While the brains of those slant-eyed sons of the Rising Sun groped for the true meaning of this unexpected maneuver, Dawson cut the MK-Eleven in at the leader at rocket speed. In the last second allowed he feinted as though to bank around and retreat. And that little act was curtains for the already befuddled brain in the leading Zero's cockpit. Its pilot started to pull over, but Dawson cut right back in again and jabbed the trigger button on his stick. The savage bursts from his guns caught the Zero broadside, and the Jap probably never even knew that he was dying for his so-called Heaven-born Emperor. At least he didn't know it until he was dead, and was falling earthward in a ball of raging flame.
Nor did a second Jap Zero pilot who happened to "get in the way" of Freddy Farmer's rear guns. The only difference was that he didn't go earthward in a ball of flame. Freddy's first burst caught his fuel tank. There was a sheet of mounting flame, and great belching gobs of black-smudged white smoke. And then there was just a shower of pieces going downward.
The time it took for all that to happen was perhaps no longer than the time it would take you to blink one eye. In fact, almost before both planes started down out of the war, Dawson had sheered off at lightning bolt speed, leaving the rest of the Japs still brain-groping and automatically fanning their guns at thin air. As a matter of fact, practically all of them had unconsciously swerved off in the opposite direction, and so when Dawson finally straightened out they were no longer to the south of him. They were behind, and well out of range. And six Curtiss P-Forties with their shark-painted noses were less than a mile dead ahead.
"Start waving, just to make sure, Freddy!" Dawson roared, as he booted the MK-Eleven toward those gallant American eagles who had come thousands of miles to fight and to die for China's great and worthy cause. "Stand up, and start waving. They might think it was just some dizzy Jap trick."
"Not a chance, I fancy!" the English-born air ace shouted back. "Those Jap yellow beggars have seen them! Take a look for yourself!"
Dawson gulped, "Huh?" as he jerked around in the seat. But that's all he said, because in the next second he was bursting with laughter. He was, for the very funny fact that every Jap-flown plane in the surrounding skies had about-faced and was making tracks for any place that would be far away from those dead-aim pilots who flew those terror ships of the Chinese Air Force. At least a hundred Jap pilots were streaking for safety from six hard-eyed, steel trigger-fingered knights of the air. Just one more proof that though Jap pilots fly in bunches, they know they will die the same way if they make the mistake of getting too close to the guns of the Flying Tigers!
"Boy, oh boy! Look at them scoot, will you!" Dawson chuckled. "Praise be to Allah for the Flying Tigers. It's just about all over but the shouting, Freddy. Better start brushing up on your Chinese, pal, if you know any!"
The English-born air ace laughed at that remark. But so did the gods of war up in their unseen high places. Not, however, for the same reason. They laughed because they knew that Death was only taking a breathing spell; that Death would return again, and soon, to claim its victims!