Both Dawson and Farmer nodded gravely. Being pilots, they knew exactly how a fellow felt about his aircraft. Made of metal, and plastics, and wood, and fabric, to be sure. But to its pilot, it was something human and full of understanding. Something that couldn't be put into words, because there are no words in any language that can adequately describe the feeling a pilot holds in his heart for his plane. Dawson and Farmer simply nodded gravely, and gave a hand in lifting the wounded man out of the bomber and putting him in the ambulance.
"A nice guy," Dave murmured as the ambulance pulled away. "I sure am going to visit him if I get the chance."
"Yes, and me too, if!" Freddy Farmer murmured.
The remark caused Dawson to turn his head and glance sharply at his pal.
"And just what do you mean by that?" he demanded.
Young Farmer shrugged and nodded toward the Administration Building. "That chap headed our way," he said. "I've a bit of a hunch that something is up."
"Huh?" Dawson gasped. "What—"
He let the rest go as a field orderly came up on the run and saluted smartly. "Colonel Welsh's compliments, Captains Dawson and Farmer," the orderly said. "He asks that you report to him in the commanding general's office in an hour."
"An hour?" Dawson choked out, and then caught himself. "Very good, Sergeant," he said hastily. "We'll be there."
The orderly saluted and retreated toward the Administration Building. Dawson groaned softly.