“Like razor blades through a hair net!” Dave shouted joyfully as the aircraft mounted higher. “Always did say these Vultees were the toughest thing with wings. I—”
“Never mind the talk!” came Freddy Farmer’s scream in his ears. “We got a bomb or two to drop. And there’s a couple of the blighters coming up after us. It’s our turn, now, Dave! And for the love of Saint George, let’s get going!”
“And how!” Dave shouted, and hauled the Vultee off its climb and over and around in a dive. “And how! You keep those Nazi mosquitoes off our necks, Freddy, and I’ll dump the eggs where they’ll do the most good. A secret base, huh? Well, not for long. Not for long!”
As Dave roared out the last he pointed the Vultee’s nose straight for the spot of lush green on the island that hid the far end of the runways, and the little cluster of huts. Two Vultees came ripping out of the opening as he went rocketing down, but he didn’t waste any time dropping his nose more and bringing them into his forward gun sights. Freddy would take care of those Vultees. He had a job of his own to do!
So, holding the attack bomber steady, he took it earthward at terrific speed, leveled off in the last split second allowed, and went streaking forward just off the tops of the trees. At the right instant he yanked back the bomb release lever and sent the one thousand pounds of death and doom hurtling downward. No sooner did he release the bomb than he banked sharply to the right and hauled the Vultee’s nose up toward heaven.
For some strange reason everything seemed to become deathly still for a moment. It was the pressure in his ears, of course, from the violent bank and steep climb. But in a crazy sort of way it struck him as though heaven and earth had suddenly stood still, and were waiting for that bomb to hit.
Well, heaven and earth, and Dave Dawson, didn’t have to wait long. Suddenly invisible giants’ hands seemed to grab hold of the belly of the Vultee and fling it far out across the sky. Then came the roar of sound. It was as though the very earth had split apart in two sections and belched up all the fire and seething lava in their depths. For a moment red and white balls of light spun around before Dave’s eyes, and when he could see, it was a tremendous effort to turn his head and look back down.
When he did, though, his breath caught in his throat, and cold shivers of horror shook his body from head to foot. There was no more lush green and brown on the Albuquerque Cay. There was nothing but a small ocean of seething flame and mountain clouds of yellow white smoke, edged all around by the blue of the Caribbean. A bull’s-eye shot with a bomb, if there ever had been one! Dave didn’t even need one guess to know that his one thousand pounder had unquestionably smacked right down on that hut that housed all the other high explosives. No, not just a thousand pound bomb exploding, but tons of high explosives, and not a few aerial torpedoes for good measure. That horrible flaming chaos down there was just a picture of what the Nazis had been holding in store for the Panama Canal.
“There won’t be a blade of grass, even, left alive down there!” Dave heard his own lips mutter in awe. “And as for von Stutgardt, and his vulture brood, they’ll never murder another—”
He didn’t finish the rest. At that moment the yammer of aerial machine guns cut through his whirling thoughts. He jerked around in the seat and saw the two escaped Vultees curving up toward him with all guns blazing. He also saw Freddy Farmer snap out of his obvious trance and stop gaping down at the horrible sight below.