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A sacrifice for love is not unusual; when it's
done for hate is when confusion creeps in



THE air-field outside Manila was muddy and the rain still slanted down, flooding the walk in front of the operations building. Jan Bartell slammed the door of the station wagon and ran quickly for the protection of the office. Not that she was worried about the water that soaked her tan blouse and slacks; she was still thinking of the curt message Doctor Warren had given her as he went into Surgery.

“They need a couple of light kits at the air-field. Not over ten pounds each. Bandages, sulpha, and other first aid necessities. It’s a rush job. There’s a station wagon parked out front. I haven’t the time. Will you handle it?” He had been too busy to explain. Doctor Warren had wounded men waiting for his services. Jan had gathered the materials and packed them hurriedly into two duffle bags.

It’s a rush job.”

She kept repeating those words over and over as she drove out across the rutted road that led up toward the landing strip. The station wagon protested, jumping from rut to rut, and she had to fight the wheel all the way out. She pushed the door of the operations office open and went in, tossing her soaked hair back from her face with a graceful flip of her head.

There were a dozen uniformed men hurrying about. Captain Walter Patrick looked up from his desk and smiled at her gravely. His shirt was open at the neck and his hair, gray at the temples, was wet with perspiration.

“You didn’t lose any time, Nurse,” he said. “You have the kits made up?”

She nodded, wiping rain from her forehead. The office was hot and damp. No one seemed to pay any attention to her coming, save the Captain. Something big was in the air. She sensed it.

“I packed everything in a hurry,” she said. “About twenty pounds. Two knapsacks.”

She wondered what was happening. Nothing flew on a night like this. You couldn’t see ten feet ahead of you, and it would be next to impossible to take off with the field so muddy. Jan B artel 1 knew. She had flown plenty of stuff, big and small, before the WASP broke up back in ’44.

“Good.” Patrick was leaning over the radio set. Johnny Stevens, the radio man, discarded his head-phones and looked up at Jan.

“Hi, Angel,” he said. His usually grinning, freckled face was sober. “Say, you must have duck feet, coming out on a night like this.”

ACROSS the strip, toward the hangars, a light blinked on and off again. Jan turned toward the window, because they were busy now, Johnny and Captain Patrick, talking in low voices. She knew they were talking about some message that had just come over the set.

A fighter was being wheeled out She could just see the rakish outline of it against the gray hangar.

“P-40,” she whispered to herself. “New model. No, Jan, they couldn’t. Not on a night like this.”

Still, she could hear the sound of the motor warming up. She turned slowly, regarding Patrick with a puzzled look. So many unanswered questions were in her mind. Questions which she had no right even to ask. She knew those fine gray eyes that expressed so many of the worries Patrick felt for his boys.

“They—aren’t going to fly?”

She had to ask.

Before he could answer, the door opened abruptly and a young man came in. He wore a flying suit. His goggles were pushed up to uncover a wealth of freckles spread across a straight nose. Jan had never seen him before, but when he smiled at her, she smiled back. He ducked his head a little as a silent hello.

He saluted Patrick smartly.

“All set, sir. Is the stuff ready?”

Patrick said yes, and turned to Jan.

“Drive him across the field, will you? There isn’t much room in his plane. The kits will fit behind him. He isn’t carrying a bag.”

She knew that she mustn’t say anything else. This pilot, this someone, was going somewhere, to deliver medical supplies at the possible cost of his own life. Still, it was none of her business. She had never seen him before, and, she’d probably never see— “Well?”

Captain Patrick’s voice snapped her out of the spell.

“Sorry,” she said mechanically and went out. The rain had stopped. The sky was still overcast and the ceiling was way down. The pilot was waiting in the station wagon, its engine running, his foot on the clutch.

She jumped in and the car leaped forward across the field. The surface, mostly gravel and cinders, was still fairly firm. Above the sound of the motor, she shouted: “Where you going?”

He turned for a second and grinned at her.

“Straight to hell,” he said, “one of these days.”

She felt a chill creep up her spine.

“No fooling.” She tried to speak lightly, as though it were of no great importance. “I know most of the boys with this command. Have some of them been shot down—stranded?”

She was thinking of Bill. Remembering, with a strange heartache, how he had been reported shot down in action.

“No,” the pilot said. “Not exactly. I’m not supposed to talk. Don’t tempt me.”

He had to talk. The grin wasn’t a reflection of how he really felt inside. He was scared—clean through. He was trying to cover up the fear inside him.

“Trying to get in a landing on Latu,” he said. “Company of infantry and some flyers stranded there. Japs captured the landing strip and most of the island. Our boys are holed up on the southern tip of the place. They need first aid supplies in a hurry. Radioed for help, and then their sending outfit went dead.”

He hesitated, then said quietly:

“There’s something deeper than that, I think. Something really big, but I don’t know what; Patrick wouldn’t tell me. He’s plenty worried.”

She said nothing. She knew he wouldn’t talk any more. It wouldn’t do any good to tell her, she knew all about Latu. That Bill had died there. There was a lot you didn’t say to a stranger.

THEY were half-way across the field. Suddenly she looked back, only to find that the lights in the office had gone out. She hitched herself half-way around in the seat, staring back, puzzled.

“What’s wrong?” asked the kid.

She frowned. “I’m—not—sure..."


Something hit the mud just ahead of them, busting wide open in a terrific blast of sound and flame. The kid shouted something she didn’t hear and yanked hard on the wheel.


She knew that Japs were overhead. Recognized the condensed hell of the cannon shells as they exploded around the station wagon.

"Drive faster!” she cried loudly. "Keep zig-zagging! Turn out the lights!”

He was ’way ahead of her. The lights were already out and the car twisted crazily across the open field.


The shells were smashing all around them. In a few minutes there would be flares. A line of tracer bullets traced a sinister trail along the hood of the car. The engine coughed and stopped running.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Jan was badly frightened. She could hear her own breathing, jerky—panting. “We’ve got to run.”

Her words stopped coming. Words choked in her throat. The kid was leaning forward over the wheel, that grin frozen on his face. Two slugs had ripped into the top of his head and one of them had come out under his chin. She stared upward wildly. A line of jagged holes had ripped the entire length of the station wagon.

Panic-stricken, she listened to the faint whine of the siren, coming too late.

A flare lighted the sky over the operations office. It threw brilliant light over the row of bombers near the south end of the strip.

