Dave turned his head and stared out at the shadows of night that had closed down on the Hawaiians.
"Within the hour, if it's possible, sir," he replied, and gave each of the senior officers a questioning look.
They scowled, and seemed not to like it at all, but they finally nodded.
"In an hour, then," General Stickney grunted, and put on his service cap. "I'll go tell Air Forces command to make ready a plane. But you two had better have something at our mess before you take off. You've at least got time for that, haven't you?"
"Oh, quite, sir, and thank you!" Freddy Farmer spoke up before Dawson could open his mouth.
"Then, come along in my car," the Army commandant ordered, and headed for the door.
And it was just five minutes later when it happened!
Just five minutes later when General Stickney was driving them along a dirt road that curved about a dense palm grove. As a matter of fact, the dim shadow of a figure streaked up off the side of the road so fast that Dawson saw the flash of the gun, heard its roar of sound, and felt the white hot spear of pain cut across the top of his left shoulder before his brain could grasp what had taken place. Then, as the gun barked the second time, and the car swerved violently and went hurtling off the road into the ditch, Freddy Farmer, sitting next to Dave, seemed to rise right straight in the air and turn completely over, and his outflung right hand stabbed the darkness with red flame and sharp sound three times in rapid succession. And then the car was in the ditch and flopping over onto its side, as the engine roared in protest, and the rear wheels spun furiously.
A sharp crack on the head had filled Dawson's brain with colored stars and comets. And then the next thing he realized he was sitting on soft ground, and Freddy Farmer was shaking him by the shoulders.
"Are you all right, Dave?" Freddy was demanding. "Did you get hit by that blighter?"