Italians in Libya. We know that German planes, tanks, and troops are in Libya. We know, also, that a German-Italian, or Axis, drive is soon to be launched against Wavell's forces in Libya. But when, and at what points, and the real strength of the German-Italian forces are three things we do not know. Those three things must be found out, and as soon as possible. To put it bluntly, the Fleet Air Arm is going to try to find the answers for the British Middle East High Command. And to put it even more bluntly, you chaps are going to have first crack at the job."

Group Captain Spencer stopped abruptly and turned to a huge map on the wall behind him. Picking up a red crayon, he marked an X on a spot in the Mediterranean. Dave saw that it was a point halfway between the island of Crete and the Libya-Egyptian frontier line.

"That is the Victory's position now," the group captain said. "Between now and sundown down we will change course several times. When darkness settles down, we will change course again and head for this spot, here—a position about thirty miles off Misurata on the Libyan coast, and some two hundred miles east of Tripoli. We will arrive there at a certain time before dawn tomorrow. At that time one plane, with pilot and observer, will take off and, under the cover of darkness, head inland. The plane will be fitted with extra gas tanks, allowing for a good eight hour flight. It will also be fitted with a special fast action aerial camera.

"Now, the job of that pilot and observer will be to patrol the areas east and southeast of Tripoli and make notes, and photos, of everything of interest. And let me say right here, don't pass up a single thing just because it interests you only a little. Get a good look at everything, and a picture of it, if possible. When it is time to return to the Victory, the pilot will head for a certain point that will be made known to him just before he takes off. The Victory will be there to take him aboard. Now, before I carry on, any questions?"

Nobody moved for a moment; then Dave Dawson slowly stood up.

"Yes, Dawson?" Group Captain Spencer asked briskly.

"Why one plane, sir?" Dave asked. "If two planes went out, and there were trouble, perhaps at least one of them would return?"

"A good question," Group Captain Spencer said. "And in a way, you're absolutely right, Dawson. However, I'm sending out just one plane for a special reason. First, though, let me explain why the Fleet Air Arm is tackling this job instead of an R.A.F. fighter or reconnaissance unit already based in occupied Libya. It's for this reason: distance! We can get in close under the cover of darkness, and save a good two or three hundred mile flight a plane would have to make from an R.A.F. drome at Bengazi. Also, by going straight south from the coast, we can be over our objectives before they realize we're there. Planes, or even one plane, from the R.A.F. drome at Bengazi would be heard and spotted long before it reached the area we want to study.

"We are sending out one plane for this reason. And it's very simple. The enemy spotters might not pay much attention to a single plane wandering about high above them. We're hoping they'll think it some ship that has lost its bearings. There will be no marking at all on the plane. Two planes, however, would definitely arouse the suspicions of enemy spotters. They would know at once that two planes were there for a special reason, and not just lost. Therefore they would open fire, and send up defending aircraft, and the time would be taken up with fighting instead of observing. Does that explain it, Dawson?"

"Yes, sir," Dave replied. "You're quite right, sir. It's a one plane job. But it's to be one plane at a time, isn't it, sir?"

The group captain nodded and looked very grave.

"I hope it won't be," he said quietly, "but for the present we are planning it that way. In short, if the first plane does not return, or if the information it brings back is not of much value, then a second plane will be sent out, and a third, and a fourth, and a fifth, and so on, until we find out what we want to know. Frankly, it is a ticklish job the British Middle East High Command has asked the Fleet Air Arm to perform. And the Fleet Air Arm Command has turned the job over to us. Now, any more questions?"

Dave felt Freddy Farmer stiffen at his side, then saw his flying pal stand up.

"Yes, Farmer?" Group Captain Spencer asked.

Freddy hesitated a brief instant, and then spoke.

"It is not a question, sir," he said in a low but clear voice.

"Then what is it?" the group captain demanded gruffly.

"A request, sir," Freddy replied promptly. "I should like to volunteer to go in the first plane."

Freddy's words opened the floodgates of a reservoir of sound. Instantly every other pilot in the room leaped to his feet and shouted the request to be selected for that first plane. Group Captain Spencer grinned happily, then held up both his hands, and shook his head.

"Just a minute, you chaps!" he roared. Then, when he had obtained silence, "Just waiting for one of you lads to start it off. And I knew perfectly well that every one of you would fight for the job. That's the kind of spirit that has made the Fleet Air Arm the two-fisted, do-or-die unit that it is. However, we're not going to do it that way. I'm not going to select anybody. It wouldn't be fair. Besides, I don't fancy to be dumped overboard some dark night by some lad I didn't select. I like to wear just trunks when I go swimming, you know, not full dress service uniform."

The pilots roared with laughter, and then Group Captain Spencer continued.

"No, the way we'll decide that is by drawing lots," he said. "There are thirty-four of you lads here, and in this cap of mine are thirty-four folded slips of paper."

The group captain picked up his service cap that had been resting top side down on a table on his right.

"Thirty-four folded slips of paper," he said, and put the cap down on the table again. "Thirty-three of them are blank. The thirty-fourth has an X marked on it. Now, you will line up, and each will draw a folded slip of paper from the cap. The one who draws the paper with the X on it will be the pilot of the first plane. Now, to make sure the flight will go off smoothly, so that there'll be no possible chance of friction, the man who draws the marked slip can choose the chap he would like to have along as his observer. Of course you are all pilots, so if anything happens to the lad at the controls the other chap can take over at once. Naturally, I hope nothing will happen. You never can tell, though. As I said, this is a ticklish job, and a mighty important one. It may well prove to be the most important job you've tackled since entering the service. Now, line up and—"

Group Captain Spencer cut himself off short and shook his head.

"No, half a minute," he said. "There's one other thing I'd better say, though it's probably unnecessary. It is a volunteer job. I mean, the chap who draws the marked slip can decline if he wishes, and that will be that. Also, the chum he chooses to go along with him can decline, too."

"Not likely, sir, I fancy!" some pilot at the back of the Ready Room called out.

"Not likely at all!" the rest shouted in the same breath.

Group Captain Spencer grinned broadly, and the glow of affection and admiration was in his dark eyes.

"So be it," he said, and picked up the service cap filled with folded slips of paper. "Right-o, lads, line up. And don't fight for places. Maybe the last chap in line will draw the lucky slip. Anyway, hop to it."

The pilots bounded from their seats and hastened to form a line. After a bit of good-natured pushing and shoving they were all in line. Freddy and Dave were together about a quarter of the way down the line. Dave was in front of Freddy, and he turned and grinned at his pal.

"If I get that slip it will sure be a problem," he said.

"Why a problem?" Freddy asked.