“Jan," she said aloud, “they’ll get you if you stay here.” That plane is ready to fly. There’s stuff for the boys and they need it.”

She was shivering crazily, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. She had the chills. Swiftly she removed the packs from the car and ran across the field toward the plane. It was a P-40, crouching in the mud, deserted by the mechanics, its motor still roaring defiance to the Japs above it.

Suddenly new courage entered her. Something about the touch of her hand on the sturdy fighter. Confidence she had in the sturdy bird. They seemed welded together in a fighting team.

It almost surprised her that the ship was exactly like a hundred or more she had ferried while with the WASP. As she settled down into the cockpit and pushed the kits into the compartment behind her, it was like coming home again.

THERE was no time for hesitation. A couple of mechanics had seen her climb into the fighter. They were outside the hangar now, waving at her wildly. She smiled gravely. A glance at the instruments told her everything was in order. She wondered if she could pull the big bird out of the mud and get free of the strip before they shot her down.

She pulled more inches than the motor would normally need. The plane strained forward, but she held it in check. Sure that the motor was all right, she released the brakes and let the flaps down. Exhaust was ripping from the plane in a steady, roaring red streak. It would be a dead give-away. They’d be down after her within secs.

She felt the ship fight its way from mud and leap forward. She had to off the ground to make up flying speed. She pulled the stick back, then returned it to flying position. It was smoother. She was a few inches off the ground and the P-40 was a swiftly moving shadow.

Quickly she looked back, sensing rather than seeing the Zero as it came down, a lean wolf-shadow of death racing with her. Its guns opened, spraying lead.

She glanced at the ground speed. She pulled the stick back hard, then let the ship fall into a sharp climbing turn. No wonder the Jap lost her. She herself was lost for an instant, with the inky darkness closing over her like the cover of a coffin.

Then the top of the hangar was under her left wing tip, hardly three feet from it. She came out of the turn and sent the ship skyward. At two hundred feet, she leveled off. The engine was roaring smoothly now. In the overcast she almost flew blind. She couldn’t climb too high, for the Zeros were waiting up there. Lucky, she thought, that I know the terrain.

She knew also that she was out over the Pacific, flying alone, under vastly different conditions than she had ever flown for the Ferry Command. A sick, lonely feeling crept over her. She pulled upward, out of the overcast, above the billowing clouds. The moon was bright up here. Below, there was only deep, lonely well of the Pacific hidden under the clouds.

She glanced at her watch. An hour and a half to sunrise.

Before Bill died, he had been stationed at Latu for months. She had spent hours studying the charts, mapping out all the possible missions he and Steve could have been sent on. She knew Latu as a flat, palm-covered little hell that lay straight ahead of her by the compass. Allowing for the steady cross wind, she could, with luck, be above Latu in just under two hours. She glued her eyes to the compass and settled back to fly. Her body was taut, on guard against unpleasant surprises.

Jan Bartell knew the supplies she carried were needed badly at Latu. She knew also, that strange things must be taking place on the tiny island. Secrets that Captain Patrick wouldn't share.

Lieutenant Steven Brent was on Latu, and that thought sent little shivers of anger up and down Jan’s back. Brent spoiled the party, as far as she was concerned. She had a score to settle with Steve Brent, and this was probably the best time to settle it.

The sun came up, hurting her eyes with its coppery red glow. The sky cleared and she was flying alone, without a single cloud to accompany her. Just her P-40, the bright sun, and the sea.

The sun tinted the wings of the plane, and glancing around the compass, she saw the color it painted them, and was reminded of blood.

“Blood on my wings,” she said softly. “Oh Bill, why did it have to be—”

There was no one to see her tears.

LATU, a tiny speck of green fringed by yellow, grew out of the horizon. A bit of island tossed out of a blue sea. Jan Bartell pressed her lips together in two tight lines. Her attractive face was smudged with grease. She was tired almost beyond human endurance. She had a few gallons of gasoline left. Japs or not, Latu was it. She had to sit down there whether she wanted to or not. Five thousand feet below her now, the island looked quite peaceful.

The air-strip was pock-marked by shell-holes. The strip cut the island in half, running for a mile straight down through its center. Some of the palms were broken and twisted.

She saw the lagoon, a rounded, deep blue pool near the end of the strip. Then she saw something else that made her smile for the first time in hours. A tattered American flag hung limply over a small hut near the lagoon.

Around the hut lay ridges and trenches where she knew the remainder of the G.I.’s were holding out. Holding against an island overrun with Japs.

The smile widened when she thought of what they’d say when they saw a girl crawl from the cockpit of the plane.

Suddenly the smile was gone and a worried frown took its place. Something black and threatening burst near the tip of her right wing, rocking the-plane. She banked sharply to the left, dropping five hundred feet.


The sky above her, where she had been, blossomed full of it. Puffs of black smoke spreading in a pattern. She banked again and made a run over the American position. She could see men down there. Tiny, shadow-throwing specks, waving at her wildly.

Where could she land? She had planned on using the beach that lay behind the American lines. Now she saw that it, also, had suffered from enemy shells.

She pulled the P-40 up swiftly, banked again to keep the enemy flak off her tail, and looked down at the lagoon. This was no woman’s game. She realized that ferrying planes across a peaceful countryside was different than facing Jap fire over a Pacific Island. Lieutenant Steve Brent was down there somewhere, probably watching her with his glasses. He wasn’t going to have the opportunity to laugh at her.

The lagoon was her only out.

She had been flying straight and level. Something jarred her again, and she looked back to discover a Zero on her tail, coming down fast, its guns wide open.

“Here I go,” she whispered, and sent the P-40 straight up toward the blue. The island disappeared. The ocean was no longer there. Still, the Jap clung to her, and she knew that his guns were biting into her. She watched them leave a ragged line across the wing, then creep in toward the cockpit.

DESPERATELY she banked to the right and shot straight down toward the sea. The enemy pilot followed, losing range, seeking her out for the kill. Jan looked back, saw the Jap coming in again and decided to try and crash land on the lagoon.

It lay directly below her now, not more than a thousand feet down. She circled, not daring to look back because she might lose her nerve. The wheels were still up. She came in over the deceptfully smooth water with flaps down, stalled the ship in and hit the water like a tired duck.

Her head was jerked forward with an ugly jar and hit the crash pad on the instrument panel. Then the plane was down, the metal making ugly, ripping sounds as the plane slapped the water. The left wing tipped downward, hit the water and ripped cleanly off. The plane rolled halfway over like a winged bird and lay still, water rolling angrily against its sides.

