That was all the time he had for speculation. He was now behind the enemy formation, swinging into position. And there, again, was the moon. To his great joy, he found that the bombers were between him and the moon, where they could be clearly seen.
With a sudden increase in speed he came up on the last plane, let out a burst of fire, then, swinging right, poured a second volley into the next plane. Then again all was dark.
To his surprise, in the midst of this darkness he heard gunfire—heard it again, and yet again. “They’re at it!” he exulted. “Fighting one another.”
Then suddenly the sky about him was all alight. A hundred yards away a big Jap plane had burst into flame.
With a gasp, he pointed his plane’s nose down and dropped into space. He was not a second too soon, for the exploding plane all but blew him into the sea.
When he had righted himself, he wondered momentarily whether or not that plane was his kill.
Then the moon came out. By that time some of the bombers, now badly scattered, were some distance away. Once again the moon painted a picture. A small plane, like a catbird after a hawk, darted at the bomber.
“Kentucky!” he shouted aloud. “Good old Kentucky! Give it to him!” He saw the flash of fire, heard the rattle, then his picture was gone.
Ten seconds later the sky was lighted once again by a burning bomber sinking toward the sea.
Off to the left another bomber exploded with a roar. One of the other night fighters had gotten his man.