"I know, I know!" Dawson growled. "I was only saying what I'd like to do, not what we can do. That's out, of course. Too far, and too many Japs in the way, of course. But we've got to get there somehow, and not by the route we've planned. I—Hold everything!"
"What now?" Freddy Farmer wanted to know.
"The Navy is our best bet, Freddy!" Dawson said as excitement mounted in his voice. "There's a chance that maybe the Navy can make things easy as pie for us. Let's go!"
"Go where?" the English youth demanded. "And what's on your mind, anyway?"
"Later," Dawson snapped, and turned toward the door. "If you should put up an argument, it might convince me that the idea really is dizzy. Besides, I want to mull it over a bit. Come on. Let's get General Stickney to take us to the Navy commandant's office here. He's the one who can make it possible, or impossible. Let's go!"
Freddy Farmer scowled and hesitated, but finally decided that any questions would only fall on deaf ears, and went tagging along after Dawson as the Yank barged out through the office door. And a half-hour later they had the ears and the attention of Admiral Wallace, Naval Commandant for the Area.
"I'm sorry that secret orders forbid us from revealing our destination, or intentions, sir," Dawson spoke for both of them, "but it is essential that we get to the Far East as quickly as possible. And not by way of Australia. Naturally, the trip must be made by air. Can you tell me, sir, if any of your carrier task forces are located at present between here and the China coast?"
The senior naval officer didn't answer directly. He pursed his lips, and quietly eyed the two youths. Then, perhaps, he remembered that he also had received cooperation orders from the Navy Department at Washington. At any rate, he presently sighed, and nodded.
"Yes, two task forces," he said, and pointed at the huge pinpointed map of the Pacific that covered one whole side of the room. "There is one now operating three hundred miles north of Wake Island. And there is another, of lighter strength, west of Jap-held Marcus Island, and just about on the One Hundred and Fiftieth Meridian."
"Perfect!" Dawson cried, and snapped his fingers. "That would be apple pie for one of the Army's North American B-Twenty-Fives. They can land and take off from a carrier."