The Jap plane was gone and the sky was clear. For a moment dead silence seemed to take hold of the world. Then somewhere nearby she heard a warhoop of delight.

“He made it! The flying son-of-an-Eagle made it!”

She closed her eyes and leaned back dizzily. That was no Jap voice.

A small rubber boat slipped into the water and a couple of G.I.’s were paddling madly toward her. A tanned, mud-smooched face came over the side and grinned at her.

“Glad you got down! We..."

The voice cut short abruptly, and the eyes in the tired face widened. Jan just sat there and grinned back at the face.

“Good God,” the man said. “Hey, Shorty, it’s a woman!”

She heard the other G.I. search for proper words and decided that this was just about the happiest moment in her life. Strong arms came into the cockpit and lifted her out. She was leaning back in the boat as it rocked toward the shore. They were asking all kinds of questions and she was answering then* as best she could.

Yes—she had flown from Manila. Yes, it was pretty rugged. But didn’t a woman have just as much right to fly as a man?

Sergeant Jake White of Lawrenceville, Kansas, who had rescued her, couldn’t make sense out of it.

“Guess you better report to the Lieutenant, Miss,” he said when they reached the shore. “Shorty, you take her back. Be damn sure no Jap gets a pot shot at her. They ain’t been any women around here. The boys will lynch you if you lose this one.”

JAN left the sergeant, ready to go back for the medical supplies, and followed Shorty along the connected line of trenches toward the shack with the flag on its roof. She felt more like exhibit A, than she did a tired nurse. There weren’t many G.I.’s here, but the ones who were didn’t miss a chance to look her over during that trip. She decided that these were about the finest boys in the world. They looked as though hell would be a vacation for them, but still they found a smile and a “How-de-do, Ma’m,” for her as she passed.

Then she was in the shack and facing Dr. Williams, a civilian surgeon who had come out from Manila the month before to help on Latu.

"For Heaven’s sake, Jan, why did you come?”

He grasped her hands in his fine, firm fingers and held them tightly, his eyes bewildered and fogged with fatigue.

She told him quickly, leaving out none of the details. While she talked, several men drifted in and stood quietly behind her, listening to every word. She finished her story. Williams looked grave.

Sergeant Jake White came up the hill and into the hut, laying the medical supplies down carefully in the corner. For the first time, Jan had time to look around. There were half a dozen men lying on the floor, with blankets for their beds. They were all smiling at her. Some of them were badly hurt. In a far corner a middle-aged man lay alone. He was sleeping, his face bloodless and at once she recognized him as a Jap.

She looked at Williams questioningly, and Williams frowned.

“Jan, you’ve got to talk to the Lieutenant. I know what’s going on in your pretty head. Why did we have to have supplies so badly? Why are we taking care of this Jap when there are three thousand of them out there trying to kill us? I know the answer, but Steve Brent will have to decide how much you should know. He’s coming along now. One of the boys went after him.”

Jan hated to face Steve Brent. During her flight, she had wanted to meet him face to face. Wanted to tell him what a heel he had been and that if she had the opportunity, she’d like to send him to his death even as he sent Bill. There were tears in her eyes, but no one seemed to noticed.

Williams was talking.

“Open up those kits, Sergeant. Maybe we can make it a little easier for the men.”

The soldier she had known as Shorty came up and saluted her.

“I got some K-rations for you, M’am,” he said, and she guessed, from bis voice, that he was one of Sergeant Jake White’s pals from Kansas. “You oughta be pretty hungry by now.”

She thanked him mechanically, taking the opened box, finding a cigarette with shaking fingers. The after-effects of her trip were beginning to set in now. She couldn’t get that Jap Zero out of her mind. She kept seeing it again, as she had seen it in the sky. The guns burning into her wing—the twisting, gyrating escape from death.

Jan—for God’s sake!”

SHE whirled around, facing Steve Brent. He stood in the door, his head tied up in a bloody bandage, curly hair forming a crown above the cloth. His uniform was torn, one arm bare. He had a service pistol strapped to his waist. His eyes were blue, wide, and full of wonder. His mouth was very hard.

“Lieutenant Brent. I suppose you’re surprised to see me here.”

She tried to put sarcasm into her voice, but it didn’t take. She just sounded frightened and pathetic.

“Surprised?” He started toward her, then hesitated when he saw her eyes. “I was so amazed that I refused to believe the Joe who told me you were here. That Zero up there? The landing on the lagoon? I watched the whole thing. I was thinking: whoever that guy is, he’s got guts.”

She was supposed to hate Steve Brent, yet she knew deep inside that she was glad to see' him.

“I tried to help,” she said. “The regular pilot was killed before he could take off. I knew the medical supplies were needed. I came as fast as I could.”

He said softly: “You came, all right, and you did a swell job. You and Bill both did a swell job. Now it’s up to me to finish—”


She spoke the name sharply, as though he had probed a wound.

He opened his mouth as though to speak, then damped it shut again. She thought his shoulders drooped a little.

“It’s too late to think about Bill Howland now, Jan,” he said. “We’ve got a big job ahead.”

Too late to think about Bill? Didn’t he know it would never be too late? Didn’t he know that at this very moment she was hating him because he had sent Bill to his death?”

“It’s never too late,” she said in a hard voice, “for a woman to think about the man she hoped to marry.”

He stood there, that baffled, bewildered look in his eyes. Then his voice was firm and under control.

“Is your plane in condition to fly?”

Sergeant Jake White interrupted, as though he sensed the tension they were under and wanted to relieve it.

“The P-40 was pretty badly wrecked, Lieutenant,” he said. “One wing is gone., I looked over the engine. It’s still in good shape.”

He spoke that last sentence with a firmness that meant something important. A message had passed between the Sergeant and Steve that she had missed.

DR. WILLIAMS was talking to Brent. Outside, a sporadic firing of machine guns kept the coming night awake. A few birds kept up their raucous calling, and the sun looked as round and red through the palms as it did in peacetime on the travel folders. She stood by the door staring out. At last she heard footsteps coming toward her from the already dark interior of the hut.


She turned slowly.

“Look, Steve, it’s no good talking when I feel as I do. If I ever forgive you for what you did to Bill, then I’ll tell you. Now it’s better not to talk.”

He looked at her with all the bitterness in his heart reflected in his eyes.

