“Wait till that cockeyed ape gets out of sight, can you, Barry?” he asked in a choked voice. “He’s stunting now—and waggling his wings at us. If I took over nothing could keep me from giving him a dose of his own medicine. I’d probably crash us both.” Though his face was still damp with perspiration, Barry smiled. “All right, Hap,” he said quietly. “I’ll give you a chance to cool off. But you’ve really no reason to lose your head because Glenn Crayle is a nut. You’re playing his game when you let him burn you up. He’s already punished himself, and incidentally his crew, by using up his gas with that monkey business. If they get home at all it will be on a raft.” “Say!” exclaimed Hap, his face brightening. “I hadn’t thought of that.” Apparently Crayle, or someone aboard his plane, thought of it now for the first time. The stunting ship straightened out abruptly and headed for home. Her distance from Barry’s craft, however, remained unchanged. “He’s reduced speed!” Chick Enders cried. “It’s too late, though. We’ve still enough to get home, and he hasn’t. Let’s fly past and give him the merry _ha-ha_, Barry.” “I’ll take over now, Skipper,” Hap chimed in cheerfully. “It’ll be swell fun pulling up close to his wing tip and giving him the old ‘thumbs down’ signal.” “You’re taking the controls but you’re keeping the interval exactly as it is, fella,” Barry Blake declared. “Those are my orders. We’re following Glenn Crayle as far as he goes; and when he sets down, on land or water, we’ll at least be able to report his position.” An unhappy silence fell upon the Marauder’s crew. They knew that their skipper was wholly in the right and they loved him for it. But their anger at Crayle was not easily bottled up. The appearance of a Flying Fortress squadron high overhead furnished a welcome change of thought. “Wish we were going back with them!” Chick Enders exclaimed. “Dropping one egg and skedaddling like a scared sparrow isn’t my idea of fun. If we’d come out in _Rosy_, we could have hung around Amboina picking our targets and making a real party of it.” “That’s the trouble, Chick,” spoke up Curly Levitt. “_Sweet Rosy O’Grady_ had been attending too many such parties. She’s all shot to junk. I don’t imagine that squadron of forts will hang around after they’ve reached their target area. They’ll drop their loads where they’ll do the most good, and head for home.” “Here comes a bunch of Liberators!” cried Hap Newton. “Oh, boy, are those Japs due for a royal pasting! They’ll probably send in a few squadrons of Australian Havocs and North American Mitchells with regular bomb loads to mop up the shipping in the main harbor. That place will be a shambles.” Hap’s guess was correct. Half an hour later three large formations of Australian attack bombers and B-25’s swept over, headed for the Jap base. The soldiers of Hirohito were going to get their teeth knocked loose before this day was over!