“Oh, quite!” Freddy growled. “And their guns aren’t pointed at the sun, either. Gives a chap a creepy feeling, as though he weren’t to be trusted.”
“There goes your conscience again!” Dawson laughed. “It’s your past coming up to slap you in the face, my boy. But don’t worry! They’ll wait until they get a good look at you on the ground, before they do anything drastic. Of course, when they do—well, it’s your face. But I’ll put in all the good words I can.”
“I just bet you would!” the English youth snapped. “Just enough to get me shot at sunrise. And—I say! There’s the Canal. My word! Isn’t that a wonderful sight? You can see both oceans at the same time.”
“Just the way Nature and Old Father Time arranged it so you could,” Dave murmured, and feasted his eyes on one of the most fascinating and thrilling air views in all the world: the Colon entrance of the Panama Canal, and the rest of the Canal clear across the Isthmus to the Balboa entrance on the Pacific side.
Some ten or fifteen minutes later he eased back the Vultee’s throttle and sent the plane sliding down to a landing on the surface of the huge Air Corps Base at Colon. The two amphibians circled about until his wheels had touched, and then they veered off out over the Caribbean to resume their watchful patrol. Freddy Farmer watched them go, and made a face.
“Thanks awfully for the company!” he growled as Dave taxied over toward the check-in office. “Delightful chaps, all of you.”
“Right!” Dave barked back at him. “Also, great guys with plenty of what it takes. Give me trouble and I’ll welcome help from Navy Aviation boys any day in the week. And so would you!”
“Of course; sorry,” Freddy said with a sheepish grin. “I just feel a bit touchy today. After all, I’ve been subjected to your flying for hours, you know. A frightful ordeal for even the most stout-hearted.”
“Coward!” Dave jeered at him. “You wouldn’t have dared say that when we were in the air, would you? But it is nice to get back on solid ground again. Sweet tripe! Look at the planes they’ve got down here! All types from everything to everything, what I mean. Well, get your papers ready, Freddy. They’ll want to know who we are, and why.”
That fact was indeed true. When Dave finally cut his engine and climbed down to stretch his stiffened legs, there was a questioning-eyed group of Air Corps high rankers gathered in front of the check-in office. Dave waited for Freddy and then walked over and saluted the highest rank smartly. He was a Brigadier General, and, of course, Dave knew that his name was Kirwood.