“I’ve never expected cruelty from you,” he said quietly. “Somehow blue eyes and soft brown hair doesn’t seem a proper frame for words of hate.”

He went past her out into the night. From the direction of the lagoon she could hear loud voices. Voices that seemed filled with urgency. She wondered what they could do about the P-40.

She went back into the hut. It was quiet now, and Doctor Williams sat at his desk. As she entered, he pushed his reports aside and regarded her with grave eyes. She sat down on a provision box.

“Jan, did it occur to you that we could have gotten along without the supplies you brought here?”

She was startled. “Why—I hadn’t thought...”

He nodded.

“You did a fine job,” he said, “and I curse Brent for not giving you the whole story. If he did—perhaps..." He shrugged. “Well, never mind. I can’t betray him, but I can say this. We didn’t want supplies. We wanted a plane. We needed one that would fly. Listen, Jan. There are two hundred American soldiers left on Latu. We were ready to give up the island last week. It’s too far from Japan to do us any good now. Before we left...”

He paused again, and brought his fist down on the table.

“Good Lord, Jan, I’ll find myself betraying Brent if I keep on. Wash your face, girl. There’s water in the tank in the corner. Turn in and get some rest. You’ll need it.”

SHE tossed on her crude bed for a long time. She hadn’t dared remove her clothing. The Japs were just over the hill and they might attack during the night. She kept wondering what it was that Dr. Williams had wanted to say and couldn’t.

She watched him through sleep-misted eyes as he left the table occasionally, giving this soldier a bit of water, the next one a new bandage. After a while he spoke to her again, without looking around.

“Asleep, Jan?”

She didn’t answer and he arose and drew her blanket around her neck.

“God give me power to keep my mouth closed,” he whispered and she heard every word clearly. Then he went back, blew out the lamp and stretched out on the bare floor to sleep.

She heard the men working down near the lagoon. She heard the guns clattering faintly every few minutes, and once a scream—far out in the jungle. Then she slept.

“QUITE a party we got here,” Jake White said and there was a smile on his face that had been lacking the day before. “We had the plane, Miss Bartell, you brought us the power to fly it.”

The scene before her was one of bewildering activity. There was a natural cup-like valley near the edge of the lagoon. Into this tiny valley her wrecked plane had been dragged ashore and the engine removed. The powerful engine hung now on a tripod of heavy posts, swaying slightly while a soldier held it in position. A battered fighter, also a P-40, was pushed up flush with the motor. Shorty Brannigan, Jake White’s buddy, was working on the engine. Half a dozen Joes stood around, running errands and listening to Shorty’s selection of language.

Hi, Sarge.” Shorty turned, saw them standing together and summoned the tall Kansan. “Ladies is all right, but we got urgent business. How’s about that fuel? The boys getting it rounded up?”

“Yeah. Plenty of the stuff. There is a dump near the end of the strip. The Japs ain’t hit it yet.”

White turned to Jan.

“We gotta get a plane outa here by night. It’s a tough job. Shorty ain’t got much to work with, but he swears he can make it.”

“He swears, all right,” a G.I. said, and the remainder of the men laughed loudly.

Jan realized the ship might fly. It had been patched in a dozen places, yet it looked airworthy. But ?who would fly it? Why? Where could he take off?

She asked the last question aloud. Jake White looked amazed.

“Why, off the strip of course.”

“But I thought that was in Japanese hands.”

White guffawed.

“We’re just letting them smooth it off a little for us,” he said. “When the Lieutenant takes off, we’ll cover him with our guns. It’s a cinch.”

A cinch! She shuddered. She had seen that strip. They were located near the end of it, Between them and the strip were half a dozen Jap machine guns. The doctor had told her that. Beyond that barrier, dozens of gun nests covered the strip. And Steve Brent was going to fly through that hail of fire.

Sick at heart, she turned and went back toward the hut. Doctor Williams was hard at work on the Jap.

“Come over here, Jan,” he said; and when she stood over the sullen son of Japan, he said:

“Jan, meet Heto something-or-other, our most valuable asset on this Godforsaken island.”

The man on the cot was about forty, she judged. His face was a deeper color than it should have been, evidently from long hours in the wind and sun. His lips were parted in pain. His chest was bare, and Williams was placing a dressing over a deep wound. It looked a great deal like a knife wound. The Jap’s only expression was of fear and hatred.

“Sorry I can’t explain more, Jan.” Williams didn’t look up. “I can say that if it wasn’t for his nibs here, you wouldn’t have flown to Latu and gotten yourself in trouble. You can thank him for your ending up in this mess.”

She had been thwarted again, after promising herself last night that she would ask no more questions.

“I’m here,” she said, “and I’ve got to keep busy. Got a job for me this morning?”

He had plenty of work.

TWENTY minutes later, she looked up from where she was dressing the arm of a wounded American soldier. Williams was near the door, looking down at the crew of men who were working on the fighter plane.

“I’m told that Lieutenant Brent is going to try to leave Latu.”

She tried to sound casual. The doctor whirled around.

“He can’t do it,” he said sharply. “He’s a fool to try. They hadn’t ought to let him go.”

She kept working, hearing him moving about in the hut. After a while he said:

“Jan, you don’t like Brent, do you?” She felt a little catch in her throat and tried to steady her voice as she replied.

“You-couldn’t regard a man very highly, if he sent your-your best friend to his death.”

Silence. Then:

“Jan, I shouldn’t say this. Brent would never forgive me if he found out. Jan, Brent didn’t send Bill Holland out 0n that mission. He wanted to go himself.”

The room before her seemed suddenly to swim before her eyes. Then she had control of herself and rose swiftly. She went to the doctor, her eyes flashing with anger.

“You knew that? They all knew last night, and they let me talk to Steve that way?”

He shrugged.

“That was the way Steve wanted it.

Abruptly she changed the subject.

“Why is Steve going to try that flight tonight? Why does he have to go alone? Why can’t he radio for more men and for planes? Call a rescue party in here and clear the island of Japs?”

He shook his head.

“We can’t do it. We smashed the radio last night, so that no one could go chicken-hearted and use it. That’s all part of the plan, Jan, and we’re to small to fight against it.”

Too small? Suddenly she wanted to tell him that there was nothing small about him or any of the men here. The] were giants. Giants who were going die for some crazy, impossible cause Shorty and Jake White—and—a so shook her—crazy, stubborn Steve Brent.

