“That’s what I mean,” the other pilot captain grinned, and gestured with his hands.
By then the medico had finished with Freddy, and helped him up on his feet. As soon as he was upright the color came back into Freddy’s face, and he seemed none the worse for his little adventure—that is, save for the patch on the side of his head over his left ear.
“Just take it easy for a little while, Captain, and you’ll be as good as new,” the medico advised. Then with a grin as he dumped his stuff into his bag and snapped it shut, “Sorry I couldn’t give you a ride. Maybe next time, though.”
“Thank you, no!” Freddy grinned back at him. “I detest ambulances. Something too definite about them, you know.”
“And how I know!” the medico grunted, and climbed into the ambulance. “Well, it broke the routine, anyway.”
The ambulance drove away, and the group slowly broke up, leaving Dave and Freddy alone.
“Well, shall we eat, eh?” Freddy said.
“You’re okay, that’s a cinch,” Dave growled, but softened it with a grin. “But, boy! My heart’s just going back into place. Let’s get out of the open spaces. A ricochet? Nuts! Somebody on that target range got off the target quite a bit, and took a bead on you, Freddy.”
“I think so, too!” the English youth replied as his eyes flashed fire. “Never mind lunch. Let’s go hunt out the blighter. I’ve got a bit I could say to him—and do, too!”
“No, we eat,” Dave said firmly, and took hold of Freddy’s arm. “It stands to reason he’s not there waiting for us. And the sooner we get under cover, the better. No sense inviting pot shots. But I’m sure thankful you have big feet!”