“A little,” Jack admitted.
“Of course it’s good in the stratosphere. That’s where a propeller-driven plane breaks down.”
“Nothing for the propeller to get its teeth into,” suggested Jack.
“That’s right. But our baby here goes fastest when there’s the thinnest sort of air in front of her to create friction. Five hundred miles an hour? Say! That’s nothing!”
Jack stared at the plane with sheer admiration.
Suddenly Jerry, the stranger’s partner, came up with an alligator wrench in his hand.
“Got to get busy and step out on the air.” With that Jack’s newly found friend was gone, just like that. Nor did he return. Not five minutes had passed when the mystery plane let out the squeal of an expiring porker, lifted its voice to the pitch of a fire siren, started to glide, touched the sea, cast back a spray, then was in the air and flew swiftly away.
Jack had searched for the plane to make whatever discovery he could concerning it, but he was not sure that he had accomplished anything.
CHAPTER XIV
TED’S GONY
On that same morning, as the Black Bee and her escort of fighting ships knifed in close to their target, Kentucky and his short, tight formation cut through the masquerading Japs like a reaper through a field of wheat. When their guns had ceased blazing away and they swung around for one more sweep, they saw two planes falling in flames, and a third rolling over and over.