“Doctor,” she said, steadying herself with an effort. “It wasn’t Steve I hated all along. Steve and Bill used to be pretty close to me. They followed me from the States. They took me out together when they were stationed at Clark Field. When I heard that Steve had sent Bill out on a suicide mission, I—blamed Steve."

He took her hands in his.

"Better not talk now, Jan. You're undergoing a terrific shock and sometimes thoughts expressed at a time like this are pretty sacred things. I'd rather not share them."

She nodded and her head sank to her chest.

“Doctor,” she said after a time. “What time do you think Steve will leave?”

He said steadily: “Shorty says the plane will be ready to fly at sunset. Steve has that field printed in his mind like in a book. He watches it by the hour. He knows where to dodge every shell hole. He’ll take off right after dark.”

“I—I’d like to talk to Steve,” she said. “Where can I find him?”

The doctor was staring at her curiously. “His dugout is about fifteen yards south of the shack. Follow the trench and keep your head down.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I will.”

SHE stood over the sleeping Lieutenant a long time before she dared to speak. He opened his eyes slowly and looked up. His eyes hardened as they stared at her in the semi-darkness. He raised himself on one elbow. Still clad in his uniform, he looked tired, as though he had lost something that sleep would not restore.

“You didn’t have to come down here.”

His voice was hollow in the deep, cell-like cave.

“I know,” she said, and sat on the edge of the cot. “I’ve come to say I’m sorry about yesterday.”

He didn’t answer.

“Steve, I was pretty badly cut up over Bill’s death.”

“How the hell do you think I felt!” It was almost a snarl, but not quite. He was putting on a front. Acting tough.

She tried another angle.

“Sergeant White said you’re leaving tonight. Flying to Manila.”

“Sergeant White should keep his damned mouth shut,” he said. “My men talk too much. Jan, you told me how you felt. Now, why don’t you play the game and stay away? I got things to do. You aren't helping any. I’m grateful for your coming here. It saved the plan..."

"Plan... plan..." She was breaking now. Her voice quivered. “Every time I turn around, I hear more about the plan. It’s a plan all right, Steve. A plan to kill men. All these men, kids that ought to be given a break. It isn’t worth it, Steve.”

He swung his feet over the edge of the cot and stood up. He was looking straight into her eyes, and she knew he was seeing the tears there.

“Listen to me, Jan Bartell,” he said sternly. “Bill Howland died for what I’m trying to finish. These men are willing to die. A few hours ago you did a very fine thing. Finer than you’ll ever know. Now, live up to the reputation you’ve established in the minds of these boys. Stick your chin up and smile at every Joe you meet. They need that smile, and I don’t need you to remind me that I should have died in Bill Howland’s place.”

He paused, kicked at a stray boot on the floor, then went on.

“Now, I’ve got to sleep. It’s tough, this night flying with a couple of hundred Japs taking pot shots at you. Be a good girl and run along.”

She left, her feet dragging a little in the gravel of the cave floor, her eyes blinded by tears.

The crew stood by. There were no lights. There was only the roar of the motor and the sound of Shorty’s voice as he went over the engine for the last time.

The clearing in the broken palms was about five hundred feet from the south end of the runway. Japs were up there near the runway, hidden behind mounds of sand and concrete. They had heard the plane warming up and probably were grinning, ready to blast it to pieces before it could taxi to the strip.

Jan stood back from the group of men. She heard Sergeant White issue orders.

“You Joes ready? Okay! When you hear the Lieutenant open up his motor, pile in there ahead of him with every damned grenade you got. Keep these Japs busy until he reaches the strip. After that, it’s his—”

His voice broke suddenly, then he said:

“What? Holy Christmas, that’s a hell of a note!”

Jan leaned forward, listening intently. Men gathered around him. A soldier broke away and ran back toward the hut.

It was Shorty. She heard him now.

“Jeez!—One of the Nips got the Lieutenant, he can’t...”

She had heard enough. Already she was running swiftly toward the hut. She choked back a sob. Steve—hit. Was he? Could he be—

Down the trench she ran, gasping for breath.

THE hut door was open and the light was visible through it. They had even forgotten to take precautions. This was a shock to them all.

She went on, dropping on her knees beside Steve. He was lying on the floor, his eyes closed, face twisted in pain. Dr. Williams was working over him, probing carefully into his right side. Williams looked up as Jan came in.

“More water,” he said. “Bandage. Lots of it. He’s going to be all right.”

She could have kissed him for those last words of comfort.

They worked for fifteen minutes. Steve was talking loudly, half out of his head.

“Damned Nips. I deserved it. I was a fool. Can’t fly . . .” His voice ran into a cry of pain. More pain than the wound could give. "Can't fly."

The Jap in the corner knew what was happening. His lips were pressed together tightly, but a gleam of triumph was in his eyes. Jan passed him twice, carrying bandages. She wanted to kick the Jap in the face—grind his face into the dust.

In her mind, a plan was taking shape. Brent’s flying suit was on the table. A brief-case lay beside it.

“Doctor—” she kept working while she talked. The blood had stopped flowing now. Williams had removed a small piece of shrapnel. “He can’t make the trip now. Was he to take that case to Manila?”

Williams knew what she meant. She was sure that he knew, for he gave her one quick, hard glance and went back to his work.

“Yes,” he said. “It—was the most important thing right now. It—would have decided a great issue.”

She heard a snarling chuckle from the corner. The Jap was enjoying the situation. He understood them.

“Doctor, you helped me today. Will you help me again?”

They were still working side to side. The shot in Steve’s arm was taking hold. He slept.

“I can’t, Jan,” Williams said. There was suffering in his voice.

“You’ve got to,” she said. “There’s no one here now. No one but Steve, you, I—and—the Jap.”

He turned and nodded.

“I guess you carry the mail,” he said simply. “God help you. You’ll need Him.”

IT SEEMED to take hours to get into the heavy flying suit. At last went out into the night, the hood do so that it hid her hair, the goggles mask over her eyes and mouth. She carried the precious, mysterious brie case in her right hand and walked in long strides, as she had seen Steve walk.

The men were about the plane. The motor was still running. She heard Shorty shout triumphantly as she came into the clearing.

“It’s Steve—it's the Lieutenant. He’s okay!”

She didn’t try to talk. She walked over and clambered into the cockpit. Her heart was pounding furiously. She wasn’t afraid now. She dreaded them finding out, and hoped that Dr. Williams would stay in the shack and not tell them.

