As soon as Sandy stepped into the observation room, he knew that whatever had transpired between his uncle and the Pentagon had been very serious. Russell Steele’s face was gray beneath its tan, and it was the first time in Sandy’s memory that he had ever looked his age.
“Trouble, Uncle Russ?” he asked hesitantly.
Russ nodded. “Bad trouble. The very worst.”
“I don’t suppose you can tell us what it is, sir?” Dick Fellows said.
“Well—it is top secret—for as long as it’s possible to keep it that way.” Russ Steele seemed to be struggling with a problem. “Still—I’m going to need all the help I can get. And we’re so isolated here that there’s not much chance of a leak, even if you were inclined to blab about it. Which I know you wouldn’t be,” he added hastily.
“You have my word, sir,” the ranger said quietly.
“And ours,” the boys chorused soberly.
There was a glint of determination in the older man’s eyes. “Good. I think you can help. You’re all familiar with the Strategic Air Command, aren’t you?”
“SAC Never Sleeps!” Quiz recited the slogan of the famous Air Force arm. “Their bombers are in the air twenty-four hours a day. If the United States was ever attacked, SAC stratojet bombers armed with A-bombs would be on their way to knock out vital targets in the enemy’s homeland within seconds.”
Russ Steele nodded. “That’s pretty accurate, Quiz. The Strategic Air Command is the watchdog of our borders. Now, for an outfit that is literally flying twenty-four hours a day, their safety record is amazing; statistics show that a man is safer riding in an SAC bomber than he is driving in the family car.” The muscles tightened across his prominent cheekbones. “But accidents do happen. And last night a B-52 stratofortress had a serious accident.”