"Keep on those glasses!" Freddie repeated sharply. "Think I want to take any chances, cooped up here with you!" "I'm all right," Dan growled. "Where the devil are we? You said we were almost there." "We'll see it shortly. I'll look." Freddie raised the goggles from his eyes. Faintly, far ahead through the overcast night, the crimson glow of Graff's barrage was streaming above the horizon. "It's there, Dan! Don't look! I'll descend--" They swung down, barely skimming the tree-tops; over the roofs of dark farmhouses, white lines of fences, empty fields--abandoned farm country. The barrage came fully over the horizon; they could see the points of concentrated light at intervals around its base where the ground projectors stood. With the glasses on, it seemed to vanish. It was soundless through their ear-grids; without them its howl was plainly audible. They were over devastated country now--a dead gray, blank waste. Skimming close over it. Three miles from the barrage. Dan had taken the controls. Freddie was fumbling with the heat-projector and with the Essen-Bloc gun beside it. They donned their black gloves, dropped their masks over their faces; their heads were black-hooded. "Easy, Dan! Not too low!" Dan swung them up. Freddie lifted his glasses. He hoped he would see some sign of the Red Control ray streaming through the barrage. They must determine the location of the Control--And then rush at it-- "Off, Dan! Close enough!" "Too close!" Dan murmured. "If they spot us--" It would be failure; they must locate the Control first. They swung to the left, paralleling the barrage. Every moment they feared it would tilt suddenly down with its beam darting at them. They could withstand it, but their plane could not-- "Freddie! What's that?" On the dead-gray surface of the ground ahead of them, figures showed. Two black blobs. The crimson light faintly edged them. Dan swung the plane up, then down, undecided. Two black-garbed figures, running along the ground, away from the barrage. Men! A man, and a half grown boy. The boy leaped ahead; then waited. The man was running steadily--heavily-- * * * * * From the Control house--that brief scene when Graff had turned the current into the crimson globe--Zetta and I were led back to the encampment. Graff gave orders to my guard, and left us, busy with his other duties. The guard was alert, but he seemed out of earshot. I whispered: "Zetta, you never want to talk to me any more! I must do something to-night--stop that damnable thing--" "Peter, hush! He'll hear you!" "I can't help it. Zetta, listen--" In truth I had no clear idea of what I wanted to say. Some desperate plan! To remain idle and let that crimson globe broadcast madness upon our world was dastardly. My hand went to Zetta's arm, but she drew away sharply. "Hush, Peter! Do nothing! Go to bed--jus' trust me--" Trust her! The barrier she had built up between us seemed to fall.