She waved her arm, signaling them to get out of the way. The clearing was very dark. She thought she heard Jake White give a sharp command.

“It’s like plunging straight into hell,” she said to herself, and sent the ship rolling ahead.

On all sides of her she saw shadowy forms running. Ahead, little spurts of earth went skyward. A machine gun broke loose, and she knew that the shots were tearing into the wing.

The plane gathered speed, climbed a little hill, and roared out onto the runway. She was taxiing fast, the tail up, and a Jap stood directly in front of her, his sub-machine gun trying to tear the prop off. She swerved wildly and felt the wing hit something hard.

The moon was just bright enough to show details of the strip.

She shouted something hysterical about Bill and Steve flying with her— protecting her. Her words were snatched away by the windy She pulled every inch the engine would take. Maybe a little more. The wings seemed to crack and buckle and try to break away.

Red spurts of flame cut at her from every direction, but the Japs had waited too long.

A shell hole loomed up in front of, her. Just before she reached the lip of the pit, she pulled the plane up. It jumped the pit, almost sat down again, gathered speed as it raced along just above the ground, and then she pulled it up hard, into the dark sky.

This time she got away. Not a moment too soon. At the far end of the strip a heavy caliber gun started firing, blowing the earth up under her, rocking the plane like a giant hand.

She watched the earth fall below her, and knew that for the moment she was safe. Somehow, as she climbed, the island grew brighter and the strip was clear. She looked back, and fancied that she could see the tattered flag, still hanging featureless, but symbolic, over the outline of the hut.

JAN BARTELL was approaching nervous exhaustion when she slipped the ship downward and landed clumsily near the wrecked opera building. The field looked different than it had when she left. Morning left no detail untouched by the sun. The bomb craters, evidently made during the Jap attack, had been filled. Bulldozers were at work. When she appeared over the field, the workmen drove their machine to the side of the runway. A screaming ambulance followed her down the field as she braked the ship. The left brake loosened, and the P-40 went into a ground loop.

She sat still, praying that she wouldn’t go over, and the plane shot forward again, hit the edge of the runway, and stopped barely fifteen feet from the wrecked hangar.

She pushed stray wisps of hair from her face before she climbed out of the ship. A jeep rolled up and Captain Patrick, looking very tired, jumped out. He ran toward her, catching her in his arms.

“Jan, for God’s sake where have you been? That's not eh ship you flew out of here. We thought you were dead. We tried to radio Latu.”

She looked at him queerly.

“The radio at Latu has been destroyed,” she said. “Is—that important to you, Captain?”

He studied her quietly for a minute. Around them, mechanics were busy rolling the plane from the field. The bulldozers were at work again, pushing dirt, leveling. The ambulance went back to the hangar.

“You—brought something important with you?”

She realized that she was carrying the brief-case. Holding the handle so tightly that it hurt her fingers.

She passed it to him.

“You do know something important?” he said. “Something in which the boys at Latu are taking a part?”

He had opened the case quickly, hardly hearing her, drawing out sheafs of paper just enough to see the symbols on them. He looked up again and there was a cold, flinty look in his eyes.

If these are what I think they are, then one of the greatest gambles the Army and Navy has ever taken, is paying off. Paying off with dividends so big that I hesitate to guess what it might mean to us. Hurry, Jan, you and I have an appointment at GHQ!”

They were in the jeep then, and Jan was wondering what it was that she had brought with her from Latu. What could be so important that two hundred men might be sacrificed to obtain it? Steve Brent had become very important to Jan now. Steve and Shorty and Jake White and the others.

The jeep bounced down the rutted road from the field and entered the smooth, paved highway that led to Manila.

During the trip, Captain Patrick said little. He was so worked up over the brief-case and its contents that he even forgot to question Jan about her flight. She was glad he didn’t. She didn’t want to talk now—couldn’t talk, with Steve back there wounded and surrounded by Japs.

THEY stopped before the ugly ruin that served as General Headquarters. An orderly saluted smartly at the door. Inside, Patrick returned the salute of the lieutenant in charge of the desk.

“Tell the General I’m here to see him,” he said. “If I’m correct, we have valuable information concerning plan K.”

The lieutenant went down the long, lighted hall. Jan stared around her.

In less than a minute the lieutenant was back. “The General will see you at once, sir,” he said. “He asked that you hurry.”

They were ushered into the huge, plainly furnished office of the man who ran the Pacific war. The two men saluted. Jan received a curious, friendly smile and Patrick introduced her.

“Sit down.” The General was wasting no time. “Let me hear what news you’ve brought.”

Patrick placed the brief-case carefully on the desk. Jan sank into a deep leather chair. Only the thought of great things going on about her, kept her from falling into an exhausted sleep.

“Miss Bartell knows nothing of plan K,” Patrick said. “Through rather odd circumstances, she took off two nights ago from our field. She flew to Latu, and has returned with this brief-case. I believe it contains the plans we need. “I haven’t asked her for details. Miss Bartell is well known to me, and her record is spotless. She can be depended upon.”

The man behind the desk studied Jan for a moment, then smiled warmly.

“I’m sure that she can,” he said. “I’d say, also, that she’s about ready for twenty-four hours’ sleep.”

Jan felt herself blushing, then felt more at ease as the General drew the sheaf of papers from the case and spread them on the table before him.

He read for some time, tracing the charts with his index finger, frowning now and then.

At last he looked up.

“Miss Bartell,” he said slowly, “later I’m going to hear the full details of what occurred from the time you started after these papers until you appeared in this office. Then I’m going to find the biggest apartment in Manila, see that you get a hot bath and have my men dig up a wardrobe and the biggest steak dinner you ever ate. You deserve that—and more.”

The smile ended abruptly, and a frown creased his forehead. It made crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes.

“For the present, I’ll tell you this much, and assume that I’m not repeating information already in your possession.”

He put his chin on his cupped hands and leaned forward.

“Two weeks ago, we decided to withdraw from the island of Latu. The Philippines are safely in our hands again. Latu wasn’t a danger spot and it was too far from Japan to be practical as a base. The evacuation of troops took place.”

He had been thinking of other things as he talked. Explaining both what had gone before, and planning what was to come. He leaned forward and pressed a button on his desk. Far down the hall a bell rang faintly.

He went on talking.

“The evacuation went well until all hut one detachment of infantry and a few fighter pilots had been withdrawn from the area. Then, completely by surprise, a strong Japanese force landed at Latu, cut off our few remaining men and took control of the flying strip."

