Gunn threw open the door dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts and his horn-rimmed glasses, looking like a confused professor who was just caught in a motel room with the dean of the university's wife. "What's the meaning…" He stopped suddenly, staring at the blood-caked apparition supported by Knight. His brown eyes swelled to immense proportions behind the thick lenses. "My God, Dirk, is that you? What happened?"

Pitt tried to smile again, but it was only a slight curl of his upper lip. "I'm a dropout from hell!" His tone was low, then it came on strongly. "Do you have any meteorological equipment on board?"

Gunn didn't answer. Instead, he ordered Knight to get the ship's doctor. Then the bespectacled little skipper led Pitt into the cabin and gently lowered him on the bunk. "Just rest easy, Dirk. We'll have you patched up in no time."

"That's just it, Rudi, there is no time," Pitt said, grasping Gunn's wrists with his ripped hands. "Do you have any meteorological equipment on board?" he repeated urgently.

Gunn looked down at Pitt, his eyes reflecting bewilderment. "Yes, we have instruments to record various meteorological data. Why do you ask?"

Pitt's hands released their grip and fell away from Gunn's wrists. A smug cold smile gripped his eyes and spread his lips as he struggled up on his elbows. "This ship is going to be attacked any minute by the same aircraft that raided Brady Field."

"You must be delirious," Gunn said, moving forward to help Pitt sit up.

"My body may look like hell, but my mind at this minute is sharper than yours," Pitt said. "Now listen, and listen closely. Here's what has to be done."

* * *

It was the lookout perched on the great A-frame crane who first spotted the little yellow plane against its vast blue background. Then Pitt and Gunn saw it too, not more than two miles away, flying at eight hundred feet. They should have seen it sooner, but it was coming at the First Attempt straight out of the eye of the sun.

"He's ten minutes late," Pitt grunted, holding an arm aloft for a white-goateed doctor who worked quickly and skillfully at bandaging his chest.

The elderly physician, oblivious to Pitt's movements on the ship's bridge, cleaned and dressed the raw cuts without bothering to turn and look at the approaching plane. He tied the final knot tightly, making Pitt twinge and display a wry face. "That's the best I can do for you, Major, until you stop running up and down the deck, shouting orders like Captain Bligh."

"Sorry, Doc," Pitt said without taking his eyes from the sky. "But there was no time for a formal office call. You better get below now. If my little battle tactic doesn't work, you're going to do a land office business in about ten minutes."