Stretching out as comfortably as the gear-packed bomb compartment of the Flying Fortress would permit, Dave Dawson lazily unwrapped a bar of semi-sweet chocolate, and bit off a man-sized hunk.

"Ub glub dish blub ice," he grunted, and winked at Freddy Farmer, who was sitting on a packing case of spare parts a few feet from him. "Deferenally jice!"

The English-born air ace gave him a cold stare and a scowl.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, little boy!" he said. "In fact, don't talk at all."

"And that from a guy I've often seen eat peas off a knife," Dawson chuckled after he had swallowed. "But, as I was saying, this is my idea of something nice. Definitely nice."

"You think so?" Freddy snorted, and glanced out the port at the broad expanse of sun-flooded Indian Ocean beneath the wings of the B-17. "What's nice about it, I'd like to know? Nothing but water down there. And more water!"

"So what are you kicking about, Pal?" Dave shot at him. "You're only seeing the top of it, you know. But I meant it's nice to be air chauffeured around once in a while. Just sit back and relax and enjoy yourself, while some other guy does all the work."

"I always suspected that you were born lazy," Freddy said. "And every day in every way I'm becoming more and more convinced. I wouldn't relax too much, old thing, if I were you. In case you don't remember, there is still a world war going on. And particularly in this part of the world. Just over there a couple of hundred miles or so are some islands called the Dutch East Indies. Right now a mess of slant-eyed devils are in control. And they have quite a few airplanes, too, for another thing."

"Meaning?" Dawson grunted and frowned.

"Meaning that we're expected to do something in return for this hitch hike hop from India to Australia," the English youth explained. "In other words, we are expected, like everybody else aboard, to keep an eye out for possible approaching enemy planes."

"Do tell, do tell!" Dawson murmured, and pushed himself up to a half sitting position.

Turning his head slightly, he took a long look out the port nearest him. Then presently he shook his head, relaxed and slumped back to his original position.

"Nope," he grinned at Freddy. "No enemy planes approaching, sir. Now what?"

Freddy made sounds in his throat and stabbed a finger at the bomb bay doors.

"You could step down through there, and neglect to take your parachute along!" he snapped. "You know something, Dave? I'm just a little worried about you."

"Good!" Dawson chuckled, and bit off another hunk of chocolate. "Worrying about me will keep you out of trouble, and that will be fine. But, seriously, what's on your mind, my good fellow? You do have a mind, don't you?"

"I have a mind to toss you overboard, and not even mention it to the others!" Freddy came right back. "But seriously speaking, too, I really am worried about you. You've lost your pep and you're going stale. And—"

"Hey, what gives?" Dawson cried, and sat up straight. "Just stick a Jap Zero out there, sweetheart, and I'll show you who's going stale. Where do you get that stuff, anyway?"

"Oh, I don't mean that," Freddy said with a faint gesture. "I imagine you could shoot down a Zero—if the pilot would keep it still long enough. No, I mean about your pep, your—well, your disinterest, Dave. Once you used to be all keyed up about what was going to happen next. But now...? Well, you just seem to slide along from day to day. Sort of take things as they come."

"So?" Dawson mumbled, and munched on his chocolate.

"See what I mean?" Freddy cried angrily. "No interest at all in what's going to happen next. Take this flight we're making right now. A couple of weeks ago we were pulled out of China to India. And now we're on our way to Australia. And, from there to where, or what? You haven't said a word about that. Yet once you used to comb your brain for the answers. Nowadays, though, you don't appear to give such things so much as a thought. Are you getting war weary, Dave, or just naturally slipping."

Dawson didn't say anything for a while. He finished his chocolate and licked his fingers in frowning silence."Well, I'll tell you, pal," he finally spoke. "Maybe it's because I'm getting old. And so are you, only you won't admit it. Yet maybe that's not right, either. I think it's because I'm all washed up with guessing, and never guessing right. I mean about jobs for us to do. Think back over our war experiences, Freddy. Think back and just name one time when we got orders to report some place that we knew why, and what it was all about. Go ahead. Think hard, and try and come up with one example. Just try, brother; just try!"

