CHAPTER TWO

_Orders For Action_

HUNCHES OR NO hunches, when the two ace airmen entered the hotel lobby a bell hop came over to them on the double quick. There was a mile wide grin on his freckled face, and in his hand he held an official War Department envelope.

“Just off the wires not ten minutes ago, Lieutenants,” he said. “I was going to hunt you up on the beach. Thought you might want it pronto.”

“You thought right,” Dave grinned, and swapped a quarter for the War Department wire.

He waited until the bellhop had gone on his way, and then feverishly tore open the envelope. Freddy Farmer looked over his shoulder. It was addressed to them both, and it read:

“Arriving Oakland Base, San Francisco, tonight at eight. Take plane or train but be sure to meet me. Important.

Colonel Welsh“

Dave read the wire through twice, then smiled and sighed happily.

“Well, there you are, Freddy,” he said. “Dreams do come true.”

“I certainly hope so,” the English born youth echoed. “But he doesn’t say anything except for us to meet him.”

“He doesn’t have to!” Dave growled. “Holy smoke! He says it’s important. That’s good enough for me. Look, let’s get dressed and packed and go to the L.A. Base. I’d like to borrow a ship and go up there by air, wouldn’t you?”

“Quite!” Freddy replied instantly. “Almost a week, now, since I’ve been up. Yes, I could do very nicely with an odd spot of flying. But I wonder what he’s got lined up for us--if anything?”

“Stop wondering,” Dave chuckled, and headed for the elevators. “It doesn’t get you any place. We’ll know tonight--and then maybe you’ll be sorry you did find out.”

“Not if it’s action, I won’t!” Freddy said fervently. “I’ll be the happiest chap in the world.”

“Next to me,” Dave said. “And I’m still keeping my fingers crossed.”

It was just under two hours later when the two youths, wearing the uniforms of Naval Aviation Lieutenants, entered the Field Commandant’s office at the Los Angeles Air Base and saluted smartly. This was not the first time they had been at the Base, nor the first time, either, that they had met the Commandant. He returned their salute, and then came forward to greet them warmly.

“Welcome, Lieutenants,” he said as he shook hands. “But save your breath. I know why you’re here. Got a wire from Washington not more than an hour ago. I’m to loan you a plane on request. Okay. There’re three or four hundred out there. Take your pick. Or do you want one apiece?”

“No, a two seater, please, sir,” Dave said, straight-faced. “Lieutenant Farmer, here, hasn’t flown for a week. So I’d better take him along as passenger. Get him used to the air again.”

The Commandant laughed as the red rushed into Freddy’s face, but there was frank admiration in the eyes he focussed on the English youth.

“A two seater it will be then,” he said. “But I’m well acquainted with Farmer’s air record. A week’s lay-off, or a year’s lay-off, wouldn’t hurt his piloting skill any. And of course, that goes for both of you. So stop trying to put me in the middle, Dawson. You’re both tops in my book. And that’s that. Well, I suppose you want to get going?”

“If we may, sir,” Dave said. “We really have all kinds of time, but--well, it would sort of feel good to coast around for a spell. But I guess you know how we feel?”

“Don’t I, though!” the Commandant exclaimed, and sighed heavily. “I don’t often give advice, but here’s a tip for you two lads. Don’t ever let them promote you to the job of a Base Commandant. All desk work, and mighty little flying. Keep in the air, boys. Keep in it as long as you can. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about when I say that. Well, let’s go out and get your plane warmed up. I’ve got a Vultee two seater out there that’s a sweetheart. But I’ll loan it to you chaps. Let’s go.”

The two youthful air aces murmured their thanks and followed the Commandant outside. But there was a warm tingling glow in their chests, and a pleased and happy light in their eyes. The L.A. Base Commandant could have praised them to the skies, but all his words would not have been half the compliment that was his offer to loan them a Vultee two seater that was “a sweetheart.” That meant that the plane was the Commandant’s own personal ship, when he could use it. And he was doing them high honor to offer it for their use.

Half an hour later they thanked the Base Commandant again and took off in the Vultee with Dave at the controls, and Freddy Farmer riding the rear gunner’s pit. Dave took them up to eight or nine thousand, and then started tossing the ship around a little, just to get the feel of the air again. That off his chest, he twisted around in the seat and grinned at Freddy. The English youth shook his head, made a wry face, and held up both hands with the thumbs extended downward.

“Simply terrible!” he shouted above the sound of the Wright radial in the nose. “Go back and do it all over again. And you call yourself a pukka pilot? Rubbish! But I say, Dave, now that we’re up here, and have lots of time on our hands, mind doing something?”

