[CHAPTER FIFTEEN]
Battle Stations
It lacked twenty minutes to take-off time, and Dave was hurrying through the hangar deck to go top side and report to his Section Leader, when suddenly a groan off to his left slowed him up. He heard the groan again, and stopped in his tracks and stared hard into the shadows beyond some parked bombers. An instant later he saw two feet sticking out from under a wing. He bent over and scrambled under the wing. A man lay stretched out on the deck. His eyes were closed, there was a blood-smeared cut on the left side of his head, and he was groaning as he struggled weakly to force himself up to a sitting position.
Dave cried out in sharp alarm and gave the man a helping hand. The man was Freddy Farmer, and he was acting as though a building had just dropped down on top of him.
"Easy, Freddy, old pal!" Dave soothed, and put his arm about his chum. "Take it easy. Lean on me. It's Dave. Gosh! What happened, Freddy? Are you okay?"
The sound of Dawson's voice pried open the English youth's eyes. It was a few seconds before he could focus his eyes on Dave's face, and even then they held a blank, befuddled look.
"I don't know," he mumbled, and gingerly touched his fingers to the cut on his head. "Ouch! My blasted head feels in six different pieces. I don't know what happened, Dave. Some chap bashed me, but I don't know who. I didn't see him. I—"
Freddy paused and glanced about as though to make sure where he was. His eyes opened wide in surprise.
"But I was way over there on the port side!" he gasped. "Just about to go up that companion ladder to the flight deck when suddenly I got a terrific bash on the head. I didn't hear anything, or see—Wait, Dave! I didn't see his face, but I remember seeing his legs as I fell down. He was wearing pilot's jumpers, so it must have been one of the pilots. It—Good grief, Dave!"
"Check!" Dave breathed excitedly. "Our rat friend has made himself known. This is the break, Freddy! This is the break!"