The co-pilot grinned. “American plane damaged,” he said. “American plane cannot fly fast!” “Now will you question what I say?” demanded the pilot. “I said we get American plane. Our gods damage plane so we _can_ get it.” Scoot Bailey looked at the approaching Jap bomber and frowned. Here was a quick decision to be made. He had been out with the other fighters and bombers from _Bunker Hill_ attacking the Jap garrison on a small island to the north. A lucky shot from one of the few defending Jap Zeros—before it went down—clipped Scoot’s oil line. There was a leak, though not a big one, and the engine was heating up badly. So Scoot had been separated from the others and now was limping home to his carrier, trying to get the best speed he could without overheating the engine too much. It had not been an easy job to nurse it along that way, for the oil was dripping away drop by drop. Still, he thought he might make it, for he had only about forty more miles to go. “And now this clumsy boat of the Japs has to show up!” he shouted to himself angrily. “I could take him in a minute if I was okay, but with this leaky oil line—what’ll I do? If I give her the gun and really swoop down on this bird, I’ll force out most of the oil that I’ve got left, heat up the engine so much it’ll burn out. But if I don’t, then I’m just like a clay pigeon, sitting here waiting to be taken.” Scoot smiled. “Doesn’t take long to make up your mind in a case like that. I’ll get that baby who thinks I’m crippled and can’t fight back. And then I’ll just be setting myself down on the sea somewhere and hoping to be picked up, though there’s not much hope for that here.” He let the Jap patrol plane come on, continued to act as if he couldn’t maneuver the plane. He wiggled the wings as if he were trying to make his craft do something it wouldn’t do. He succeeded in filling the Jap pilot with such confidence that the man was happily off guard. Then, at the last minute, he gave his Hellcat the gun and she almost jumped out from under him. Up he rose, then did a wing-over and swooped down on the Jap plane from above and behind. Big splashes of oil were covering his windshield, forced from the leaky line by the sudden rush of power in the engine. The Jap plane was just a blur when Scoot pressed the gun button and heard the pounding of bullets from his machine guns. Then he pulled up and to the right, looking out the side. Yes, he had done it. The Jap bomber was afire, but trying to turn to the left. Then Scoot saw what he was aiming for—a tiny reef with a few palm trees a few miles to the south. Suddenly the Jap plane blew up in the air with a roar. Scoot felt the shock of the blast and watched the pieces of flaming plane plummet to the sea below, where a steaming smoke arose from the water. Scoot’s smile was frozen by a hard hammering knock from his engine.