“Certainly, if it’s not for you!” Dawson shot back at him. “What is it?”

Freddy raised a hand and pointed eastward.

“Let’s go inland a bit and follow the mountains northward,” he said. “They’re very picturesque, and I’d like a good look at them. Mind?”

“Okay by me,” Dave replied with a nod. “Always did like mountain flying. Fair enough, then. Hang on, little man. Here we go.”

Banking the plane eastward, Dave headed for the long range of towering peaks, then turned northward when he was over them, and throttled slightly. For a good half hour they flew along about the peaks, not saying more than half a dozen words to each other. The wild rugged beauty of the scene below was something that made words seem empty and futile. It was a scene that moved the heart rather than the tongue.

Suddenly, though, Freddy Farmer leaned forward and rapped Dave sharply on the shoulder.

“Off there to the right, Dave!” he called out. “About a mile, and down in that valley shaped like an S. I think--Dave! That’s a crashed plane down there, or I’m crazy. Look! Do you see it?”

Dave stared hard off his right wing and down at the valley indicated by Freddy Farmer’s pointed finger. It was several seconds, though, before he spotted the crumpled wings of a wrecked plane, and the broken tail that was sticking straight up in the air. But for Freddy Farmer he could have flown over the spot a hundred times, and not sighted anything but the trees. But now that Farmer’s eagle eyes had picked it out for him, the crashed plane was as clear as day to him. He took a quick glance back at Freddy, nodded vigorously, and impulsively hauled the throttle all the way back.

“Check!” he cried. “And from the wing color and markings, that looks like an Army Air Corps ship to me. My guess is that it’s a Curtiss P-Forty. I’m going down for a better look--and a landing, if we can make it.”

“Of course it may be an old crash,” Freddy said as he kept his gaze fixed on the wreck. “And the pilot has been rescued. But good grief, in this wild country a chap could be lost for weeks.”

“You’re telling me?” Dave echoed. “That’s why I’m going to make plenty sure before I try and sit down. We’ve got an important date in San Francisco tonight, you know.”

Freddy Farmer nodded absently, and then both boys shut up and concentrated all of their attention on the crashed plane. Dave took the Vultee downward, held it steady against the ever changing wind currents in among the mountain, and eventually was no more than a couple of hundred feet over the wreck. It was then that Freddy Farmer’s sharp eyes went to bat again.

“It isn’t an old crash, Dave!” he cried. “And there is the pilot chap, on the ground close to that buckled left wing. See him? He’s alive, but hurt. He can’t get up. He’s waving to us. Dave, think you can make it?”

Dawson didn’t reply. He had already seen the injured pilot waving for help, and he was now stabbing the ground with his eyes for a suitable place in which to sit down. He finally picked a spot no more than a quarter of a mile away. It was small, and mighty narrow, but he was sure that he could make it. If he didn’t? He didn’t bother to answer that question. Right now there was an injured man down there on the ground who seemed to need help badly. And that was the important thing.

“This is it, Freddy!” he called out grimly. “That narrow strip dead ahead. I’m going to shoot for it. Be ready to stick out your hands and push the tree trunks away!”

“Never mind the funny remarks!” Farmer barked right back at him. “Just get us down in one piece. That’s all you have to worry about.”

“A mere detail!” Dave growled, but didn’t bother to turn his head. “Just a mere detail. Consider it as good as done!”

Perhaps it was sixty seconds, or maybe it was sixty years before Dave felt the wheels touch, and was able to start braking the Vultee to a gentle stop. Only when the plane was motionless, and just the prop was ticking over, did he let the trapped air from his lungs. He did it with a long shrill whistle and wiped beads of cold sweat from his face.

“I think it’s safe to look, Freddy,” he said. “Is that the ground we’re resting on? Boy, oh boy! I’m still not sure whether I should believe it or not.”

“It’s true enough,” Freddy said, and gulped. “But how you ever made it, don’t ever ask! Very top-hole, just the same, Dave. One of the best bits of flying I ever saw you do. And I mean that, old thing!”

Dave wiped some more sweat from his face and legged out and down onto the ground.

“Thanks, pal,” he said. “But I did it by making believe it was you at the controls. Okay, let’s--”

Dave didn’t finish. At that moment came the agonized cry of an injured man through the trees.

“Help! Help! Over this way! Can you hear me? Can you hear me? Over this way--hurry...!”

Dave and Freddy simply glanced at each other. Then they spun around as one man and went plunging blindly back through the heavy valley growth.