A KNOCK sounded at the door.

“Come in,” the General said, and an orderly opened the door, saluted, and waited respectfully.

“Tell Reese that plan K can swing into action at once. Inform him that a conference is called here in half an hour. Make it clear that time is all important.”

The orderly saluted and withdrew. The General went on speaking as though nothing had happened.

“We had sufficient force to retake Latu, but we hesitated to do so. The Japs were up to something, and we couldn’t guess what. Then, while we debated what our next move would be, this message came, in code, from one of our Tokyo agents.”

He lifted a paper-weight and passed Jan a slip of note paper with a message typed on its white surface.


She read the message, frowned because it meant little to her, and passed it back. The General was smiling.

“It meant as little to us,” he confessed, “until we put our heads together. What could a Jap landing at Latu That the Japs mean? Only one thing, wanted another crack at Manila and the Philippines. They wouldn’t beat us again, because we’re ready to fight this time. They might cause a lot of trouble, kill many more men, and prolong the war an extra six months.”

He passed, picked up the phone and said something into it that Jan couldn’t hear. Then:

“If a plane was landing at Latu, it would bring someone of great importance. Otherwise, our agents wouldn’t take the chance of capture to get the message through.

“If—and there were many ifs in this game—the Japs intended to base planes at Latu for another strike here, she would also need her navy,” He smiled wryly- “At least, what’s left of it.”

Patrick cleared his throat.

“We want another crack at that navy ” he interrupted. “That’s what the General is trying to get across.”

The man at the desk nodded.

“We set into effect a plan. ‘K’ we call it and it will draw our entire naval force into these waters within twenty-four hours. We sent a Lieutenant Steven Brent back to his company on Latu, with instructions to down that mysterious Jap plane, and prevent it from reaching Latu. We warned him that he and his men were expendable and that we would make no attempt to take them from the island until we heard from him. In this way, we hoped to avoid any suspicion on the part of the enemy that we were even interested in them and their latest move.”

He stood up.

“You know some of the story. How much, I don’t know. I know, because you brought the papers that told me, that in twenty-four hours the Jap navy will steam into a trap prepared by its own men. We can thank you for all that, Miss Bartell. You and the men who downed the plane.”

She arose because it was evident he wanted her to go now. She was grateful for the information, but it only left her more puzzled than before. What were the papers? Why did Bill, and now Steve, have to suffer? Why had it all been done the hard way?

“Thanks for explaining,” she said. Her voice sounded far away and very weary, even to herself.

SHE remembered vaguely that he took her hand in parting and that Patrick saw her to the hospital. Dr. Warren was kind. He didn’t ask her questions. He had a nurse put her to bed. She sank into a deep slumber. In her dreams, Bill Howland was chasing a Jap plane all over the sky, and the Jap shot Bill down. Bill was gasping his dying words in her ear and she was crying.

“You don’t want me, Jan,” Bill Howland was saying. “You were angry with Steve; but Steve’s the man you really want. Take care of him, Jan. Take care—”

She was sobbing.

“I will! I will take care of him! I will—I will...”

“...Jan! Jan! wake up! Come out of it.”

She opened her eyes slowly, reluctantly, deserting slumber, staring up at Doctor Warren. His lips were grim.

“Captain Patrick wants to see you. He’s waiting outside. He says it’s urgent.”

DID she want to go back to Latu?

Ever since the hospital ship slipped away in the early morning mists, she had repeated those words a hundred times. She stood at the rail of the ship, listening to the water slip away from the prow, her heart beating to the rhythm of the great engines hidden below.

Captain Patrick had given her this chance to go. Given it to her because he knew that above everything else, she had to go back to Latu.

“You know, Patrick,” she had said, and it struck her funny, using his last name, just like the men who worked with him did. “You know, it’s funny about love. Love and hate and pity are very close.”

They were standing together on the pier, just before she embarked.

Patrick had remained quiet, listening. He was a good listener.

“I—I thought it was Bill Howland. Bill and Steve both went with me. We made sort of a game out of it, and I guess I liked it very much. It was flattering.”

Patrick smiled gently.

“I see what you mean. Perhaps the boys were flattered also.”

“When I heard that Bill was shot down, and that he had been on a flight without Steve, using Steve’s fighter, I was furious. If I could have seen Steve then, I—I think I’d have killed him.”

Patrick nodded gravely.

“Love and hate,” he said.

She nodded just as gravely, knowing that he understood.

“I was unreasonable about Steve. I tried to make up for it, but it was too late. I guess he hates me for that.”

Patrick took her hand as a passing crew member told her to get aboard.

“Steve doesn’t hate you, Jan,” Patrick had said. “He’s waiting for you— fighting for you.”

There were tears in her eyes now. Ahead of the hospital ship, the sun was coming up. It looked red and burned-out through the haze. The fog was clearing. Latu was a mile off the bow. The first wave of landing craft were going* in. Overhead, vast fleets of bombers and fighters were sweeping low. Jan whispered a little prayer.

Tonight, if God willed it, the American flag would once more wave over the entire island.

She watched, straining her eyes to pick out the hut, the sandy hill to the south where Steve Brent and his friends were holding out. She could, see nothing through the smoke. The hut had good cover. Had to have it, to stand up under the fight as long as it had.

NOON came. Time passed very slowly until the first wounded came aboard. After that, she went below, her sleeves rolled up, ready to fight Death. She tried to comfort kids without limbs, with torn, bloody bodies.

All the time she worked, she thought of Steve. If the troops had landed on the south beach, probably Steve was fighting with them by now. All the time, she could hear that steady rumble of shells. Sometimes above her head, the staccato pounding of machine guns and the roar of fighters carried into the emergency operating room.

After God knows how many hours, an orderly came down and told her to go topside.

It was quiet up there. The surgeon in charge met her at the top of the steps. His hands were still red. His shirt was spattered.

“Miss Bartell,” he said, and his voice was steady and sure. “I had orders to see tliat you went ashore, once things were under control. There is a boat load of nurses and doctors casting off.”

She could have kissed him for that.

She was in the boat, staring ahead, trying to see through the haze of smoke that hung like a curtain above Latu.

They landed within fifty yards of the lagoon. The hut was safe. A private, a boy she thought she remembered seeing when she had been here before, took her to the hut.

