Barry’s touch on the controls did not shift. Without altering its course by a single point the flying fort kept straight on up the coast.
Chick groaned.
“Why did you pass up such a chance, Barry?” he asked. “We could have laid an egg right in the middle of that floating brush heap.”
“Two reasons,” the young skipper replied. “First, there are four ships at least in that floating island, and two or more may be cruisers. Splitting their formation would only prolong the job.... Second, I want a better look at their scheme of camouflage before we blow it to pieces.... Sergeant Babbitt, you will radio the airport what we have seen, and say that we are about to attack.”
He swung the Fortress a few points to the left and nosed down.
“Tail gunner from pilot:” he said through the interphone. “Let me know as soon as that fake island is out of sight.”
A few minutes later Tony Romani’s voice came through.
“Pilot from tail gunner: Floating island has dropped below the bulge of the coastline.... Are we going back, sir?”
“Right now, Tony!” the skipper told him.
Keeping the land mass of New Guinea between him and the Jap vessels, Barry turned his plane around. Lower and lower he took her, until Sweet Rosy O’Grady was skimming only a few hundred feet above the sea. Tree tops nearly grazed her belly turret as she swept over a blunt headland, into sight of the camouflaged ships.