They learned that the attack on the Marshall Islands had been carried out successfully. That a whole lot of what had happened at Pearl Harbor had been paid back to the Sons of Nippon. They learned that they had been afloat in the raft for three whole days and nights. They learned that one Colonel Welsh had requested that special permission be given Navy units in that section of the Pacific to search for them when it was reported by scouting planes that cruiser wreckage had been seen floating on the water. They learned that a searching plane had sighted them from the air that very morning, although Freddy had not seen nor heard it. The scouting plane had directed the Paul Jones to the spot. They learned also that Jap sailors picked up from the area where the cruisers had gone down had told of what they had done with one lone Douglas Devastator. "It was that report that set this Colonel Welsh to moving Heaven, earth, and the Navy Department, to get a search going," the destroyer's commander finished up. "He must have had the President with him, because darned near the whole Pacific Fleet hopped right to it. Who is this Colonel Welsh, anyway? Can't say I ever heard of him. He must be quite a man when it comes to getting things done." "Yeah," Dave mumbled drowsily. "Quite a man. Swell to work under. Got a nice technique. Gets you so doggone mad you'd go out and fly without wings, just to prove you could do it. Yeah, the Colonel knows his stuff. Right, Freddy?" Freddy Farmer didn't agree or disagree. He was already sound asleep! --THE END-- * * * * * _A Page from_ DAVE DAWSON WITH THE AIR CORPS Throttling the Wright powered Vultee V-12C attack bomber to cruising speed, Dave licked his dry lips, twisted around in the seat, and winked at Freddy Farmer in the gunner's pit. "How's it going, pal?" he called out. "Not nervous, or anything like that, are you?" "Certainly not!" the English youth shouted back. "I stopped being nervous hours ago. Now I'm only scared stiff! How do you feel?" Dave shrugged and made a little gesture with his free hand. "I'm not sure," he said, "but I think it's something like the way a clay pigeon must feel. You know, hoping the guy with the trap gun will miss? Oh well, this may be just a waste of time." "Not any more!" Freddy shouted, and pointed to the left. "Look!" Dave turned his head and felt his heart zoom up to crack against his back teeth. About seven miles off his left wing and hugging the under side of a towering cloud bank, he spotted no End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dave Dawson with the Pacific Fleet, by Robert Sidney Bowen