"Dawson! Thank God!"
The words seemed to explode in his ears. He jerked his head around and saw the strained features of Colonel Welsh. The Intelligence Officer's eyes were wide with both anger and amazement. His lips moved silently for a couple of seconds before he spoke again. "That was close! It would have been too close, but for you, Dawson! What's that down—"
"A Nazi raider that was carrying the seaplane," Dawson cut him off. "We can't do anything about her now, though. Even our radio is smashed, so we can't send out her position. But the pilot and co-pilot, Colonel! Get help and get them aft. The pilot is still alive, I think, but this chap—"
Dawson stopped as he turned and looked at the co-pilot in the seat next to his. Cold rage filled his heart, and his bitter hatred of all things Nazi flared up again. Too many times had his youthful eyes looked upon death not to recognize it now. Nothing in the world could help the co-pilot. He had passed on to join his buddies in the airmen's Valhalla.
"Better get to work on the pilot behind me!" Dawson said with a sharpness he didn't realize was in his voice. "There must be a medical kit aboard this bomber. I'll stick here and keep us going. Or do you want to turn back?"
"No, keep going!" the colonel replied. "It wouldn't do to turn back now. Here, Corporal! Give me a hand with your pilot. Where's the medical kit?"
The last words were directed to one of the aircraft's crew who had come forward into the compartment. Dawson paid no attention to him, for at that moment the port engine started to kick up a bit, and he had to give all his attention to getting it to run smoothly again. By then the glow of the flares had faded out, and the B-25 was thundering on through the darkness of the night. Dawson switched on the small-instrument light so that he could keep a careful check on engine performance and hold the aircraft to her course across the Atlantic. Only once did he take his attention from his flying, and that was when the dead co-pilot was lifted from his seat and taken aft. Once again red rage burned within Dave, as it always did when one of his countrymen was killed. He gripped the control wheel hard to prevent his hands from shaking.
Presently somebody slid into the co-pilot's seat and touched him on the arm. It was Freddy Farmer.
"Well done, old thing!" the English youth said in a voice that shook with feeling. "Fancy we've all got you to thank for saving our hides. Personally, I was too scared to move for hours, and—"
"Nuts!" Dawson interrupted with gruff affection. "Anybody can haul a plane out of a dive. If it hadn't been for your sweet shooting, that rat might have nailed us!"