once. Have a nice trip
out?"

"It wasn't too bad," Dave replied. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he
added, "I suppose I'd be shot if I asked questions?"

The operations officer chuckled and shook his head.

"No," he said, "you wouldn't be shot. But you wouldn't get any answers,
either. Because I don't know any. I can tell you this much, though, if
it will help any. You two are the umpty-umph pilots since yesterday
morning who have checked through here in a hurry to get to Headquarters.
Looks like something big is in the wind, but I wouldn't know. Nobody
tells us guys anything, anyway. Good luck, just the same, and--Well, for
the love of Mike, Dawson! Did some sweet young thing in China try to
steal your wings with her teeth? Man, those are chewed up, what I mean!"

"No, Zero teeth, if you get what I mean," Dave grinned. "I'm a lucky
guy, I guess."

The operation officer's eyes widened, and he let out air slowly.

"Did, huh?" he breathed. "Luck, and how, what I mean! Man, what I
wouldn't give for a war souvenir like that! You're the second chap I've
met whose life was saved by a bullet ricocheting off his wings. I know
one fellow, too, who got saved by his cigarette case. No fooling,
Dawson, you've really got something there. Well, anyway, scram along,
kids, and a million in luck!"

"Same to you, and in bunches, soldier," Dave grinned, and went outside
with Farmer.

"See what I mean, Freddy?" he said as they walked toward the motor
transport building. "There's nice guys, and otherwise, in every man's
army. You never can tell a fellow by the rank insignia on his
shoulders."

"Quite, oh quite," the English-born air ace murmured absently. "But I'm
wondering why so many pilots have been ordered to Headquarters. I
wonder."

Dawson shrugged and headed toward a war-painted staff car with a
corporal driver lounging against a front fender.

"Search me," he said. "Could be that they have decided to wash out the
Army Air Forces, and make ditch diggers of us all. Not a bad idea, after
the flying I've seen _some_ guys do."

"Yes, definitely," Freddy Farmer replied instantly. "But how the deuce
do you manage it, Dave? I should think the whirling prop tips would
smash it."

"Huh?" Dawson ejaculated. "Come again, Freddy? How do I manage what?"

"To hold a mirror out in front of you, so you can see yourself flying
around!" the English youth shot at him. "Quite a trick, isn't it?"

"Bingo, and out!" Dawson laughed.