The Flying Fortress commander not only called the turn, but made good. Just ten minutes later the west coast of Australia was sighted. And five minutes after that the big four-engined job, being ferried out to the South Pacific to play its part in the war, was tooled down to an expert landing on the Air Forces constructed field on the outskirts of the city of Broome. Dave and Freddy gathered up their small and compact kit bags and climbed out with the rest of the crew onto the ground. There they intended to bid goodbye to the others, but before either one of them could open his mouth a jeep streaked out from the hangar line and a staff major popped out of it like a pea out of a split pod.
"Captains Dawson and Farmer?" he barked, and looked hard at Dave.
"I'm Dawson, sir," Dave replied with a nod. "And this is Captain Farmer."
"Very good!" the senior officer snapped. "Come along, then. Get into the car quickly! Your plane is waiting. Maps and weather charts are in the pits. Come on; snap it up!"
A flash of resentment passed through Dawson. The major was a ground officer. He wore no wings on his tunic, nor any decoration ribbons, either. As a matter of fact, he looked to Dave like one of those well known forty-eight-hour soldiers. In other words, a man who gets a commission while en route to Washington, and comes back wearing his brand-new tailor-made uniform.
"Something up, Major?" Dave asked quietly. "What's all the rush about?"
"What would you suppose?" the major came right back angrily. "There happens to be a war on. Also, lots of things to do. H.Q. has ordered for you to report in a hurry, and that's what you're to do. Now, let's get going, you two!"
Dave knew that he was letting his anger get the better of him, but he couldn't help himself. This staff major was the type of officer that always gave him a pain in the neck. He'd met up with more than one during his war career. Put an officer's insignia on their shoulder straps and they went sky high with importance. And the higher the rank they held, the higher went their belief in their own importance. Maybe that was okay around training camps or induction centers. But that sort of thing didn't go with shot and shell-seasoned veterans. So naturally it didn't go with Dave.
"Just a minute, Major," he said. "I think first I should report the engagement."
"What's that?" the other gasped, rising to the bait. "Did you say engagement?"