As the field came in sight, Barry noted that it was scooped out of the tropical forest, not far from the sea. A United Nations transport vessel lay just beyond the beach. It was unloading by means of lighters. In this manner the new airdromes all up and down the coast would be quickly furnished with equipment and defenses. The danger, of course, was that the Japs might send warships to shell the fields at night. They might even land troops a short march from the field itself. All this passed through Barry’s mind as he circled for a landing. He had experienced one shelling from warships, and a worse one from air-borne artillery. No base, he decided, was safe from a sneak attack. In any war the main strategy must be to “dish it out” to the enemy in heavier quantities than he could return. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER THIRTEEN MYSTERIOUS ISLAND No familiar faces greeted _Rosy O’Grady’s_ crew at the Mau River airport. A new bomber command was based there. Three more forts, Barry learned, were due to join it within the week. Until they arrived there would be no mass raids on enemy targets. _Rosy’s_ first job was a reconnaissance flight to the northwest. There had been signs of enemy concentration among the islands west of Point D’Urville. Headquarters wanted to learn what it meant. _Rosy O’Grady_ took off with the first faint dawn light. Her bomb racks were full. In addition, she carried a few score of four-pound incendiary bombs. She was “loaded for bear,” and eager for a fight. At 10,000 feet, Barry Blake turned westward. As they flew along the coast, the gunners in the top and tail turrets watched the sky for Jap planes. The pilots and the bombardier scanned air and sea ahead. Suddenly Chick Enders leaned forward on his perch in the nose, with a shout of discovery. “What do you see now, bombardier?” Barry asked. “Some more grass skirts?” Chick Enders ignored the gibe. “Look at that little island, just offshore,” he said sharply. “There’s a white streak stretching north from it, like the wake of a ship.” “It is, at that!” cried Hap Newton. “A boat of some kind must have put into a hidden cove there.” “That island isn’t big enough to shelter any vessel that could make such a wide wake,” Barry Blake declared. “Could the island itself be moving, Chick?” “It is!” the _Rosy’s_ bombardier yelped. “The thing is a Jap vessel camouflaged with palm fronds. Give me a run on it, Skipper ... _now_!” Barry’s touch on the controls did not shift. Without altering its course by a single point the flying fort kept straight on up the coast. Chick groaned. “Why did you pass up such a chance, Barry?” he asked. “We could have laid an egg right in the middle of that floating brush heap.”