“They’ll fly over us to get to the city, won’t they?” she asked.
“Sure will, if they don’t stop long enough to tear us apart.” Mac glanced at the dugout. “One thing I want understood. When I say ‘Duck!’ you duck. I’ve seen a lot more of this night fighting than you have.”
She made no reply, but lifting a hand to her ear exclaimed softly, “Listen! There they come!”
“That’s right.” A confused roar beat upon their eardrums. “Must be a big flight of them tonight.”
Gale looked to her instruments. They were in perfect condition—always were—but now they must be perfection personified. A slip might mean the loss of a thousand lives in that crowded city.
This done, there was nothing left but to wait.
“It won’t be long now,” she whispered.
“It won’t be long,” Mac echoed, fingering his gun.
Gale wondered if she could ever describe the feelings that coursed through her being as she waited. First a feeling of great exultation swept over her. She had power—such power as she had never known before—the power to destroy a hated enemy. A dozen, a score, perhaps half a hundred enemies might fall to death because of her radar. She had power to save countless lives.
Then she went all cold. She might fail, or be killed before she had done her work.