"And while all that was going on I've been here out cold and trussed up like a roasted pig!" Dawson groaned. "Now, I ask you! Is that crummy luck, or is that crummy luck?" Freddy Farmer stared at him and shook his head in mock sadness. "Yes, yes, quite true," he said with a sigh. "A beastly shame. A blasted dirty trick played on you. As I said to Vice-Admiral Macon, I said, 'See here, Vice-Admiral! My friend Dawson is slightly under the weather, and you have no business sending all these ships and planes and men against the Japs at Truk until Dawson is better. After all, you know, Vice-Admiral, Dawson is the ...'" "Okay, okay, don't say it!" Dawson laughed. "I'm a selfish guy. I admit it. Just the same, I sure hate to miss things." "No doubt," Freddy Farmer said with a grin. "But don't forget, in the future, also to concentrate on things missing _you_! And you know what things I mean!" "So help me, Daddy, I'll never fly into another plane," Dawson said with a faint yawn. "But thank you for everything, kind sir, and now go away and let me sleep." "Consider me gone, old thing," Freddy Farmer said softly, and smiled down at his pal's closed eyes. THE END * * * * * _A Page from_ DAVE DAWSON OVER BERLIN The last came out of his throat in a strangled cry of grief as a point in the sky ahead suddenly was splashed with flame and white light. German flak gunners had scored a direct hit on one of the R.A.F. raiders. Right smack in the bomb compartment from the looks of the explosion. "Happy landings, fellows," Dawson said softly with a catch in his voice. "You went clean, and quick, anyway. The way I hope I go, when it comes my turn." "Amen, chaps!" Freddy Farmer whispered, and then fell silent. The flashes from the exploding bombers seemed to reach out to the four horizons. Then they diminished into a ball that traced a fiery path straight down to the earth. Although they had seen death strike countless times, neither Dawson nor Farmer had ever gotten used to it. They always experienced the same feeling of horror, the same helpless rage, and the same emptiness in the stomach that they were experiencing now. Seven men had just died before their eyes. Seven brave men who but a short hour ago had lived, and laughed, and felt sure, as all airmen feel sure, that the Grim Reaper would pass them by this time, too. But the Grim Reaper had not passed them by. He had snatched up their lives in one blinding flash of thundering flame. They probably didn't even know what hit them. They just died, and now their comrades were carrying on without them. Carrying on because there was a job to be done; a job that couldn't wait. A job that had to be done tonight, and tomorrow night, and the next, and the next, and on and on until all Nazis had been smashed into the dust, and there was peace again. But seven more would not see that peace, save from their seats of honor in the airmen's Valhalla.