Rows of holes like stitching appeared here and there in the _Aichi’s_ fuselage, but the “greenhouse” of the Jap plane appeared bulletproof. _Rosy’s_ slugs struck it and bounced away at right angles. Inside could be seen the Jap gunners, hunched over their weapons, their faces drawn and tense. Smoke drifted from the hot muzzles of their cannon. _Rosy O’Grady_ was taking punishment. Her fin and rudder looked like a slice of Swiss cheese. Shell holes gaped in her fuselage. Shell fragments were whizzing about her interior—thin, jagged bits of steel with cutting edges. Every gunner was nicked and bleeding, yet all stuck by their guns. The Jap was catching plenty of trouble, too. His left hand engine was smoking, and his forward cannon appeared to be damaged or jammed. He made a swift, left hand turn, trying to escape _Rosy’s_ broadside. Barry saw the _Aichi’s_ play, and countered it. The huge Fortress seemed to pivot inside the Jap’s half circle. The strain of that sudden turn would have broken anything but a fighter or a Fortress in two, but _Rosy_ took it. Her deadly broadside kept hammering the now-frightened Jap. The _Aichi_ nosed up, disappearing behind a long streak of cloud. The shuddering racket of _Rosy’s_ .50-calibers stopped. Barry Blake wiped the blood off his forehead, where a ricocheting shell fragment had cut him. He winked at Hap Newton, who smiled back despite a sliced cheek. “Ball turret from pilot,” he said into the interphone. “Watch out for a trick. That Jap might try to dive below us and rip at our belly.... _There he goes now!_.” [Illustration: _Shell Fragments Whizzed About the Plane’s Interior_] “I see him, sir!” said Cracker Jackson, as his bottom guns opened up. Barry shoved the wheel forward sharply, diving after the Jap. Smoke from the _Aichi’s_ left engine was drifting back to blend with the powder smoke of her rear cannon. A shell slammed into Chick Enders’ left gun with a crack that resounded through the plane. Chick lost balance as Barry pulled out of the dive, barely two hundred feet above the water. The little bombardier shook his numbed fingers, grabbed the right-hand machine gun and swung it broadside. Again the two planes were flying side by side, but the Jap was licked. Flame burst from his crippled engine. A front panel of his “greenhouse” collapsed. He swerved wildly, nosed downward, and struck the water with a terrific splash. Barry zoomed his ship as steeply as he dared. In that last minute of dogfighting he had flown within two thousand yards of a Jap cruiser. Tracer shells from the warship were streaking the air about him. In a tight climbing turn the big Fortress dodged, heading for the protecting overcast of clouds. If one of those five-inch naval shells hit her, she would be a dead duck, and every man aboard her knew it. Chick Enders was not satisfied with mere escape. He turned to his pilot with a pleading expression.