LOUIS L’AMOUR’S FIGHTERS IN THE SKY   They’re freelance pilots and full-time troubleshooters for democracy. They’re men like Steven Cowan, Mike Thorne, and Turk Madden who face danger every day of their lives and fight like tigers for what they believe in. With the world on the brink of war, they’re on the front lines or wherever there’s action. From the dangerous South Sea islands, to steaming South American jungles, to the islands of Japan, you’ll find these men ready to fight the enemies of freedom—in a battle to the death. They're freelance pilots and full-time troubleshooters for democracy. They're men like Steven Cowan, Mike Thorne, and Turk Madden who face danger every day of their lives and fight like tigers for what they believe in. With the world on the brink of war, they're on the front lines, wherever there's action. From the dangerous South Seas islands, to steaming South American jungles, to the other islands of Japan, you'll find these man ready to fight the enemies of freedom--in a battle to the death. They're freelance pilots and full-time troubleshooters for democracy.  They're men like Steven Cowan, Mike Thorne, and Turk Madden who face danger every day of their lives and fight like tigers for what they believe in.  With the world on the brink of war, they're on the front lines, wherever there's action.  From the dangerous South Seas islands, to steaming South American jungles, to the other islands of Japan, you'll find these man ready to fight the enemies of freedom--in a battle to the death. They're freelance pilots and full-time troubleshooters for democracy. They're men like Steven Cowan, Mike Thorne, and Turk Madden who face danger every day of their lives and fight like tigers for what they believe in. With the world on the brink of war, they're on the front lines, wherever there's action. From the dangerous South Seas islands, to steaming South American jungles, to the other islands of Japan, you'll find these man ready to fight the enemies of freedom--in a battle to the death. Our foremost storyteller of the American West, Louis L’Amour has thrilled a nation by chronicling the adventures of the brave men and woman who settled the frontier. There are more than three hundred million copies of his books in print around the world. NIGHT OVER THE SOLOMONS   HE WAS LYING face down under the mangroves about forty feet back from the sea on the southwest side of Kolombangara Island in the Solomons.   For two hours he had been lying without moving a muscle while two dozen Japanese soldiers worked nearby, preparing a machine-gun position.   Where he lay there were shadows, and scattered driftwood. He was concealed only by his lack of movement, although the outline of his body was blurred by broken timber and some odds and ends of rubbish, drifted ashore.   Now, the soldiers worked farther away. He believed they would soon move on. Then, and then only, would he dare to move. To be found, he knew, meant instant death.   He was dressed only in a ragged shirt, and the faded serge pants hastily donned in his escape from the sinking ship. The supply ship had been bombed and sunk in Blackett Strait, en route to Guadalcanal. If there were other survivors, he had seen none of them.   That he had lived while others died was due to one thing, and one thing only—he was, first and last, a fighting man, with the fighting man’s instinct for timed, decisive action.   He was not, he reflected, much of a soldier. He was too strongly an individualist for that. He liked doing things his own way, and his experience in China and elsewhere had proved it a good way.   He lay perfectly still. The sun was hot on his back, and beneath him the sand was hot. The shadow that had offered partial concealment had moved now, the sun shone directly down upon him. From his memory of the mangrove’s arch he believed he would lack the shadow no more than fifteen minutes. It might be too long.   Yet he dare not move. He was not in uniform, and could be killed as a spy. But the Japanese were not given to hair splitting on International Law. He was ashore on an island supposedly deserted, an island where the Japanese were apparently building a strong position.   Overhead, a plane suddenly moaned in a dive, then came out, and from the corner of his eye he saw it skim the ragged edge of the crater and vanish.   That Japanese was a flier. Say what one would about them, they could fly.   In his mind he studied the situation. Soon, he could move. When he moved he must know exactly where he was going and what he intended to do. There must be no hesitation.   Behind him lay the sea. It promised nothing. Before him, the jungle. He had no need to study the island, for he knew it like the back of his hand. He hadn’t visited Kolombangara for several years, but his memory was excellent.   Two rounded ridges lifted toward a square-topped crater. The crater itself was the end of an imposing ridge of volcanic rock,