"Hey, nix!" Dawson cried in alarm. "Call him and find out that a carrier _did_ sail with one fighter pilot less? And that there was no sense for us to fly to Pearl? And get recalled to Dago to go on instructing Navy pilots? Are you nuts, Freddy? It may only be Pearl Harbor, but that's twenty-four hundred miles nearer the war than we are right now! Do you want to go back and...?" "No, certainly not, Dave," young Farmer interrupted quietly. "But it doesn't happen to be a matter of where we _want_ to go. It's what we can _do_ to help. If that Nazi didn't sail, then perhaps the vice-admiral would want us to stick around to maybe identify a suspect that was picked up later. After all ..." "Okay, okay, you win!" Dawson groaned. "We better put it up to the vice-admiral, and find out what he has to say about it. We can phone from the Administration Building over there. But if he didn't sail, and we hoof it back to Dago, just don't bother speaking to me for the next twenty years, will you?" "And will you listen to the chap who just a couple of days ago was quite content to wait patiently for his next good break in this war!" Freddy Farmer jeered as he dropped into step. "Yeah, but that was a couple of days ago!" Dave growled. "I'm just hoping that the chance hasn't come _and_ gone on account of your bright little suggestion." "Well, I still think we should call him," Freddy said doggedly. "And so do you, and you know it!" "Oh, go walk a wing!" Dave mumbled. "Sure I do. And that's what burns me up!" Forty-five minutes later Dawson and Freddy Farmer were back on the flying field, grinning from ear to ear, and walking over toward the Operations Office. "Boy! Do I feel like a new man!" Dave said, and let out a happy sigh. "I sure was worried while that call was being put through. Not that I don't like Dago, you understand. It's a swell town, but right now I could do with some of the war." "Me, too," Freddy said with a chuckle. "To tell the truth I was on pins and needles, too. But everything is all right now. The carrier force sailed with every fighter pilot aboard, so we're to carry on according to plan." "Check, and double check," Dave echoed, and started up the steps of the Operations Office. "Pearl Harbor, here we come! I hope they give us a good crate to fly. What do you want, Freddy, a Fortress or a Liberator?" "Either one will suit me," the English-born air ace replied. "Both are pukka airplanes. I ..." Young Farmer stopped short as a field orderly came running up. "Captains Dawson and Farmer?" he panted when he reached them. "I'm Dawson," Dave said with a nod. "What's the matter, Sergeant?" "The Naval Air Base at San Diego just called back," the non-com said. "Vice Admiral Carter wants to speak with either one of you officers." Dave scowled, and then looked wide-eyed at Freddy. "What do you suppose now?" he murmured. Young Farmer shrugged, but a worried look stole into his eyes.