Greg pushed the radio button again. ``Todman, drop your second element back. If any of us miss, they can pick up the pieces. Now let's make sure they're Japs.''

Even as he said it, Greg knew they had found the enemy. The shapes were unmistakable and the Rising Suns were showing up, slightly brighter pinpoints in the gray gloom.

Greg slapped his hand across the switches that turned on the guns and gun camera and gun sight. The circle with the dot in the center showed up yellow on the reflector glass in front of him. His hands shook. ``Arm your guns, Sweeneys.''

``They're Japs. They're Japs,'' came a high-pitched voice.

``Greg to Sweeney Blue. One pass only. No turns. You'll bust your ass in this canyon. That's an order.''

He moved the flights over against one wall. It gave them all a chance to make a high-speed climbing turn attack and a break-away that would not take them into the overcast or force a tight turn recovery. If the turn was too tight, a barrel roll would bring them out. A hell of an altitude for a barrel roll, but it could be done.

Greg slammed his throttle to the fire wall and rammed up the RPM, and the engine responded as if it had been waiting. The clearly identifiable enemy continued on as if no one else were around. ``They haven't seen us,'' Greg yelled to himself over the engine noise. ``They haven't seen us.'' He hit the radio button. ``Now, Sweeneys, now. Let's take' em home.''