"Yes, of course, Commander," he said. "I understand. But ... well, let it go. Welcome to Hickam, you two. If you get the chance, drop back over here and tell us what's new on the mainland, eh?"
"We'll do that, if we get the chance," Dawson assured him.
"Oh, quite," Freddy Farmer murmured.
And then the Navy commander took charge of them. He introduced himself as Commander Drake, and he talked pleasantly of everything save their flight to Oahu as he led them off the field and over to a waiting Navy car, with a rating at the wheel.
"Sorry to choke things off that way," he said as they climbed in. "But the vice-admiral's orders were that you were to talk to no one. Not even to me. So we'll get going, and then you can report all to the vice-admiral. And from the looks of you, I hope he permits me to remain and hear it."
"Where is the vice-admiral, sir?" Dawson asked as the Navy rating behind the wheel shifted the car into gear, and got it rolling.
"The Kaneohe Naval Air Station on Mokapu Point," the commander replied. "It's a few miles, but one of the prettiest drives on the Island. You'll see some of the real Hawaiian scenery."
They did. But reaction was catching up with Dave Dawson and Freddy Farmer. And fatigue, too. And so they were really too worn out from their harrowing experiences of the night to be able to pay proper attention to the gorgeous scenery that rolled by on either side of the car. As a matter of fact, Freddy Farmer fell sound asleep twice. And Dawson caught his own eyelids sagging a few times. Obviously Commander Drake noticed these signs, because when they rolled through the gates that opened onto the Kaneohe Naval Air Station, he ordered the rating at the wheel to drive them to his own quarters, instead of to the commandant's office.
And when they reached the commander's quarters they were treated to that special brand of thoughtfulness and courtesy for which the U.S. Navy is so famous. Commander Drake played the magician in the fullest meaning of the word. He produced warm baths for the two dead tired pilots, clean fresh uniforms for both of them, a pharmacist's mate to check their burns and fix them up, and last but not least as far as Freddy Farmer was concerned, a breakfast such as you probably wouldn't get even in the White House. And not once did he bother them with questions, or even act as though he couldn't keep his tongue still any longer. In short, by the time the Navy officer took them over to meet the station commandant he had made himself their friend for life, and they both felt as though they had just got up from a perfect night's sleep, instead of having just completed a nerve-racking twenty-four hundred and two mile flight.
"If you don't mind my saying so, sir," Dawson said as he breathed deep of the invigorating Hawaiian air, "you're a miracle man, if I ever met one. I was dreading trying to keep awake while I made my report to the vice-admiral, but now I feel like a million dollars. And not a cent under it."