“The part held by our own people or by the enemy?”
“There is no sure way to know. Here, take the ship. Let me at that radio. We’ve just got to get it going.”
Whether this was a “must” or not did not appear to matter. The radio was dead and apparently would remain so.
To make matters worse the shadows within the plane grew darker with every passing moment.
“Night,” Mary thought. “Night over a strange land.”
Night settled down and still they cruised on. From time to time, they came down close to earth, often too close, in the hope of finding a break in the clouds, of spotting a landing beacon. No break was found, no light appeared.
“Our position is growing desperate,” Sparky said at last. “Our fuel is running low. In less than a half hour we’ll be obliged to make a blind landing and that, well—you know—”
Yes, Mary knew. There was no need for her to answer.
“I think I’d better get the ship aloft then let the rest of you take to parachutes.” Sparky’s voice was husky. “For better or worse, this looks like journey’s end.”
“Yes—yes, I guess you’d better let Hop Sing use his parachute. It will be safer for him.”