“All right, Landis,” the young Fortress skipper decided. “We’ll do that. And we’ll take Crayle along whether he wants to come or not. We can all testify that he is not behaving like a sane man. Drain off that gas, Mister, and let’s get away from here the minute it’s transferred to our tanks.” The crew of the stranded bomber hurried back to it at Landis’ heels. Ignoring Crayle, the co-pilot and his engineer dived into the open hatch. The others stood beside it, blocking their furious skipper’s way. “I’ll have you all court-martialed!” Crayle shouted, completely beside himself. “Stand away from that hatch—” [Illustration: “_Crayle Lied When He Said Our Tanks Were Dry!_”] “Look out!” yelled a member of his crew. “Here come the Japs—they’re on to us!” The droning of airplane engines swelled to a snarling roar. Over the treetops came a twin-engined _Mitsubishi_ bomber, but she was not heading toward the two B-26’s. Evidently she had just taken off from Tanimbar on patrol, with no idea that enemy planes were so near. Her Jap crewmen were probably more surprised than the Americans. Swerving, she opened fire with her bow and belly weapons as she started her climb. “Man those guns!” yelped Crayle. “That Jap will be back for us. Inside with you!” Without a second’s hesitation the team obeyed. A moment before they had defied his orders, but this was different. In a fight they’d stand by their skipper, crazy or not. Barry’s team was already inside. His Marauder’s engines bellowed. Like a startled seagull she swept down the long, straight beach. As Barry lifted her into the air he saw the Mitsubishi coming back. “Good grief!” he gasped. “She’s going over Crayle’s plane at a thousand feet.... She’s going to _bomb_ as well as strafe it!” Climbing as he turned, he was still too far from the Jap for his .50-calibers to take effect. In a matter of seconds the _Mitsubishi_ would drop her bomb at point blank range. The stranded Marauder’s crew wouldn’t have a chance! Evidently one member of Crayle’s team had realized this and decided to save his own skin. He was running for dear life toward the jungle. As tracer bullets began streaking past him he flung himself flat. Leaning hard on the controls, Barry fairly whipped his plane around. Already Chick Enders was firing his bow gun. The two weapons in the top turret were raving. “Riddle the Jap!” Barry shouted. “Don’t let him drop that egg—Oh-h-h!” The slender, deadly shape of a falling bomb had caught his eye. To the agonized nerves of the watchers its descent seemed as slow as a falling leaf’s. Deliberately its pointed end dipped downward, aiming straight at Crayle’s doomed plane. Barry did not wait for the explosion. With his jaw set like a rock, he headed his B-26 for the enemy. The bomb’s blast barely jolted the air about him.