"

Above the thundering roar of bursting anti-aircraft shells, Freddy Farmer's voice came to Dave as little more than a whisper. He heard it nevertheless, and nodded his head vigorously to let the English youth know that he had heard. They were right in the middle of the cruiser's fire now. It was just as safe to keep on going down on her as it was to try and break away. So long as he was able to dive, the Devastator presented a difficult target for the Jap gunners. But should he pull out of the dive, and arc off to either side, the Devastator would then instantly become a target tripled in size.

No, there was but one thing to do: to go on down on her and then let go with their wing bombs in the last instant allowed. That their bombs might put the cruiser out of action, to say nothing about sinking her, was completely out of the question. It was plain silly even to hope that such a miracle as that would come to pass. But it would be possible to put some of her guns out of action. And it was just barely possible, too, that the bombs might damage the craft enough to force the Jap commander to reduce her speed. That at least would be something.

Yes, indeed. If the cruiser was forced to reduce speed, she would at least have to give up the search for the Carrier Indian. And now that the two spies were gone, it was only logical that the Jap commander would go steaming southward in a desperate effort to find the Indian and pounce upon her in the dark.

"Sure, give her all you can!" Dave muttered as he hunched forward over the stick of the diving plane. "But don't kid yourself why. You know why, and how you do! Her fire has you bracketed. You'll catch it cold no matter which way you turn. So there's only one thing you can do. Slam down and give her all you've got left before your number and Freddy's number go up. Down—and give her all you can, while you can."

A wild desire to twist his head around and see how Freddy Farmer was taking it possessed Dave for a moment—but only for a moment. Just as suddenly he didn't want to see Freddy's face. Because of the look of certain death he felt sure he would see there? He didn't know. Because he was afraid that Freddy might read the truth in his own eyes? He didn't know. Only one thing seemed certain. Freddy Farmer and Dave Dawson had at long last come to the end of the trail. Their luck, if luck it was, had run out.

He wasn't afraid to die, though. Perhaps that was because he had faced death so many, many other times and managed to skin through. Anyway, he did not feel fear inside of him. Funny, but the sensation that rippled through him was one of fierce satisfaction. Satisfaction at completing a job that had seemed utterly impossible right from the very start. Bull luck? Blind luck? Okay, call it anything you wanted to, but the fact remained that two murdering Axis agents had failed to win through at the very last moment. They were dead, and all they knew was dead with them. Their corpses were but two of the hundreds the exploding cruiser had scattered all over that section of the Pacific. Yes, they were dead. Their information was lost to the Japs. And Freddy Farmer and he had paid back a little bit on the Pearl Harbor account. They had blasted a Jap cruiser out of the war and the world for keeps. That was something, anyway—little something extra for the Old Man with the whiskers, Uncle Sam.

Too bad the Devastator didn't carry a couple of torpedoes, so that they could slam a death blow into the second cruiser as they went down the long trail that has no end. Too bad, but no sense crying about it. The plane had carried only one torpedo, and they had made full use of that one. There were only the bombs left—bombs that might spill a lot of Jap blood over the cruiser's decks, but would never go through her deck plates to do real damage below. And so—

"So here goes!" Dave whispered softly as the gun-spitting cruiser seemed to come sweeping up toward his spinning propeller. "Here goes Freddy—and here I go. Something to remember us by!"

A sob rose up in Dave's throat and stuck. He winked his eyes that had suddenly begun to sting. Then he grinned, and the grin grew into a harsh, defiant laugh. The last split second had arrived. He had to pull out and give Freddy a chance to release their wing bombs, or dive on straight into the cruiser. He was tempted to do that last thing: to slam straight in and go out in a roaring blaze of glory. But cold fighting sense refused to permit him to do it.

