“No shooting if we can help it,” Jack told himself. “Our job is to spot the enemy task force and sit above them, sending in reports until our bombers and torpedo planes come to attack. We—”

His thoughts broke off sharply. What was this he was hearing? A high-pitched whistle like a country fire alarm. No doubt about it. It was on the same key as the one they had heard the night before. Stew had heard it too—Jack could tell by the look in his eyes.

“Some Jap trick!” Jack exclaimed, gripping the controls hard. “Got to be ready for anything!” Stew was swinging his gun about as a ballplayer swings his bat before a try at the ball.

The screaming noise increased. It filled the air, and seemed almost upon them. Acting by instinct, Jack went into a sudden steep dive.

The next instant he looked up to see a shadowy bulk shoot through the misty clouds above them to lose itself at terrific speed in the distance.

“That,” said Stew, with a shudder, “was a torpedo. The Japs shot it at us. If it had connected we wouldn’t be here.”

“I wonder,” said Jack.

There was little time for wondering, for suddenly they were out of the clouds, not far from the sea. And directly beneath them lay the enemy task force. So near was it that it looked almost like a cardboard display against a field of blue.

“Zeros!” Stew warned suddenly. “Three of them over to the left!”

Jack dipped a wing, touched the accelerator, cut an astonishingly short circle, and re-entered the same cloud.

“Ann to Mary! Ann to Mary!” Stew repeated in a strained voice, talking into his mike. “Enemy task force southeast, hundred and eighty miles. One carrier, five cruisers, eight destroyers, and three cargo ships.”

He waited ten seconds. He, you have guessed, was Ann. The operator on the carrier was Mary. Twice, at brief intervals, he repeated the messages.

“Watch it!” Jack exclaimed, banking his plane so sharply it stood on a wing. In his excitement he had come so close to the edge of the cloud that he had sighted a shadow. The shadow had a voice, a sudden rat-tat-tat that made small round holes in his right wing. A Zero had nearly winged them.

“Close,” he murmured. “Got to have a care.”

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