“And not bad,” said a field medico in white. “Just nicked him, fortunately. Look, he’s coming around now. Hold still, son. Just relax while I swab this a bit and stick something on it.”
Freddy had opened his eyes, and was trying to struggle up, but the field medico gently forced him back on the ground, and went to work on the bullet crease. Freddy’s eyes met Dave’s, but he didn’t seem to recognize his pal for a second or two. Then recognition came in a flash, and he grinned.
“Hello, Dave,” he said. “What happened? What am I doing here?”
“By rights you should be praying your thankfulness,” Dave told him with a grin. “It seems you got clipped by a bullet. But you had stubbed your toe first. That saved you. How do you feel?”
“Why, right as rain!” Freddy replied, and gave the medico an annoyed look. “A bit of an ache, but that’s all. A bullet, you say? What bullet, and who shot at me?”
“Nobody shot at you, I don’t guess,” the jet black-haired pilot captain said with a smile. “We’ve got a rifle and pistol target range over there. I guess it was a ricochet bullet that nicked you. But that still makes you one lucky lad. And I’m not kidding!”
“A ricochet!” Dave echoed sharply, and stared at the pilot hard. “You mean this sort of thing happens often?”
“No, I don’t mean it happens often!” the other replied, and returned his steady stare. “It hasn’t happened once in the year I’ve been here. What are you driving at? You think somebody took a deliberate shot at your buddy?”
Dave popped open his mouth, but checked what he wanted to say in time. Instead, he grinned and shook his head.
“No, of course not,” he said. “We only just arrived. Don’t know anybody here. Why should anybody?”