He braced himself, hauled back on the stick, brought the nose up and shot straight forward not twenty feet above the cruiser's fighting top. One second more and he would streak right over the up-tilted muzzles of the forward anti-aircraft guns. A target a blind man couldn't miss. A target you could hit with rocks. One second more. Two at the most. Dump the bombs, Freddy! Slam them down and blast some of those dirty brown devils to the place where they and all their filthy back-stabbing breed belong. Give it to them, Freddy. Give them all we've got left!

Dave didn't know whether he was roaring out the words, or whether they were simply echoing around in his brain. He simply knew that the Devastator was perched on the very brink of all eternity, and that he was banging out the last of his bullets as a sort of final touch. He only knew that—

But he didn't. He didn't know anything any more. He was completely lost in a huge black cloud that pressed in on him from all sides. He was right in the middle of it, and sailing away and away. The light of day was gone, and night was all about him. Was it night, or was this what death was like? Darkness. Thick darkness with a faint roaring in the distance, and drifting to him from all sides.

"I can't be dead—my head hurts too darned much!"

The sound of his own voice in that cloud of darkness startled him so that he cried out in fear. Then suddenly he felt himself sink down; felt water in his mouth, his nose, his eyes, and in his ears. He gasped, and water poured down his throat—salty, smoky tasting water. And his lungs seemed to burst right out between his ribs. His brain refused point blank to function, but the instinct of self-preservation came to his rescue. Without realizing it, he kicked with his feet and struck out blindly with his hands. He couldn't move his right hand, though. There was something hanging onto it, a dead weight that made it impossible for him to move his arm.

Then suddenly he was sucking and gurgling air into his lungs. Just as suddenly the film over his eyes passed away, and he found himself looking at a world of brilliant stars over his head. And just as suddenly he realized that he was in the water, keeping himself afloat with one hand, and clutching hold of Freddy Farmer's helmeted head with the other, striving to keep the English youth's face out of water.

It was dark as pitch all about him. Yet when he winked the water from his eyes a weird glow of light seemed to filter down from the stars. He saw dark objects floating about him. There were pieces of wreckage, but for the moment he could not summon the strength to swim toward them. In a dulled sort of way he knew that something was wrong, that something wasn't right. Then he knew what it was. His life jacket was gone, at least half of it. The other half was in strips and wasn't of any use. Freddy Farmer's life jacket was gone completely. In fact, he had on nothing but his shirt. Dave could tell that when a swell lifted the English youth's shoulder up out of the water.

Bit by bit Dave's brain began to click over at increased speed. Presently it gave him the sense to take a good look at Freddy. He pulled his pal closer, and as he did so held his breath in terror. But God had been kind. Freddy Farmer was not dead. He was unconscious, but he was breathing. A mighty sob of joy shook Dave's body. He clenched his teeth, and summoned every ounce of strength in his half numb body. He saw a large sized object floating by a few yards away. It looked like the top side of a crate, or perhaps it was a bunk. He struck out for it with one hand and two feet. Only a few yards away, but every foot was a mile to Dave's straining efforts. His head pounded, and all the colors of the rainbow flashed and whizzed around before his eyes.

Then finally his outstretched hand clutched hold of something. It felt like a loop of rope, and it was fastened to the floating object. He didn't bother to find out what the object was. He was quite content to cling to the looped rope for several minutes and fight for his breath and his strength. Eventually, though, he shifted his position in the water, thrust up his hand and hooked it over the side of the object. And it was then he made the joyful discovery. It was not a crate, or a bunk. The object was a ship's raft—a life raft constructed something like a rubber life raft. Airtight circular drums formed the sides, and stout planks lashed together three thick formed the bottom of the raft.

Dave laughed and cried in the same breath, and then almost spent the last of his strength in a mad effort to scramble onto the raft and haul Freddy Farmer up with him. Three times he tried it, only to lose his grip and slide back into the water, and under. He didn't try it that way a fourth time. He forced himself to spend a good ten minutes still clinging to the looped rope. Then, when renewed strength began to seep slowly through his body, he worked Freddy Farmer's unconscious body close to the raft, got one of the English youth's arms flung up over the side, and then the other. Then inch by inch he worked the dead weight up until Freddy went tumbling over and down onto the floor of the raft.

