"Maybe not!" Dawson heard his own voice echo back to him. "Maybe not! But, by heaven, we're going to give it a try, and how!" "Dave, look!" Freddy Farmer's voice suddenly screamed wildly in his ear. "They know something's wrong. Up there at the front of the line. Troops with machine guns, and they're racing our way. They're going to try and block the way!" But Dawson had seen the running troops at the same time as Freddy Farmer. His lips went back flat against his teeth, and he swerved the Fortress more to the left, and eased all four throttles forward a bit more. "Let them try!" he shouted wildly. "The rats can get out of the way or be run down, guns and all. We're non-stop until something really stops us. Hey, Freddy, what about our load? Did you get time for a look? Ye gods! Wouldn't it be a fine mess if we're not--" "Don't worry about that!" young Farmer cut him off. "This plane isn't empty. All bomb racks are filled with those cylinder things such as you saw being welded. Each is fitted with a detonator bomb. I got a quick look as I came by. Get us off, Dave. I'm going down into the bombardier's nook. Cheerio. And if we don't meet again--" Freddy Farmer didn't finish the rest. He didn't because at that exact instant he saw what Dawson saw. The running figure of a man, well out in front of the troops. A tall figure garbed in the uniform of a colonel in the U. S. Army Air Forces. His face was in a shadow, so neither Dawson nor Freddy Farmer could see his features. But they didn't have to. The very silhouette of the running figure was enough for them. "Herr Baron, the rat!" Dawson shouted wildly. "Look at him wave his arms for us to stop! If he only knew who was in this ship I bet he'd throw a fit and drop dead right in his tracks. Nuts to you, Herr Baron No-Face. You lose again. And this time, by gosh, you really _lose_. Just a minute, you stinker, and we'll give you something for Hitler. Yeah! Something for the whole rotten bunch of you. Hang on, Freddy. Now, we're really going to roll. Tally-ho!" Shouting the last Dawson swerved the Fortress around until it was headed west along the take-off runway. Above the thunder of his engines he could hear bursts of machine gun and rifle fire behind him. In fact some of it was coming from the right, and he heard the bullets thump and clunk into the sides of the Fortress. But naval guns trained dead on him could not have stopped him, then. Shouting and yelling at the top of his voice, he opened all throttles wide, and thrilled to the core as the propellers "bit" into the air and started pulling the Fortress forward faster and faster with every rev they made.