“I would not!” Freddy snorted. “I’d be way past that stage. I’d be completely balmy, and don’t think I wouldn’t!”
“Who says you haven’t been, for years?” Dave cracked, and started down the observation platform stairs fast.
On the ground he waited for Freddy; then the two of them started over toward the Commandant’s office. They had gone but halfway when Colonel Welsh came out of the office, saw them and hurried over. He smiled faintly, then gave Dave a sharp look.
“Too hot for a tunic, Dawson?” he asked. “That’s not a very military appearance you make. What’s this I hear about you reporting a plane crash? No, never mind. I don’t want to talk here. Follow me.”
Dave nodded, but grinned inwardly, and dropped into step with the senior officer. The same old Colonel Welsh! He talked like a machine gun, and did things even faster. No wonder he got results where others had failed. He was a ball of fire on legs.
As though the two youths were not with him and he were trying to catch a train, the Colonel walked quickly over to the motor park, selected an Air Corps Staff car, and climbed into it. He motioned Dave and Freddy in back, tossed a slip of paper at a guard who hurried over, and stamped on the starter button.
“Car requisition signed by your Commandant!” the Colonel barked at the guard, and shifted into gear.
Dave and Freddy had ridden with the Colonel before, so they were already braced, and were not thrown completely out of the car as it streaked forward. A little under thirty minutes later the Colonel braked to a stop in front of an office building in downtown San Francisco, and got out.
“Follow me, you fellows,” he said, and hurried into the building.
The elevator let them off on the fourteenth floor. The Colonel led the way along the corridor and stopped in front of a door that was marked, “Civilian Defense, Third Division.” He tried the door, found it locked, and seemed strangely surprised.