For the next hour Barry watched his fuel gauge as a mother watches her sick infant. From time to time he asked Curly to check their position by dead reckoning. Finally he asked his navigator to shoot the sun and make an accurate check. “Either there’s a difference between our compass and the one on that other plane,” he said, “or Crayle is away off course. He could be heading for one of the Jap-held islands to make his forced landing. In any case, I want to know exactly where we are.” Curly Levitt stepped up to the top gun turret with his octant and took his shot. For a few minutes he figured rapidly. “You’re right, Skipper,” he said in a shocked tone. “We’re heading straight toward the Tanimbar group of islands. If it weren’t for the cloud rug below us we could probably see them from here. There’s a good-sized Jap base on the biggest island, and probably a holding force of soldiers on most of the little ones. Any Allied plane that lands in this area is sure to be bombed or captured....” “He’s going down!” yelped Hap Newton. “Shall we follow him, Skipper? There may be a low ceiling under these clouds.” “I’ll take over,” Barry answered. “No telling what we’ll run into below!” He shoved the bomber’s nose down into the cloud scuff. Eyes fixed on the altimeter, he held her in a power dive, past five thousand, four thousand, three thousand.... At two thousand feet they broke through the ceiling into a thin drizzle of rain. Visibility was fair. Crayle’s ship was about the same distance ahead as before, flying low toward a small land mass three miles away. Beyond the small island loomed the dim bulk of Tanimbar. Barry dropped his plane quickly toward the water. If no Japs on Tanimbar had already spotted the two bombers, the little island’s mass would hide them from the larger one. There might still be a chance to rescue Crayle’s crew. Yes! There was a smooth, straight beach, now exposed at low tide. Circling just offshore, Barry watched the other plane land. The tricycle gear touched the hard packed sand lightly and rolled to a smooth stop. “Neat work!” Barry applauded. “I hope I do as well. Of course a nearly empty B-26 wouldn’t plow up wet beach sand like a fortress....” “Hey! What’s the idea, Skipper?” Hap blurted in alarm. “You’re not going to maroon us too on that beach? Isn’t losing one perfectly good plane enough to suit you?” “Keep your shirt on, Hap—and everybody!” Barry replied. “We may have to abandon one plane, but there’s nothing to stop us from picking up Crayle and his team and taking them home with us in ours. I have an idea they’ll jump at the chance, too!” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER EIGHTEEN ADRIFT The moment that Barry’s wheels touched the wave-packed sand, he knew he had made no mistake. The beach was hard and smooth enough for a take-off. Best of all, its length at low tide made a runway as perfect as could be wished.