want to give it a look, but not right now. No,
sir! For the next thirty-six hours, and maybe longer, all I want is a
nice soft bed!"

"Make that two, if you please!" Freddy Farmer added, and put a hand to
his mouth to cover the yawn he could no longer hold back. "Just
a--Oh-oh! Here comes a high-ranker in very much of a hurry. Now what, I
wonder?"

Dawson looked toward the Administration Building and saw a trim major
general of the Air Force running toward the B-25. By the time he reached
it, Colonel Welsh was out of the plane. The two officers exchanged hasty
salutes, and the major general started to take Colonel Welsh by the arm
and lead him away. The colonel held back, however, nodded at the bomber
and said something. The major general nodded in reply and made a waving
motion with one hand. Then the pair turned and hurried over to the
Administration Building and disappeared inside.

"Well, how do you like that?" Dawson gasped. "What about that wounded
pilot aft?"

"That's why the colonel stopped," Freddy Farmer replied, and poked a
finger to the right. "Here comes the ambulance now. Let's get back and
see if we can lend them a hand. After all, this is his aircraft."

"Right; let's go," Dawson agreed, and pushed his stiff body out of the
seat. "The least we can do is wish him all kinds of luck."

They made their way back to the compartment where the wounded pilot was
resting on blankets laid out on the floorboards. There was some color in
his face, now, and his neck and the upper part of his chest was swathed
in bandages. Gathered about him were the members of his crew, each
trying to keep from looking at the blanket-covered body of the co-pilot
that lay on the far side of the compartment.

Dawson crouched beside the wounded pilot and grinned cheerfully.

"Lucky guy, Captain," he said. "A nice hospital, pretty nurses, and
swell food for you. How's for changing places, huh?"

"I'll let you know after I've tried it for once," the other said, and
matched the grin. "And, Dawson--"

"Yes, fellow," Dave prompted.

"I'm a dope, Dawson," the pilot said. "I want to apologize for that
crack I made about losing a brother in a night torpedoing. It sure
turned out different. I didn't know the score, you see, so I thought you
were just--Well, I mean--"

"Skip it, fellow, skip it," Dawson smiled, and gently pressed the
other's arm. "I didn't know the score myself, so I was just whistling in
the dark. But forget it, S