Over the Idaho the call to battle stations rolled. Again the mighty vessel surged to the tempo of men going into action.
The scouting plane was dropping lower and lower. It hit the water. One of the pursuing ships dived down at it.
The anti-aircraft batteries let go. For the second time the Idaho was defending herself. Thunder rolled across the waters.
The attacking plane was within point-blank range. Mushrooms of black smoke puffed into existence around it, knocked it around in the air, caught it with a direct hit.
A gigantic explosion sounded.
A ball of smoke burst where the plane had been. Fragments floated outward, slid downward to the sea. There was not enough of the plane left for identification.
The second plane lifted upward. For the first time Craig got a good look at it. His first impression, illogical as that was, was that it was a Jap ship. When it lifted up he got a good look at it. It wasn't a Jap plane. No marks of the rising sun were visible on its body.
Craig saw then that it wasn't a plane at all. It had stubby, sloping wings, but the wings were apparently more for the purpose of stabilizing flight than for the lift they might impart. It looked like a flying wedge.
He could not tell how it was propelled. If it had a motor, he could not see it.
It was fast, faster than greased lightning.