“All right. You’re MY pal. You might have passed out again. Then I’d have had to drag you into the cellar.”
“I nearly did,” Gale confessed.
“Well, then, there you are!” Jan laughed softly. “Besides, I wanted to see you shoot that plane down,” Jan admitted. “I knew you’d do it. You’re just wonderful.”
“Ah, Jan darling!” Gale threw an arm over the big girl’s shoulder. “You’re a real pal!”
Had some artist seen them then, their clothes torn and disarranged, their faces black and hair flying, two WACS facing the sun on a ridge down which all their equipment and a Jap bomber had gone, he might have painted their picture and immortalized them forever.
As it was, Gale heaved a deep sigh, then said in a matter-of-fact voice, “Jan, we’ve just got to rescue my radar set.”
“It’s smashed to bits,” Jan sighed wearily.
“It may not be. And if it is, the parts are all there.” Gale’s tone was insistent. “And think what it would mean if some dirty enemy spy got it! Come on! Let’s see if we can get down there.” So down they started.
And as they went Gale told herself,—“I mustn’t forget to listen on the radio tonight at ten for Jimmie. He said he might talk from another world.” He did, almost, at that.