they were buttonholed by an officer seated at a desk who wanted to know their business there. They couldn't tell him that, but they gave the officer their names, and that was good enough. In fact, it seemed to please him, for he let out a long sigh.

"Well, thank Heaven, you're the last of the lot!" he breathed. "I've been seeing nothing but Army and Navy pilots—even in my dreams. Report to Room Twelve Fifty for further orders. Good luck."

Dave asked where he'd find Room Twelve Fifty, received the information, and started off with Freddy.

"This is getting to make me feel not so good," he grunted, as he stabbed an elevator button and waited for the car to come down.

"What do you mean?" the English youth asked quickly. "Have you heard something I haven't?"

"With your big ears?" Dave shot at him. "Such a question! No. I mean the parting crack everybody gives us. Good luck, good hunting, and so forth. It makes me nervous when everybody keeps wishing me good luck. Makes me feel they really do know something bad is going to pop, and they're saying to themselves, 'And he seems such a nice guy, too!"

"If they know you they're not saying that!" Freddy cracked back fast. "But I get the idea of what you mean. Frankly, I'm getting to hate those two words, good luck. Half the time I fancy they're not really meant."

"Boy, are you going sour in your middle age!" Dave chuckled. "Cheer up, pal, and—and Good luck!"

Freddy glared, and he might have started things right then and there but for the fact that the elevator came down at that moment and the sliding doors parted open. A couple of minutes later they were pushing through the door of Room Twelve Fifty. It wasn't a very big room, but it seemed jammed to the ceiling with Army, Navy, and Marine Corps pilots. Both Dave and Freddy spotted several pilots whom they knew. Then, suddenly, both came to a full stop and stared pop-eyed at the far end of the room. There was a desk there manned by a couple of high ranking officers. The pilots in the room were filing past the desk, and obviously giving their names, and so forth, to the two officers. One of them was an infantry colonel, and the other was an Air Forces major. It was sight of the infantry colonel that caused both Dave and Freddy to stop dead, and gape. In short, once again they were meeting their old friend Colonel Welsh, Chief of Combined U.S. Intelligence.

"Oh-oh!" Dave murmured. "Do you see what I see, Freddy?"

"I most certainly do," the English youth replied. "Fact is, we might have guessed, what?"

"Yeah, something like that," Dawson grunted absently. "The colonel in the flesh, huh? Well, that means there isn't any clam bake coming up, that's certain. But I guess we must have fallen down on that last job he gave us, Freddy. And he's very disappointed."[A]

"Eh?" Freddy gasped. "What do you mean, we must have fallen down on the job? Don't be silly!"

"Well, look at all these other pilots here," Dave replied. "Must be he doesn't think we're so hot any more, and is going to give us plenty of help on the next job—whatever it is."

"Man! How some people hate themselves!" Freddy Farmer snorted. "But I wonder what's up; what he has up his sleeve?"

"Well, there's one way to find out, I guess," Dave grunted, and started to move. "Get into line, here, and ask him when it comes our turn."

As Dave and Freddy were the last two to enter the room, and were therefore at the end of the line, the room was pretty well cleared of pilots when they reached the desk. Colonel Welsh was bent over a list of names and didn't look up.

"Name, rank, and former unit?" he asked mechanically.

"Dawson, sir. Captain. Returned from special assignment in China."

Colonel Welsh stiffened, let his pencil drop, and looked up quickly. A broad smile of welcome lighted up his thin, sun-bronzed face. He didn't bother to reply to their salutes. He simply put out his hand.

"So you made it, Dawson, and you, too, Farmer?" he said. "Good! I've been worrying you wouldn't get under the wire. How are you?"

"Fine, sir," Dave grinned as he shook hands. "And sort of curious, of course."

"Oh, quite, sir," Freddy echoed, and extended his hand. "And I fancy Dawson has expressed it for both of us."

"Well, stay curious for a while, boys," the colonel replied with a dry chuckle. "But here, I want both of you to meet Major Taylor. He's seen a bit of action in this mess, too. Take a look at his decorations, if you don't believe me. Major Taylor, Captains Dawson and Farmer."

The two youths shook hands with the major, and both liked him instantly. He had twinkling grey eyes that could become as cold as ice cubes when he wanted, and a warm smile that showed he always meant what he said from the heart.

"Big moment Number One for me today, Captains," he said. "I've heard about you two plenty, of course. So I'm mighty glad to meet you. Maybe we can have fun together. With the Jap rats, I mean."

"Nothing would suit me better, Major," Dawson replied, and meant it, too.

"Definitely, Major," Freddy Farmer added. And then with a faint smile, "But where, sir?"

"Oh, haven't I told you yet?" Colonel Welsh spoke up with a quick laugh. "Why, we're all making a little flight to—well, to give you something to think about, Farmer, let's call it a little flight to nowhere!"