Dave Dawson at Casablanca

by Robert Sidney Bowen

The colonel said nothing for a moment. Then he gave a long-drawn-out sigh.

"Yes, I guess you're right, both of you," he said. "The secret of the President's trip must still be as safe as ever. Yes, it must be that way. We just happened to bump into something that any plane flying this route would have bumped into."

"I sure hated to see that sea raider get away!" Dawson grumbled. "Talk about lucky shots! That first blast got the radio set cold, unless the radio man can fix it up, sir? I saw the shambles it was as I dived by the navigator's nook."

"No, no such luck," Colonel Welsh replied. "I asked him quite a while back, and he said it was hopeless. The navigator, of course, has a record of the exact position at the time, so we can report it when we reach Casablanca."

"How's the pilot, sir?" Dawson asked. "Were there any other casualties besides that poor co-pilot?"

"The pilot will pull through," Colonel Welsh replied. "The only casualty was the co-pilot. Well, I'll go aft now to see if I can do anything for the pilot. You two can get us through all right, eh? I mean—"

"If the engines keep ticking over, we'll make it, sir," Dawson said quietly. "The tanks were spared, praise be! So I think it will be all good flying from here in."

"Then I'll leave you to it," the colonel said. "And—and God bless both of you!"

Neither Dawson nor Farmer had a chance to say anything, because the Intelligence officer quickly turned and went aft.

"Well, you convinced even me with that swell sales talk of yours, Freddy," Dawson eventually broke the silence between them. "I guess maybe I did hit on the right idea, at that."