When she went in, Dr. Williams put down a handful of bandages and came to her. He held her at arm’s length. There was thanksgiving in his voice.

“Jan, I wondered who we had to thank for this. You pulled us out of a tough spot, girl.”

She knew tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“I’ll—I’ll try to help you here. What can I do?”

He forced her back toward the door. Outside, he made her sit down on an empty box.

“It’s all done, Jan.” He sounded tired. “At least, our part is all done. The rest is up to the navy.”

It was like coming home. The guns were silent now. Far down the island, high over the landing strip, someone had run up an American flag. It was a huge new flag, and it swung smartly in the wind.

“Doctor, where’s Steve? He’s—all right?”

He evaded her questions.

“I’ve got something to say, Jan. Keep quiet and listen to me. I wanted to tell you before, but Steve Brent wouldn’t let me talk. He wouldn’t let any of us talk."

HE STARED away across the rolling water, his eyes seemingly seeing things that .were no longer there.

“Steve and Bill and the whole gang us were cut off,” he went on. “Manila radioed us to stick it out. Steve flew to Manila and they sent him back with orders to force down a Jap plane carrying American colors.”

She nodded, hearing only part of what he said.

“We knew that we didn’t have a chance in ten of getting out,” he said. “When the day came that the plane was supposed to arrive, Steve sent Bill and a squadron of the boys to waylay the plane. He told them to shoot it down at all costs. We still had control of the runway then. The planes took off. Steve took the tough job on himself. We had an old PBY flying boat anchored off shore. Steve used that.

“Some of the boys told me what happened. They shot the plane down all right, but it had a sting or two left in it. One of the stingers got Bill Howland.

“Steve sailed right into Jap fire, sat out there on the water in sight of t e island, like a decoy, and went a oar that sinking plane. He brought back the Jap you saw in the hut, and he brought the papers they needed at headquarters.”

Jan was listening intently now.

“But—why was Steve so careful not to talk? He didn’t try to explain.”

“We had to destroy the radio,” Williams explained hurriedly. “Headquarters suspected that the Jap navy was going to come in, but how or when, they didn’t know. After we got those papers, we knew the answers. Then the problem was to get those papers to Manila without the Japs at Latu suspecting us. We knew the Japs could guess a lot, but they couldn’t be sure that we knew their plans. As long as we didn’t give ourselves away they couldn’t know that we were successful in relaying the papers to Manila, even if we did have them here.”

He sighed. “Don’t you see the spot we were in? We radioed for medicine and supplies. There wasn’t a plane here that would fly. We had to get a plane without letting the Japs know why we needed it. Then we had to fly the plans back to Manila.”

He stopped speaking, and his facial muscles relaxed.

“Jan, for God’s sake smile. You’re the one who made this whole thing possible.”

She still wasn’t sure just what she had done.v Somehow, vaguely, she understood that a Jap agent of high office had been coming to Latu with full invasion plans. That Bill and Steve had stolen those plans, and that she, Jan Bartell, had ferried them to Manila. That, she guessed, was all she’d ever be quite sure of. Right now, she wanted rest—and more than that, she wanted Steve. She wanted to break down and cry on his shoulder. Wanted to ask him—beg him —to forgive her for being a very foolish girl.

“Doctor, I asked you if Steve was all right.”

Williams stood up.

“And I’ll answer that when we get a report from the fleet," he said. “Steve took off as soon as the first fighter landed here. He wanted to be in on the knockout blow. He told me when, and if, I saw you again, to tell you that he’d gone to finish up the job that Bill Howland started.”

SHE AWAKENED, and was angry at herself for being able to sleep with Steve fighting out there over the Pacific. Jake White was standing at the door. He was grinning broadly.

“I got some good news for you, Miss Bartell.”

Her heart leaped.

“Jake, is Steve back?”

“The Jap navy sailed right into our trap,” he said happily. “Our task force wiped them right off the Pacific.”

“Is Steve—”

“Looks like the Japs are a mess now.” Jake White was not to be hurried. “Not one of ’em left alive on Latu. The air-force boys helped the navy clean ’em up for keeps.”

She was pounding his chest with both her fists.

“Jake, tell me about Steve. He’s safe? He came back?”

The grin was broader than ever now.

“Oh, you mean Lieutenant Brent? Why yes, Miss, that’s what I came for. Lieutenant Brent says he’s in his dugout, just back from getting a very nice bunch of Zeros, and he thinks he’s done a pretty fair job of making Bill Howland happy. He says he's at home if you want to see him and that he’s darn sorry about how he treated you...”

She heard no more. She was stumbling down the trench, her eyes so full of tears that she could hardly see. They were tears of happiness now, as she found the heavy black curtain that hid the entrance to Steve Brent’s dugout.

She heard Sergeant White shouting something at her, and turned toward him.

“I forgot, Miss Bartell, but Lieutenant Brent said to tell you that he guessed you were about the swellest girl in the world, and he hopes—”

A song was bursting in her throat.

“Never mind,” she shouted. “He'll have a chance to tell me all those things himself.”

She turned—to face Steve, standing in the center of the room, a happy, no longer uncertain, grin on his face.


DOCTORS R. A. McFarland, M. P. Halperin and J. I. Niven of the division of research, graduate school of business administration, Harvard University, reported to the Aero Medical Association of the United States, that inhaling the smoke of even one cigarette impairs the keen eyesight needed at night by military flyers.

The sight loss is due to carbon monoxide from the burning tip. This loss is nothing to be noticed in normal life, nor does it have any known effects on health. But the impairment is important to night fighting aviators working at the threshold of vision, the point where they can just barely discern enemies or objectives.

Until this discovery, it had not been believed the carbon monoxide in a single smoke could affect vision. The doctors’ investigation showed that inhaling three cigarettes is equivalent to the loss of vision which comes at about 8,000-feet altitude.

The loss of sight sensitivity at this height is something which doesn't bother air passengers. But it is so important in war to avoid the slight change that military aviators at night breathe pure oxygen from the ground up, the oxygen being a complete antidote.

In other experiments they found that the glucose from a high sugar diet partly overcomes the sight impairment which is caused by the low oxygen of altitude.

Doctors William M. Rowland and Louis L. Sloan, School of Aviation Medicine, Randolph Field, San Antonio, Texas, found in exhaustive tests that added vitamin A never improves the night sight of healthy young men on adequate diets, but it does quickly improve night sight whenever the boys’ eyes dim on account of improper food.—Pete Bogg.