"Save it!" Barker's voice cut in excitedly. "What's that about five miles to the northeast? Do I see something moving, or is it just spots in front of my eyes?"
All idea of further horse-play instantly bailed out of Dave Dawson's mind. He turned his head sharply and peered hard in the direction indicated. There was nothing to see, however. That is, as far as he was concerned. Nothing but sun tinted dawn sky, and sun tinted patches of cloud. For a second, though, he thought he did catch a glimpse of something moving. Like a group of small dots that appeared and disappeared in practically the same instant. But when he blinked hard and took another look, the dots weren't there.
"Thought I saw something, too, Barker," he called into his flap-mike. "But I guess they must have been spots in front of my peepers. How about you, Freddy?"
There was no reply from the English youth. Dave turned and glanced over at Freddy's plane to see his pal staring fixedly toward the northeast. Several seconds ticked by and still no reply from Freddy Farmer.
"Hey, Freddy!" Dave called out again. "See anything, pal?"
"Shut up! Just a minute! I don't know, yet!"
A full minute did tick by before the English born R.A.F. ace spoke again.
"You chaps were wrong!" he shouted. "They're not just spots. Four Messerschmitts. One-Nine Fighters, I think. Yes, they're One-Nines. In formation, and heading due west. See them?"
"If you're kidding us!" Dave growled, and stared until his eyes ached from the strain. "I'll.... Pick up the marbles, pal. I see them, now!"
"So do I!" Barker cried out. "Let's go after the beggars. There are only four. It should be jolly, eh?"