“Yes, sir,” Dawson replied. “But of course, that was before Pearl Harbor. Well, it’s good to be down here, sir. I hope you won’t treat us any differently than you would any two replacements. After all, the main job for all of us is to win the war.”
“Don’t worry,” the General chuckled. “I don’t plan to extend you two any special privileges, though, of course, you are at liberty to come and go as you please.”
“I say, thanks very much, sir,” Freddy Farmer spoke up for the first time. Then, after a long moment’s hesitation, he suddenly blurted out, “I believe, sir, there’s a chap here I know. He is Second Lieutenant Marble. Does he happen to be about?”
A dark shadow passed across Brigadier General Kirwood’s face. A hard, bitter look came into his eyes, and he unconsciously clenched both his fists.
“He was, but no longer,” the senior officer said harshly. “Two days ago he took off on a check flight alone. Something haywire with his engine, I believe it was. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since. I am afraid he crashed into the water out there, and sank with his plane.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, sir!” Dave murmured as the blood seemed to drain right down out of his body. “I knew Marble slightly, myself. I’m sorry to hear that he is missing. But—well, maybe he force landed some place and will turn up alive and kicking in a day or so.”
“I sincerely hope that’s true,” the Brigadier said gravely. “But I doubt it. Marble is the eighth pilot we’ve lost on solo flights in the last month. It’s—it’s the most confounded thing I’ve ever come up against. I can’t understand it.”
Neither Dave nor Freddy said anything. They simply looked at each other silently. But the thought in their minds was identical. The most promising clue of all had been snatched from their grasp. It was a worthy foe that they battled, even though a dastardly one. A clever, cunning, ruthless foe who always seemed to strike first, and strike where it hurt the most.
[3]. “Dave Dawson with the R.A.F.”