CHAPTER THREE
Flight To Nowhere
The sun was sliding down over the western lip of the world in a hurry when Dawson sat the Vultee down on the Sydney field after a trans-Australia flight from Broome. As soon as they taxied into the line and mechanics took over, a sergeant of the Military Police came hurrying over to them. For just a brief moment Dave's heart floated up to the region of his throat. It was just a wasted sensation, however. The M.P. was simply doing his duty of informing all pilots landing from other bases to report first to the operations office.
Dave and Freddy legged out, collected their stuff, and went over to operations. They were obviously expected, for the officer on duty greeted them with a grin and a nod, and jerked a thumb at the motor transport building next door.
"A car and driver are waiting, Captains," he said pleasantly. "Over there in front. He'll take you to Headquarters at once. Have a nice trip out?"
"It wasn't too bad," Dave replied. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he added, "I suppose I'd be shot if I asked questions?"
The operations officer chuckled and shook his head.
"No," he said, "you wouldn't be shot. But you wouldn't get any answers, either. Because I don't know any. I can tell you this much, though, if it will help any. You two are the umpty-umph pilots since yesterday morning who have checked through here in a hurry to get to Headquarters. Looks like something big is in the wind, but I wouldn't know. Nobody tells us guys anything, anyway. Good luck, just the same, and—Well, for the love of Mike, Dawson! Did some sweet young thing in China try to steal your wings with her teeth? Man, those are chewed up, what I mean!"
"No, Zero teeth, if you get what I mean," Dave grinned. "I'm a lucky guy, I guess."
The operation officer's eyes widened, and he let out air slowly.