“Yes?” Dave prompted. “And if there isn’t any message for us there?”
“Then I jolly well think I’ll wire Colonel Welsh,” Freddy said, “and request that I be returned to duty.”
“Took the words right out of my mouth!” Dave cried. “That’s just what I was going to suggest we do. Well, keep your fingers crossed, kid. There’s the hotel bus waiting. It won’t be long, now—one way or the other.”
“And, please, Allah,” Freddy Farmer murmured, “let it be the way we want it!”
[1]. “Dave Dawson with the Pacific Fleet.”
CHAPTER TWO
Orders For Action
Hunches or no hunches, when the two ace airmen entered the hotel lobby a bell hop came over to them on the double quick. There was a mile wide grin on his freckled face, and in his hand he held an official War Department envelope.