It required another rest period of some ten minutes for Dave to dig up some more strength. Then, grabbing hold with both of his hands, he worked his body upward, muscles straining, strength ebbing away like a punctured balloon spilling air, and all the firecrackers in the world going off in his brain. It took years, it seemed, but he finally made it. He got all the way in and fell sprawling down on top of Freddy Farmer. He tried to push himself up and crawl off his pal, but that was the moment when all the glittering stars in the heavens fell down and hit him on top of the head.

His next sensation was that his whole body was on fire. He opened his eyes, but it was like looking straight in through the opened door of a blast furnace going full force. He closed his eyes, groaned, and tried to move. It was then that water hit him smack in the face, and hands took hold of him.

"Dave! Speak to me, Dave! It's Freddy. Dave! Please speak! Can you hear me? Steady, lad, steady! Relax and let me hold you. Praise be to Allah! I've been terrified for hours that you were a goner!"

With a tremendous effort Dave forced his eyes open. The glare of the blast furnace was gone, but he could still feel the heat. For a few seconds he didn't try to think. He didn't try to do anything except relax, and let somebody hold him up, and keep the glare of that blast furnace out of his eyes. He knew it must be Freddy Farmer. He recognized the voice, and the voice had said so. Good old Freddy. Always there at the right time. Never failed. One in a million. The very best. The tops.

"Hold it, Dave!" Freddy's voice cried in his ears again. "Don't let go, pal. Hold it. Buck up. Come on, now. There's a lad for you. Cheeri-o, Dave!"

He found that his eyes were opened again, and that Freddy Farmer's grinning face was but a foot from his own. He stared at it, grinned himself, and suddenly strength and vitality began coursing through his veins. He took his eyes off Freddy's face, looked about him, and gulped. As far as he could see in any direction was nothing but a limitless expanse of sky blue water—sky blue water filmed over with golden light from the blazing sun hanging high in the heavens. He and Freddy Farmer were alone in the life raft, completely alone. There wasn't a drop of water, nor a package of food, or anything. The raft was bare of all things that help to sustain life. Startling realization brought sudden and violent hunger to his stomach, and a craving thirst to his lips. He looked back to meet Freddy's eyes, and forced another grin to his lips.

"Guess they don't want us up at the Pearly Gates yet, pal," he said slowly. "But maybe this is all a dream, or something."

"It isn't!" Freddy said grimly. "I've been hoping so ever since yesterday afternoon. But it's real, Dave. It's too blasted real, I say."

"Easy, Freddy!" Dave cried. "Yesterday afternoon? Where do you get that stuff? Why, it can't—!"

"It is!" Freddy interrupted. "I came to just before sundown. You were sprawled over me. Phew! I thought you were stone dead. I managed to wiggle out from under you, and prop you up. Bit too much for me, though. I spent most of the night coming to and passing out again. I felt better when dawn came. Took stock of things and saw there was nothing to do but wait. Kept your face out of the sun, as much as I could. And—well, I guess I prayed most of the time. Nothing has happened, though. Nothing's passed by except some dead Japs, with some sharks after them. They—"

The English youth paused and shuddered. Dave reached out a hand and pressed his arm.

"Steady does it, Freddy," he said gently. "We're still alive. And we're together. That's a lot in my book. And, heck! This is a whole lot better than if that darned Jap cruiser had picked us up. I don't think they'd have been very nice to us."

Freddy Farmer's jaw dropped, and his eyes went wide.

"Jap cruiser pick us up?" he gasped. "Are you balmy, Dave? It went down like a rock. The blasted thing practically broke in two! You just barely got us clear of the flying pieces before our wing came off and we crashed in. Why—!"

