When he reached the Vultee the two agent-mechanics were nowhere to be seen. He climbed up and had a good look into both cockpits, but he failed to find anything that belonged to either Freddy or himself. Then, on second thought, he began giving the entire plane and engine a thorough look-see inspection to see if other lucky bullets had done it any damage. He felt very guilty about the two bullet holes in the fuselage, and he wanted to make sure that the plane wouldn’t be returned to its owner with any other damage that had been overlooked.
A fifteen minute inspection, however, brought to light no further evidence of the air battle, so he turned away and headed over to the check-in office. The young Air Corps lieutenant wasn’t there. A sergeant was in charge, and he gave Dave a respectful nod as the pilot entered.
“Yes, Captain?” he inquired politely.
“Captain Farmer and I just pulled in from Frisco Base,” Dave said. “I’d like word sent back that we arrived. Do you send that sort of thing out, or do I go to the operations officer?”
“We send it out from here, sir,” the sergeant said. Then, after thumbing through his book of records, he added, “Frisco has been notified, Captain. Half an hour ago, by Second Lieutenant Miller, who was on duty.”
“Okay, thanks,” Dave said with a grin, and turned away. “I just wanted to be sure that—”
He cut the rest off short as he heard the clanging of the field ambulance bell. He turned all the way around and snapped a look out onto the field. There wasn’t any crash out there, nor was there any plane coming in that looked as if it were in trouble. He shrugged, made a face at his own nervousness and started down the hangar line toward the Officers’ Mess. It wasn’t until he had passed a line of bombers that he was able to see the ambulance. It had come to a stop in front of the Officers’ Mess. There was a small group of uniformed men gathered about.
An eerie feeling of terror suddenly struck Dave, and he broke into a run. He pounded over the one hundred and fifty yards of flying field ground in less time than it takes to tell about it. When he reached the fringe of the group and peered past them and down at the huddled figure on the ground, his heart shot up into his mouth and choked off the cry that tried to get by. It was Freddy Farmer on the ground. His eyes were closed, his face was white, and there was blood on the left side of his head just above the ear. One look, and then Dave was through the group and on his knees beside Freddy.
“What happened?” he demanded of anybody who might have the answer.
“I’m not sure,” spoke up a pilot captain who had just a touch of grey in his otherwise jet black hair. “I was just coming out of the Mess, and saw him headed over this way at a pretty fast clip. He tripped on a stone, started to save himself, and then spun around and went flat as something smacked him. Looks like a bullet crease to me.”