“Don’t blame me, Captain,” Jason smiled. “I was asked to do this job and said yes. That’s the whole story from my end.”

They looked at him—young, fair-headed, boyish, smiling. Alvarez was forty; MacDonald just a little younger. The youngest of the Spanish Squadron was twenty-eight. Jason was twenty-two and looked eighteen.

Alvarez swore rapidly in Spanish, and muttered his opinion of Headquarters, who chose to send children on dangerous tasks.

“No doubt Headquarters knows its business,” he said, “and one does not of course question your courage,, or determination. But, have you encountered these Jackoes before, señor?”

Jason told him. They settled down to discuss the maneuver which they had to perform together.

Jason went out several times during the next week with the squadron to rehearse. After a number of trials, Alvarez asked to have two additional men attached to his squadron.

“I see it like this,” he explained. “The Jackoes know we operate in squadrons of seven. If they see less than this number, they will begin to be suspicious. Therefore we will have seven operating together, plus two in hiding. We will engage a Jacko squadron, we will allow ourselves to be split up, and we will turn and run. Out of seven it is certain that one of us will have a Jacko on his tail. Let the Jacko think his guns are jammed, or what he will. In any event, our man runs, the Jacko pursues. Our man makes for the rocks. Nothing surprising in this. Quite usual under the circumstances. Behind one rock there is lurking,” he paused and looked round the group, “… there is lurking our two additional ships, and Señor Jason also. As our man approaches the hiding place he signals ‘I come.’ He sweeps behind the rock—following him comes the Jacko—the two in ambush leap upon him. Before he can turn, before he can signal his companions, pam!—he is gone. Then a moment later, an apparent Jacko ship emerges from cover and joins his companions—our job is done.”