"Absolutely," the senior Naval officer replied. "Truk is most certainly in the force's plans, but it is not steaming directly there. It will not be within a thousand miles of Truk for several days yet."

"Then there's still a chance, sir," Dawson said eagerly. "Couldn't you a.s.sign us as special observers of the mission for you? In that way we wouldn't be confined to just one of the carriers. We could fly on and off all three. That way we could get a good look at one time or another at every fighter pilot in the force. And ... well, as we once said, we'll know him the instant we set eyes on him. I know it may sound like a slightly mad suggestion, sir, but I sincerely hope that you will grant permission to carry it out."

"And I would like to express my sincere hope that you will grant it, too, sir," Freddy Farmer spoke up quietly. "Captain Dawson didn't tell me that he was going to make this request, but now that I've heard it, I am completely in favor of it, sir. We fell down on our job, sir, and we only want the chance to make up for our failure, if we possibly can."

The vice-admiral didn't say anything for several minutes. In fact, he didn't even look at either of them. He scowled silently at his fingers drumming on the top of the desk. When eventually he did lift his gaze and look at them he was still frowning.

"It is quite an unusual request," he said. "The Navy doesn't usually fight a war that way. After all you are Army pilots, so it would be most strange for you to act as observers for the Navy. Then, too, the moment the carrier force sailed from Pearl Harbor it was under the complete command of Vice-Admiral Macon, whose flagship is the Carrier Trenton. I have nothing to do with it at all. It is quite possible that Vice-Admiral Macon will maintain radio silence, save for ship to plane, throughout the entire voyage. A most unusual request, Captains Dawson and Farmer. Most unusual."

The vice-admiral frowned down at his drumming fingers again, and Dave Dawson had the sensation of his heart sliding down into his boot-tops with a thump. Then suddenly after a moment or two of complete and utter silence, the vice-admiral looked up from his desk with a grunt.

"However," he said quietly, "there are such things as extenuating circ.u.mstances. Exceptions that prove the rule, and so forth. That n.a.z.i spy is on his way to Admiral Shimoda with valuable information we can ill afford to have fall into j.a.panese hands. Also, _if_ he does slip away from the force he will naturally report on the force to Admiral Shimoda, and that could prove very disastrous for Vice-Admiral Macon's ships. So for those and other reasons, I am in favor of _every_ effort being made to identify this man so that he can be put under arrest."

The senior Naval officer paused to clear his throat, but Dawson couldn't hold his tongue any longer.

"Then you will, sir?" he blurted out. "You will give us another chance?"

"That's right," the vice-admiral said, and tried not to smile. "There happens to be a Catalina with mail and some priority things leaving Kaneohe tonight. I will arrange for you to be on it. I will also give you a letter to Vice-Admiral Macon stating the reason you are joining the force, and what you wish to do. That is as far as I can go in the matter. I cannot order Vice-Admiral Macon to do anything. I can only ask him to co-operate with you in this matter, but I feel quite sure that he will. All right, then, Captains, your special request is granted. And, naturally, I wish you all the good luck and good hunting in the world."

"Thank you, sir, thank you," was all that Dawson could say, because suddenly he was too choked up to speak other words.

And it was the same with Freddy Farmer. One more chance! It was a time when mere words could mean everything, or nothing!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

_Satan Strikes_

It was a perfect day. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and from horizon to horizon the rolling blue Pacific was flooded with gold from the sun hanging on high. In addition to it being a perfect day the mighty Yank carrier force steaming westward was a sight to catch the throat of even the most self-centered landlubber. In perfect battle array, with cruisers out on both sides, and the destroyers darting about like water bugs, the mighty armada traced a pattern of creamy white wakes on the gold-tinted blue that looked like a painting from another world.

It was indeed something to see and remember always, but Dave Dawson and Freddy Farmer hardly noticed. Slumped down in one of the crash nets aboard the Carrier Trenton, they stared out at the rest of the force with gloomy eyes and furrowed brows. They were depressed, unhappy, and licked. Only sheer doggedness would not let them admit the latter truth. But it seemed true just the same. For three days, now, they had been with Vice-Admiral Macon's force, and for all the good they were doing themselves, or anybody else, they might just as well have been back at San Diego teaching Navy fledglings to fly.

"Well, what now, little man?" Dawson suddenly broke the long brooding silence between them. "Shall we start all over again for the umptieth time? I mean, check on the fighter pilots once more?"

Young Farmer didn't reply for a moment. He rubbed a hand down the side of his face, shook his head, and sighed heavily.

"What's the blasted use?" he groaned. "That n.a.z.i rat we're looking for can either make himself invisible, or else he just isn't with this force. And that last is what makes me feel like such a fool. What a beautiful trick of fate if that lad is actually thousands and thousands of miles from where we are right now. You know, Dave, we've seen a lot, and we've done our full share of things, but this business is the queerest ever. The trailing destroyers haven't even reported sighting a single water flare. Maybe _we_ just dreamed everything!"

"You're telling me?" Dawson growled. "For two cents I could dive right over the side and do the world and the war a big favor. What saps we've been, and still are! Things are certainly screwy in life. Just imagine, a little suggestion and, bingo, all this is the result. It's enough to drive a man nuts, permanently."

"It is, and it has, as far as I'm concerned," Freddy Farmer muttered.

"But what did you mean by a little suggestion?"

"The one I made," Dawson said. Then with a shake of his head, he continued, "And just how many centuries ago was it, anyway? Oh well, it was back in San Diego. It was raining, remember, and I suggested that we take a little walk? That's what I mean. If I'd only stuck to reading my book, and not listened to you crab about the California weather, we wouldn't be here."

