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carbine above the roar of the engines。
They were almost on top of the Albatros before the leather helmeted head in the open cockpit spun around。 They were so close Pitt could see the other pilot's mouth drop open in shocked surprise at the sight of the big flying boat； boring down from the sun…the hunter became the quarry。 The pilot recovered quickly and the Albatros rolled sharply away； but not before Giordino drilled it with a fifteen shot clip from the carbine。
The grim； incongruous drama in the smoke…ridden sky over Brady Field reached a new stage as the World War II flying boat squared off against the World War I fighter plane。 The PBY was faster； but the Albatros had the advantage of two machine guns and a vastly higher degree of maneuverability。 The Albatros was lesser known than its famous counterpart； the Fokker； but it was an excellent fighter and the workhorse of the German Imperial Air Service from 1916 to 1918。 The Albatros twisted； turned and zeroed in on the PBY's cockpit。 Pitt acted quickly and yanked the controls back into his lap and prayed the wings would stay glued to the fuselage as the lumbering flying boat struggled into a loop。 He forgot caution and the accepted rules of flying； the exhilaration of man…to…man bat surged In his blood。 He could almost hear the rivets popping as the PBY twisted over on its back。 The unorthodox evasive action caught his opponent off guard； and the twin streams of fire from the yellow plane went wide； missing the Catalina pletely。
The Albatros then made a steep left hand turn and came straight at the PBY； and they approached head…on。 Pitt could see the other plane's tracer bullets streaking about ten feet under his windshield。 Lucky for us this guy's a lousy shot； he thought。 He had a weird feeling in his stomach as the two planes sped together on a collision course。 Pitt waited until the last possible instant before he pushed the nose of the PBY down and swiftly banked around； gaining a brief； but favorable position over the Albatros。 Again Giordino opened fire。
But the yellow Albatros dived out of the spitting hail from the carbine and shot vertically toward the ground； and Pitt momentarily lost sight of it He swung to the right in a steep turn and searched the sky。 It was too late。 He sensed； rather than felt； the thumping from a river of bullets that tore into the flying boat。 Pitt threw his plane into a violent falling leaf maneuver and successfully dodged the smaller plane's deadly sting。 It was a narrow escape。
The uneven battle continued for a full eight minutes while the military spectators on the ground watched； spellbound。 The strange aerial dogfight slowly drifted eastward over the shoreline； and the final round began。
Pitt was sweating now。 Small glistening beads of the salty liquid were bursting from the pores on his forehead and trickling in snail…like trails down his face。 His opponent was cunning； but Pitt was playing the strategy game too。 With infinite patience； dredged up from some hidden reserve in his body； he waited for the right moment； and when it finally arrived he was ready。
The Albatros managed to get behind and slightly above the Catalinia Pitt held his speed steady and the other pilot； sensing victory； closed to within fifty yards of the flying boat's towering tail section。 But before the two machine guns could speak； Pitt pulled the throttle back and lowered the flaps； slowing the big craft into a near stall。 The phantom pilot； taken by surprise； overshot and passed the PBY； receiving several well placed rounds In the Albatros' engine as the carbine spat at near point…blank range。 The vintage plane banked in front of Pitt's bow； and he watched with the respect one brave man has for another when the occupant in the open cockpit pushed up his goggles and threw a curt salute。。 Then the yellow Albatros and its mysterious pilot turned away and headed west over the island； trailing a black streak of smoke that testified to the accuracy of Giordino's marksmanship。
The Catalina was falling out of its stall into a dive now； and Pitt fought the controls for a few unnerving seconds before he regained stable flight。 Then he began a sweeping； upward turn in the sky。 At five thousand feet he leveled off and searched the island and seascape； but no trace of the bright yellow plane with the maltese cross markings was visible。 It had vanished。 A cold； clammy feeling crept over Pitt。 The yellow Albatros had somehow seemed familiar。 It was as though an unremembered ghost from the past had returned to haunt him。 But the eerie sensation passed as quickly as it had arrived； and he gave out a deep sigh as the tension faded away； and the wele fort of relief gently soothed his mind。
〃Well； when do I get my sharpshooter's medal？ said Giordino from the cabin doorway。 He was grinning despite a nasty gash in his scalp。 The blood streamed down the right side of his face； staining the collar of a loud； flowered print shirt。
〃After we land I'll buy you a drink instead；〃 replied Pitt without turning。 Giordino slipped into the co…pilot's seat。 〃I feel like I've just ridden the roller coaster at the Long Beach Pike。〃
Pitt could not help grinning。 He relaxed； leaning back against the back rest； saying nothing。 Then he turned and looked at Giordino； and his eyes squinted。 〃What happened to you？ Were you hit？〃
Giordino gave Pitt a mocking。 a sorrowful look。
〃Who ever told you that you could loop a PBY？〃
〃It seemed like the thing to do at the time；〃 said Pitt； a twinkle in his eye。
〃Next time； warn the passengers。 I bounced around the main cabin like a basketball。〃
〃What did you hit your head on？〃 Pitt asked quizzically。
〃Did you have to ask？〃
〃Well？〃
Giordino suddenly became embarrassed。 〃If you must know； it was the door handle on the john？
Pitt looked startled for an instant。 Then he flung back his head and roared with laughter。 The mirth was contagious； and Giordino soon followed。 The sound rang through the cockpit and replaced the noise of the engines。 Nearly thirty seconds passed before their gaiety quieted； and the seriousness of the present situation returned。
Pitt's mind was clear； but exhaustion was slowly seeping in。 The long hours of flight and the strain of the recent bat fell on him heavily and soaked his body like a numbing； damp fog。 He thought about the sweet smell of soap in a cold shower and the crispness of clean sheets； and somehow they became vitally important to him。 He looked out the cockpit window at Brady Field and recalled that his original destination was the First Attempt； but a dim hunch； or call it a hindsight； made him change his mind。
〃Instead of landing in the water and rendezvousing alongside of the First Attempt； I think we'd better set down at Brady Field。 I have a foreboding feeling we may have taken a few bullets in our hull。〃
〃Good idea；〃 Giordino replied。 〃I'm not in the mood for bailing。〃
The big flying boat made its final approach and lined up on the wreckage strewn runway。 It settled on the heat baked asphalt； and the landing gear bumped and emitted an audible screech of rubber that signaled the touch…dow