Hunching forward, air clamped in his lungs, hands gripping the controls with every ounce of his strength, he guided the Fortress forward straight for the opening between those two western hills that actually seemed so terribly, terribly close. Seconds whipped by into time's eternity, but each seemed an hour to Dawson as the Fortress still clung to the runway, and still hurtled full out toward the end of the runway. As a matter of fact, though, time as something definite had ceased to exist for him. It was as though he were in a world of one, himself, and riding a thundering monster toward the opening between two hills at the far end of a white-painted cement strip on the ground. If there was still shooting behind him, he didn't hear it. Or if bullets were pounding into the Fortress, he wasn't conscious of it. He wasn't even conscious of the fact that Freddy Farmer was no longer in the co-pilot's seat at his side. That Freddy had gone halfway down toward the bombardier nook in the glass nose, and was waiting there until Dawson got the plane clear. He just wasn't conscious of anything, save his hands and feet on the controls, and the powerful engines that were driving the Flying Fortress forward. And then as though invisible hands had pulled the ground away from beneath the wheels the Fortress cleared and went mounting up higher and higher. In a rapid succession of movements Dawson trimmed ship, adjusted propeller pitch, and re-set engine fuel feed. And then the crest of a hill was just off each wingtip and the black sky of night was ahead. "Chalk another up for us, kid!" he shouted wildly at Freddy Farmer. But Freddy Farmer wasn't there to reply. He had ducked down into the bombardier's nook, and was getting set to carry out his share of the job. And when Dave didn't receive any reply he remembered the inter-com system. Still climbing at maximum pitch for altitude, he hooked the inter-com phones over his ears, plugged in the jack and threw the switch. "Freddy, Freddy!" he called. "Can you hear me?" "And about time, too!" came back the instant reply. "Did you just remember this gadget? But don't waste too much time climbing, Dave. Three thousand feet is more than enough. No telling what those beggars down there might do. Can't let any of them get off. Make a diving run, and we'll pray we can get clear before our own stuff can touch us. Hurry it up, Dave. The place is ablaze with lights now. I haven't the faintest idea what they're up to. Hurry it up!" But Dawson was already banking the big bomber around. For an instant he got a flash glance down at the hill-ringed field they had just left, but it looked like no more than an ocean of pale yellow light. Then the Flying Fortress' nose blocked out the spot, and Freddy Farmer's eyes alone could see what was going on.