At that same moment, two hundred miles away, Kentucky, Blackie, and Red were out over the sea in their planes. Having obtained permission to conduct a night search for their lost comrade Ted, they were on their way. Talking over a radio of very low power that was not likely to be picked up at any distance greater than 300 miles, Blackie was saying to the others:
“Just about ten seconds more and we should be near the spot.”
“Twenty or twenty-five is my guess,” said Kentucky.
“Be great stuff if Ted were still on his plane there in the water and picked us up on the radio,” Red suggested.
“No chance.” Kentucky’s voice was low. “He’s lucky if he’s got his rubber raft.”
Ted did not hear them, but someone else, vastly excited, did.
“Got ’em!” Stew, on the island, tinkering with the Jap radio, cranked furiously as he murmured. “Now if only I can make them hear me.
“Kentuck—Kentucky!” he called into the small mike. “This is Stew. Do you get me? Stew. Come in!”
Kentucky did not come in. He kept right on with what he was doing. Stew could hear the three of them talking, heard Red say, “I think I see a light off to the right.”
“You sure?” was Kentucky’s excited answer. “Don’t lose it. That may be Ted.”