utes after that the big four-engined job, being ferried out to the
South Pacific to play its part in the war, was tooled down to an expert
landing on the Air Forces constructed field on the outskirts of the city
of Broome. Dave and Freddy gathered up their small and compact kit bags
and climbed out with the rest of the crew onto the ground. There they
intended to bid goodbye to the others, but before either one of them
could open his mouth a jeep streaked out from the hangar line and a
staff major popped out of it like a pea out of a split pod.

"Captains Dawson and Farmer?" he barked, and looked hard at Dave.

"I'm Dawson, sir," Dave replied with a nod. "And this is Captain
Farmer."

"Very good!" the senior officer snapped. "Come along, then. Get into the
car quickly! Your plane is waiting. Maps and weather charts are in the
pits. Come on; snap it up!"

A flash of resentment passed through Dawson. The major was a ground
officer. He wore no wings on his tunic, nor any decoration ribbons,
either. As a matter of fact, he looked to Dave like one of those well
known forty-eight-hour soldiers. In other words, a man who gets a
commission while en route to Washington, and comes back wearing his
brand-new tailor-made uniform.

"Something up, Major?" Dave asked quietly. "What's all the rush about?"

"What would you suppose?" the major came right back angrily. "There
happens to be a war on. Also, lots of things to do. H.Q. has ordered for
you to report in a hurry, and that's what you're to do. Now, let's get
going, you two!"

Dave knew that he was letting his anger get the better of him, but he
couldn't help himself. This staff major was the type of officer that
always gave him a pain in the neck. He'd met up with more than one
during his war career. Put an officer's insignia on their shoulder
straps and they went sky high with importance. And the higher the rank
they held, the higher went their belief in their own importance. Maybe
that was okay around training camps or induction centers. But that sort
of thing didn't go with shot and shell-seasoned veterans. So naturally
it didn't go with Dave.

"Just a minute, Major," he said. "I think first I should report the
engagement."

"What's that?" the other gasped, rising to the bait. "Did you say
engagement?"

"That's right, Major," Dawson assured him. "Half a dozen Zeros attacked
us about ninety miles off shore. We got them all, but they must have
been carrier-based. I