Gunnar Viborg paced restlessly to keep warm, kicking irritably at the pile of mouldy straw in the back of the cave and the deflated life raft from which they had sneaked ashore the night after their plane had been shot down at sea. "Martha," he said, "this is no good. If we don't get food now, tonight, we'll be too weak if we ever do get a chance for a getaway. I say, let's make a grab now and take our chances afterward. How about it?" The nurse, her attractive face now pinched with cold and hunger, nodded. Both were well aware that a raid on a Jap supply cache would start an intensive search, but hunger and desperation are companions. They checked their pistols, their only weapons except Gunnar's trench knife, and started out. They had already chosen their objective, but were only halfway there when the raid began. Probing searchlight beams broke futilely against the hovering clouds and the night rocked with falling bombs and the insane yammer of anti-aircraft fire. One raid more or less meant little in their situation and, even while they crouched between two huge boulders, Gunnar kept remembering that wonderful restaurant in his Minnesota home town, its strong black coffee and thick steaks and beautiful apple pie. "Quit that, stomach!" he told himself. The raid seemed to have ended and they were moving on again when, without warning, the night was shattered by a blue flash somewhere above. The glare penetrated even the blanketing fog and for an instant left the island starkly outlined in a brilliance exceeding daylight. Instantly the ack-ack resumed its uproar, firing blindly. A thousand freight trains seemed to rumble by overhead. Then a ball-shaped object, emitting a dying trail of flame, whistled out of the overcast like a gigantic bomb. Sparks flashed from a rock as it struck and rebounded. It bounced again and came tumbling down the hill, clanging against boulders, hissing and steaming with its own heat as it encountered patches of snow. "What--what the hell is it?" Martha whispered. "Some sort of rocket plane. I didn't know we had anything like that." Gunnar ran forward to investigate as it came to rest near them. It was metal, but battered completely beyond recognition. Part of it was ripped and torn as though by a shell. "Let's get out of here," Martha urged as Gunnar probed the wreckage. "The Japs are coming." Gunnar prodded once more at a loosened section, which swung aside to disclose a padded compartment. The transparent cylindrical container he hauled out was scorched but unbroken. "Let's _go_!" Martha pleaded. They had to endure an eternity of anxious waiting, huddled in a snowbank while a Nip patrol went by. Gunnar held on to his loot. He had gotten one glimpse of the contents, and it looked like food. Their clothing was soaked with melted snow and sweat when at last they regained the comparative safety of their cave. Gunnar had trouble with the container. The fastenings refused to unfasten.