"Whoa, hold her!" Dave shouted, and jerked himself up straight despite the pain and aches it caused. "You mean we got that second cruiser? You're nuts! Our bombs wouldn't even dent her plates. They—"

"They didn't!" Freddy cried. "A lucky hit. One went right down one of her funnels. It must have, because I just had time to see the great cloud of flame and smoke that belched up out of her funnel before concussion was tossing us around like a leaf. It's the truth, Dave! Didn't you see it? Worse than the one we'd torpedoed. She broke right clean through. Then we crashed into the water. You yelled to me to duck, and—well, that's the last I remember until I came to late yesterday afternoon. How did you get us out of the wreck and aboard this raft, anyway?"

"The first part of that we'll never know, Freddy," Dave said in an awed voice. "Maybe it was two other guys, or something. I don't remember a thing from the time I leveled out of the dive until I woke up in the water, and had you by the helmet. It was night, and all sorts of things were floating by. I saw this raft, but thought it was a crate, and got us over to it. I got us both inside, and then went out like a light. Sweet tripe, Freddy! We've been floating around in this thing for at least two days and two nights. No wonder I could eat a horse, whole, and drink a well dry. You've—you've seen nothing, Freddy? No ship, no plane?"

Freddy shook his head.

"Nothing, Dave," the English youth said in a low voice. "The Pacific's a pretty big place, you know. It's—Dave! What's the matter? You look as if you'd seen a ghost!"

Dave shook his head, put out a hand and touched Freddy.

"Don't move, Freddy!" he said hoarsely. "Don't even look. It—it might not be true. But—but, it is, it is! Look, Freddy! To the east. A ship! It's a destroyer. She's heading this way. Look at her spill smoke. She's heading this way. And it's Yank. I can tell from her lines, and stacks. Look, Freddy! Lady Luck was just waiting until we both woke up, that's all. She wanted us both to be surprised. She—"

Freddy's eyes turned to the east.

Dave raved on like a man gone delirious with joy, and he was. Words, all kinds of crazy words babbled off his lips. And words, all kinds of crazy words also spilled from Freddy Farmer's tongue as together they watched one of Uncle Sam's destroyers come tearing down on them. She swept up on them like a thing alive, slowed down just long enough to cast off one of her boats, and then started circling about them. In ten minutes grinning Navy gobs helped Dave and Freddy into the boat. And about twenty minutes after that they were in sick bay aboard the USS Paul Jones, and receiving the very best of medical treatment. It was all they could do to keep awake, despite their gnawing hunger. The wild excitement of rescue had been too much for either of them. It had sapped their strength down to almost the last drop. But they managed to keep awake long enough to ask questions, and receive astonishing answers from the youthful lieutenant in command of the destroyer.

They learned that the attack on the Marshall Islands had been carried out successfully. That a whole lot of what had happened at Pearl Harbor had been paid back to the Sons of Nippon. They learned that they had been afloat in the raft for three whole days and nights. They learned that one Colonel Welsh had requested that special permission be given Navy units in that section of the Pacific to search for them when it was reported by scouting planes that cruiser wreckage had been seen floating on the water. They learned that a searching plane had sighted them from the air that very morning, although Freddy had not seen nor heard it. The scouting plane had directed the Paul Jones to the spot. They learned also that Jap sailors picked up from the area where the cruisers had gone down had told of what they had done with one lone Douglas Devastator.

"It was that report that set this Colonel Welsh to moving Heaven, earth, and the Navy Department, to get a search going," the destroyer's commander finished up. "He must have had the President with him, because darned near the whole Pacific Fleet hopped right to it. Who is this Colonel Welsh, anyway? Can't say I ever heard of him. He must be quite a man when it comes to getting things done."

"Yeah," Dave mumbled drowsily. "Quite a man. Swell to work under. Got a nice technique. Gets you so doggone mad you'd go out and fly without wings, just to prove you could do it. Yeah, the Colonel knows his stuff. Right, Freddy?"

Freddy Farmer didn't agree or disagree. He was already sound asleep!

—THE END—

[1] Dave Dawson At Singapore.