"Oh, so it's all my fault, is it?" young Farmer flared up. "Well, let me jolly well tell you that I...!"

"Easy, Freddy, easy," Dawson cut him off and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I don't mean that at all, pal. We both started this business together, and we both stubbed our toes. Let's not go flying at each other's throats, huh? That would make us a pair of fine guys, I don't think. I'm sorry if you got me wrong, kid. But let's not blow our tops, huh?"

Freddy Farmer smiled, and there was far more than apology in it.

"Of course, Dave," he said. "I forgot myself, and I ask you to forgive me for being such a blasted fool. I certainly don't deserve your friendship when I act like that. And I guess you know, Dave, that your friendship means more to me than anything else in the world. That's the truth, old thing."

"I know it is, Freddy," Dave told him quickly, "And it is the way I feel about you. So ... well, that's that, kid. And now we're back where we started. What do you think we should do now? Start making the rounds of the carriers again, with a prayer? Or should we go to Vice-Admiral Macon, and tell him we're a couple of flops, and ask him to a.s.sign us to active flight duty with these boys, and maybe earn our board and keep a little?"

"Whatever you say suits me," Freddy Farmer replied with a shrug. "The vice-admiral has been awfully decent giving us the run of the entire force as he has. Frankly, though, I think that everybody else is not only getting fed up with us popping in and off their flight decks, and snooping around, but they are also becoming very suspicious. Much more of this and we'll upset the morale of the force. After all, they're going into battle soon. And chaps about to go into battle don't want a couple of mysterious n.o.bodies flitting about them. But if you think we should pay another visit to the other carriers, then I'm with you, no matter what anybody thinks. Well, what do you say?"

"Well, I guess ...," Dawson began and then stopped.

He stopped because he caught sight of the vice-admiral's aide hurrying toward them across the flight deck.

"Oh," he said out of the corner of his mouth. "I guess what we do next has already been decided for us. Here comes Lieutenant Commander Clarke, and he's not just out getting the sunshine. You and I, Freddy, are about to go see the Old Man of this carrier force."

And the truth of that statement was proved a couple of moments later when the lieutenant commander reached them.

"The vice-admiral sends his compliments to you two gentlemen, and requests that you come to his quarters at once," the Naval officer said.

"Follow me, please."

A few minutes later the two air aces were alone with Vice-Admiral Macon, a short, thick-set man with a face that could look hard as nails one minute, and all custard pie and sunshine the next. Right now his expression was sort of in between. He nodded politely as Dawson and Farmer presented themselves, and with a friendly wave of his hand indicated that they were to be seated. Then after searching their faces for a moment, he spoke.

"No luck yet?" he said.

"No, sir, I'm sorry to report," Dave replied for both of them. "And frankly, sir, I cannot understand it. We have visited every carrier several times, as you know, of course. And we have seen every fighter pilot at one time or another, yet I will swear that the man we want was not one of them. There's just one thing that occurs to me now, sir. Is every fighter pilot who was with the force in San Diego still with it? I mean by that, sir, because of the mission now being carried out, have any fighter pilots been transferred to torpedo or scout-bomber or dive-bomber squadrons, since the force put to sea?"

The force commander thought a moment, and then shook his head.

"No," he said bluntly. "Every man is serving just as he did when the force was at San Diego. The only changes have been the fighter pilots that were taken aboard at Pearl Harbor. I'm afraid that you're wasting your time, gentlemen. And I do know that you are causing a considerable mystery among the flying officers of the force. I do not like that, and something must be done about it. That is one of the reasons why I sent for you."

The vice-admiral paused as though to take time out to select his next words.

"Another reason," he went on a moment later, "is that by sundown tonight we will be within eight hundred miles of Truk. Unless you find your man by then ... if such a man _does_ exist in my force ... you will be a.s.signed to one of the squadrons for active duty, and are to forget all about this other business. We will be going into action tomorrow, and ... well, n.o.body in my command is taking this cruise just for the ride. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Dawson replied instantly. "As a matter of fact, sir, just before your aide summoned us to your quarters, we had decided to request permission to see you so that we could ask to be put on active flying status. We admit it, sir. We just have been along for the ride. And we appreciate more than we can say the freedom of movement that you have permitted us. So if we still haven't accomplished anything by sundown, sir, we both will be willing and eager to serve in any capacity you deem fit."

The vice-admiral nodded, and then glanced questioningly at Freddy Farmer.

"Captain Dawson speaks for both of us, sir," the English-born air ace said at once. "I am not only willing and eager to serve in any way you wish, but I will consider it a great honor, sir."

For the first time since their entrance the vice-admiral gave them a smile. It was warm, sympathetic, and full of understanding. "Thank you, gentlemen," he said. "The entire force will be glad to have you flying with us. Your past records are not exactly secrets, you know. Very well, then, you can carry on as you have been until sundown. After that you are flying and fighting for the Navy. That is all, and thank you again."

The two youths took their leave of the force commander and returned thoughtfully to the Trenton's flight deck.

"Until sundown," Dawson murmured, and squinted at the sun sliding down the western sky. "I'd say two hours, or maybe two and a half. Well, back to the old question. What do we do about it now, Freddy? A swell suggestion hasn't suddenly hit you, has it, by any chance?"

"What suggestion?" young Farmer sighed. "All I'm thinking about right now is that I hope tomorrow I get a crack at a hundred of the j.a.p beggars when we hit Truk."