"I get it, Skipper," he said with a chuckle. "I won't spend _this_ in no hospital. I can drive this baby with my eyes closed." "And I think you did!" Dave laughed at him. "And good luck." "And good hunting for both of you, sir!" the driver called out as Dave and Freddy went up Headquarters front steps. Just inside the big front doors, 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?"