"Don't be a dope, pal!" he breathed softly. "The Old Man wasn't trying to kid you. Pilots are worth more than planes. And though you wouldn't catch me telling it to your face, sweetheart, you're worth more than all the Lockheed Lightnings they ever made. So don't be a dope, little man. But definitely, don't be a dope!"
Seconds ticked by and became minutes, and the minutes increased in number, but still two of the Lightning's wheels stayed put in their down position, while the third continued to stick fast in its recess. As the end of the fifteen minute period drew near, young Farmer took his plane up for a little more altitude, and began kicking it about the sky, no doubt in a last desperate effort to shake loose whatever was jamming the stuck wheel and get it down into landing position.
"No soap, Freddy!" Dawson grunted, and gave an unconscious shake of his head. "That crate just doesn't like you, or something. It's stuck, and—"
At that instant he cut himself off short as he heard the C.O. call Farmer on the R.T.
"Time's up, Farmer! Too bad, but I guess there isn't anything you can do. Get altitude to the east of the field, head the plane toward the Channel, and bail out."
"Yes, sir, very good, sir," Dawson heard Farmer's slightly choked reply. "I guess the blasted thing still—Wait a minute, sir! The retractable gear is working. I can get the two wheels up. Can you see me, sir? They're up, and they're staying up. I can come in on my belly now, sir!"
It was true. Whatever had jammed the two down wheels was no longer jamming them. They were up in their recesses, and staying put. Dawson caught a movement at his elbow and turned his head to see Major Starke dash out of the Operations Office. The C.O. looked up at the plane, and seemed to sigh heavily.
"Certainly hates to lose an airplane, bless him!" he grunted. And then he spun on one foot and dashed back into Operations to speak over the R.T. "Okay, Farmer, have it your way!" he called out. "Come in on your belly, but come in on the north side of the field. It's softer there. Keep clear of the runway, by all means. The metal skin of your ship might strike sparks and touch off your gas. Come in easy, and—But I don't need to tell you how to do it. Good luck, Farmer."
"Thanks, sir," Freddy called from the air as he circled his plane around and into position for his landing run. "Be down there right away, sir."
"Save your breath, Freddy, and pay attention to your flying!" Dave Dawson breathed fiercely as he walked toward the north side of the field. "Just cut the chatter and get that thing down, boy!"