"Then that's that," Colonel Welsh said. "There's some flying gear over there on the wall. Select what you want, and then let's get outside to the plane. I'll stake my life that not a soul has heard what we've been talking about, but four walls always get on my nerves. I like it better out in the open where I can see in all directions, and for some distance, too. But don't pay any attention to me. I'm under a slight strain, and it's trying its darnedest to get me. Stupid, of course. So select your stuff, and let's get out to the plane. God bless you, and all kinds of happy landings until we meet again in Natal, Brazil."
If they happened to be listening to the colonel's parting words, the gods of war, and death, and doom, must have had quite a laugh for themselves!
CHAPTER FIVE
Whispering Death
Shifting to a slightly more comfortable position in the Vultee's cockpit seat, Dave Dawson absently drummed the fingers of one hand on the side of the cockpit and stared down at the sky-blue Caribbean Sea rolling far beneath his wings. Behind him was Puerto Rico, and a considerable way ahead of him was the British-owned island of Trinidad. Several miles off the Vultee's left wing tip were the Leeward and Windward islands of the West Indies jutting up out of the blue water. High above him was a cloudless sky with a shimmering ball of gold in the center.
All in all, it was a scene that would have made poets rave, and the hardest of hearts melt. However, if the truth must be known, it left Dawson cold. Not because he did not possess an eye for Nature's beauty; it was rather because, though he was looking at it, he wasn't actually seeing it. His mind was too filled with other and more personal thoughts.
The previous night he and Freddy Farmer had taken off from Bolling Field and had flown directly to the Army Air Forces base at Miami. There, after making sure, they had delivered the first of the sealed envelopes. Later they had flown on to the base at San Juan, on Puerto Rico, and delivered the second envelope. Now they were winging their way farther south to the Air Transport Command base at San Fernando on Trinidad.
"After Trinidad, Paramaribo, and Belem, and Natal," Dawson said, and scowled down at the beautiful Caribbean. "That's just the point, too. A couple of air-mail pilots, that's all we are!"