"That the U.S. has made a deal with Japan about the Pacific!" Dave came back instantly. "We're going to take half, and the Japs are going to take half. We're—Hey! What's wrong, Freddy?"
The last was because the English youth had suddenly wrapped his arms about his middle, and was swaying back and forth with an expression of agonizing pain on his face. He suddenly stopped and gave a sad shake of his head.
"You!" he groaned. "Good grief! Why did it have to be you, my very best friend? And I swore by all that's holy that I'd do it, too!"
"Say, what is this?" Dawson demanded, and leaned forward. "What in thunder are you raving about, anyway? Swore you'd do what?"
"Swore I'd shoot the very next blighter who pulled that old, old one about the U.S. taking the top half of the Pacific, and the Japs the bottom half!" Freddy groaned. "So be a good chap, and hand me your gun, will you?"
"I'll hand you more than a gun!" Dave growled. "You bum! You had the pants scared off me there for a moment. I—"
Dave cut off the rest short as Captain Banks, of the Army Air Transport Command, and pilot of the Flying Fortress, came through the door from up forward. He held a slip of paper in his hand, and he gave Dawson and Farmer a quizzical look.
"Big shots I've got aboard, huh?" he said with a grin. "Maybe personal friends of MacArthur?"
"Not that I know of, anyway, Skipper," Dave replied with a grin. "Why? Is that thing in your hand news for us? If it's bad news, then we bailed out about ten minutes ago."
"Good or bad, I wouldn't know," the Flying Fortress' commander said with a shrug. "It's a radio from MacArthur's Headquarters. We're to land at Broome. There you two are to grab a plane and hike straight over to H.Q. in Sydney, and report."