can."

The ensign laughed.

"Great stuff," Allison said. "I'm March Allison and he's Stan Wilson."

"I'm Bert Thomas," the ensign said. "If you have bags you better get them aboard. We're about to shove off."

"We're not taking any bags back," Stan said hurriedly. He did not want to risk having the general order them to go on into Alexandria. In fact, he did not want the general to know they were going out with the amphibian.

"O.K. Just get aboard and find a place to sit down."

Stan and Allison climbed aboard the freighter. The crew paid no attention to them but went on lashing cargo into place, cramming all sorts of odd repair parts into every corner.

Ensign Thomas came aboard and took his place beside his copilot. Stan and Allison sat on the only two vacant seats along the arching ribs of the ship. They were careful not to take the space reserved for the crew.

The freighter slid out into the bay and soon she was slapping the step of the lazy waves. A few seconds later she lifted and was off, rising slowly, roaring along like a gorged pelican. She did not have a machine gun or a cannon aboard and she was going it alone. The two fighter pilots, used to a bank of Brownings in front of them, felt uneasy. If a Heinkel or an Me 110 showed up, the old girl would be a dead duck.

No enemy planes showed up, however, and the freighter bored along. Ahead of them the sun was settling down into the sea, filling the air with golden haze and making the water glow like sapphire. Just at sunset the freighter swung inshore and eased down over the harbor at Bizerte. Two fighter planes from a carrier lying offshore zoomed around her as she came in. She hit the water and glided in to a mooring.

"Passengers ashore!" Bert Thomas called back.

As they piled out Stan and Allison saluted the skipper. "Thanks a million," Stan said.

"Right fine of you, old man," Allison chimed in.

"Glad to give you a hand," Thomas said as he turned to the job of unloading.

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