Tom grabbed the mike. “Remember what I told you, Bud! Don’t go asking for trouble!”
“You’re the boss, skipper!” There was a brief silence, then Bud’s voice came through again, “Message on target! … Over!”
When Bud returned and circled in for a perfect landing, the men swarmed around to congratulate
SNEAK RAID 157
him as he climbed out of the cargo jet. There were questions and laughter, and jokes cracked at the expense of the startled Kranjovians.
Tom, however, was already thinking about his next move. He spoke to Bud, Arv Hanson, and Hank Sterling. “From now on, we’d better take no chances.
We’ll keep a man on the radarscope at all times, and make a reconnaissance flight every few hours. We four are the only pilots in the group, so we’ll rotate the flights among us.”
An air of tension settled over the camp as work continued in building and organizing the base. Twenty-four hours went by. Still there was no sign of a return visit from the Kranjovians.
“Apparently Bremen’s threat was just what I had suspected-a bluff!” Tom mused. Nevertheless, he was worried, realizing that he was engaged in a deadly race with a ruthless opponent.
Redoubling his efforts, Tom worked at a furious pace. Besides taking his turn on the regular patrol flights, he hurried back and forth, supervising the work of the entire expedition.
“Son, don’t you think you’d better slack down a bit?” Chow said. “After all, you ain’t the only cowpoke on this range.”
“I can’t slow down,” Tom replied. “Not till we strike that molten iron and make sure Bronich can’t ruin our plans!”
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