I would like to have, Major. Any objections
if I take a little joy-ride in the morning?"

Cowan's eyes narrowed. "Where?" he asked.

"Over the lines. I'd like to do a little looking for myself."

"With Larkin?"

"No, sir. Alone. Don't even want Larkin to know I'm going. I think I
know where to locate von Herzmann's Circus."

"What are you driving at, Lieutenant?"

"Major, if I told you half of what I think I know, you'd call me crazy."

"Hm-m! Well, I can't give you permission to go--but I will not be
looking for you before noon." His sly wink told Red all that he wanted
to know.

"Yes, sir. Good night, Major. Good night, Rodd. The gang will be mighty
glad to see you back, old hoss! Come on, Buzz, let's go to bed."

Outside the door Larkin's fuming rage exploded. "Say, what did that
tongue-tied sap Rodd mean by that dirty dig? If his head wasn't already
in a sling, I'd--"

"Calm yourself, brother!" Red laughed. "If you had landed on your head
from as high a point as he did, and then found out it was all brought
about through a leak, you'd be suspicious of everyone too."

"Maybe so," Larkin answered, somewhat mollified. "What were you buzzing
old Fuss Budget about?"

"I'll tell you that to-morrow night--maybe."

"Humph!" Larkin snorted. "I guess Rodd's disease is catching. You're
tongue-tied too!"

Without reply Red led the way across the flying field to their hut.
Entering, he began fumbling around in the dark for a candle stub. Larkin
took up the search, by the aid of flickering matches, but the candle was
nowhere to be found.

"It's a fine war!" Larkin growled, as he began undressing in the dark.
"All the letters from the States bear the postmark, 'Food Will Win The
War.' I guess the Army is trying to save on candles, too."

2

Before sunup the following morning McGee awoke and began quietly
dressing. He did not want to awaken Larkin. When he had finished
dressing he tiptoed cautiously across the floor, opened the creaking
door ever so slowly and closed it with the same care.

Dawn was just streaking the east. A few birds were offering their first
roundelays; the grass and trees were wet with a light rain that had
fallen during the night, and to the northeast the distant guns were
rumbling their morning song of hate--evil dispositioned giants, guttural
in their wrath when dawn awoke them to a new day of devastation. Two or
three sleepy-eyed air mechanics were making their way toward the
hanga