Hot tears stung the backs of Dawson's eyes, and for a moment or two everything was just a great swimming blur before him. He ripped up his goggles, brushed both eyes with his hand, and peered at the air above and about him. He saw two Nazi planes, and one more Mustang, go hurtling earthward in a mass of flame, but there was not a soul in the air, save himself, floating earthward by parachute. All the other pilots, Nazi and Yank alike, had been killed in their pits, or so wounded that they were unable to throw themselves clear of their blazing planes. "Freddy, boy, where are you?" Dawson's own words echoed back to taunt him. In that moment he felt as though a part of him had actually died. And presently it took all the courage and will power that he would ever possess to stop scanning the heavens for a sign of Freddy Farmer, and give all of his attention to himself. He was close to the ground now, and if he was to carry out his end of the job, and touch earth close to that large factory, he would have to forget all about Freddy Farmer's fate and concentrate on himself. In spite of his determined efforts to do just that, it was quite impossible. No man on earth could have given every thought to himself, had he been in Dave Dawson's shoes. A memory picture of that single Mustang exploding into bits was constantly before his eyes. In the matter of seconds countless memories of Freddy Farmer paraded across his brain. It all seemed to sap the strength right out of his body; to turn his muscles to rubber, and his bones to jelly. It was almost as though he were two separate persons. One was striving to slip his 'chute so that he would drift closer to the factory that now stood out in clear detail just a little ahead and below him. And the other person was living over again in memory, heartbreaking memory, the many, many things that Freddy and he had done together. So certain was he that Freddy Farmer had gone to a hero's reward that he was almost overcome by a wild, mad urge to unsnap his 'chute harness and let his body drop straight down like a rock to his doom. Only a fighting heart, and the determination to carry on for Freddy's sake made it possible for him to retain his sanity, and guide his movements. And then the ground was close, very close. The factory was like a gigantic mountain looming up in his path. He saw figures running toward the spot where he would touch earth. Some were in uniform and some wore the unmistakable clothes of factory workers. There seemed to be quite a number of the factory workers, and in an abstract sort of way he wondered for a moment if it was the rest period, or the changing of factory shifts.