Before _Rosy_ had taken her last five-hundred pound egg on board the squadron commander was racing his Fortress down the runway. The other ten followed. Last of all, Old Man O’Grady took his ship up to her assigned position at the end of the right wing. Looking ahead, Barry Blake thrilled at the sight of the other mighty Fortresses flying in a perfect V of V’s. To his mind they spelled irresistible, smashing power—force which must, in the long run, blast all the little yellow invaders out of the Pacific. As the 600-mile distance to Rabaul narrowed, a tense expectancy gripped pilots and gunners. The squadron was flying at high bombing altitude, 25,000 feet. Every man was in his place, for at any time now a swarm of enemy planes might appear. The Japs were struggling grimly to keep their grip on New Britain, Barry knew. Many of their best fighter squadrons had been shifted there from other fronts, in the past few weeks. “Sixty miles still to go!” Curly Levitt’s warning came over the interphone. O’Grady turned his head to glance at his co-pilot. “The Nips’ aircraft detectors have heard us by now,” he drawled. “They’re manning their guns, and sweating some, too, I reckon. A bunch of Zero fighters will be taking off to bother us on the way in.... How do you feel about it, Blake?” “As if I’d like a gun in my hands—or the lever that releases the bombs,” Barry laughed. “I feel just a little useless.” Tex O’Grady’s smile faded out. He gazed straight ahead. “You won’t be useless if anything happens to me, son,” he replied, gravely. “Keep your eyes peeled on every side now.... Those Zeros _may_ not show up until after we’ve made our run, but you never can tell.” Sergeant Hale in the bomber’s nose began counting aloud through the interphone. “—thirteen—fourteen—fifteen Zeros dead ahead, and a flight of three more just above them. Here they come!” “Flights two, three and four, pull in closer!” barked the command radio. “Wing men will step up—the others down—ready to repel attacking planes.” Glancing up and to the right, Barry caught sight of still another enemy flight arrowing down at the Fortresses. He nudged O’Grady and pointed with his finger. The Old Man merely nodded. Keeping _Rosy_ in her place in the tight protective formation was his only task for the moment. [Illustration: _Sergeant Hale Counted Aloud Through the Interphone_] BR-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R! With a chattering roar that cut through the engines’ thunder, _Rosy’s_ nose, top turret, and side guns went into action. From the squadron’s .50-caliber machine guns burst a storm of white tracer bullets. These mingled briefly with the fire of the diving enemy. Then most of the Zeros were below the flying forts.