Freddy Farmer concentrated hard for a moment or two, and then finally shook his head.

"No, I'm afraid I can't think of a single time," he said. "But—"

"Nuts to the buts!" Dawson snapped. "That's the idea, see? Here today, and some place else tomorrow. And nobody ever tells us. So why get all steamed up wondering and guessing? I'm just tired of doing it, see? So I skip the wondering and guessing, nowadays."

Freddy Farmer stared at him and then grunted and dragged down one corner of his mouth.

"And if you'll pardon the Yank expression, my dear sir," he said, "you are what is known as a cockeyed liar. And you know it! You mean to tell me you're not wondering why we've been ordered to Australia? Don't be coy, old thing! You're just trying to put off an act!"

"It's put on an act, dummy!" Dave growled at him. "Okay, I have wondered a little. So what? At least I'm not filling the breeze with a lot of questions out loud. I'll just take what comes, and let it go at that. Only I hope it's some action. And I do mean real action!"

"And I've a fancy that's just what you're going to get!" the English-born air ace spoke up. "I was talking with a chap in Calcutta, just before we left. He has a friend attached to Far East H.Q., and he hinted that the Japs have assembled a thundering big naval and air force in the Southeastern Pacific. And an all out attack is to be made on Australia 'most any day now."

"Nuts!" Dawson snorted. "After all these years, and you fall for that kind of rumor stuff. You should know better, Freddy!"

"Oh, you think so?" the English youth flared up. "I suppose you've got the real inside information straight from General MacArthur?"

"No," Dawson replied with a straight face. "But I met a chap in Calcutta, too. A Yank infantry lieutenant. He has a girl who goes around with a fellow who has an uncle who had dinner in Washington with the close friend of a Senator. And what do you think that Senator said had been decided?"

Freddy Farmer hesitated, but couldn't stop himself.

"What did he say?" he asked.

"That the U.S. has made a deal with Japan about the Pacific!" Dave came back instantly. "We're going to take half, and the Japs are going to take half. We're—Hey! What's wrong, Freddy?"

The last was because the English youth had suddenly wrapped his arms about his middle, and was swaying back and forth with an expression of agonizing pain on his face. He suddenly stopped and gave a sad shake of his head.

"You!" he groaned. "Good grief! Why did it have to be you, my very best friend? And I swore by all that's holy that I'd do it, too!"

"Say, what is this?" Dawson demanded, and leaned forward. "What in thunder are you raving about, anyway? Swore you'd do what?"

"Swore I'd shoot the very next blighter who pulled that old, old one about the U.S. taking the top half of the Pacific, and the Japs the bottom half!" Freddy groaned. "So be a good chap, and hand me your gun, will you?"

"I'll hand you more than a gun!" Dave growled. "You bum! You had the pants scared off me there for a moment. I—"

Dave cut off the rest short as Captain Banks, of the Army Air Transport Command, and pilot of the Flying Fortress, came through the door from up forward. He held a slip of paper in his hand, and he gave Dawson and Farmer a quizzical look.

"Big shots I've got aboard, huh?" he said with a grin. "Maybe personal friends of MacArthur?"

"Not that I know of, anyway, Skipper," Dave replied with a grin. "Why? Is that thing in your hand news for us? If it's bad news, then we bailed out about ten minutes ago."

"Good or bad, I wouldn't know," the Flying Fortress' commander said with a shrug. "It's a radio from MacArthur's Headquarters. We're to land at Broome. There you two are to grab a plane and hike straight over to H.Q. in Sydney, and report."

"But I thought you were taking us to Darwin?" Freddy Farmer spoke up.

"We were, but orders are canceled," Banks replied. "The big boys seem to want you two to get to H.Q. in a hurry. You wouldn't have any idea, I suppose, huh? Us Air Transport slaves don't get very close to the fighting very often. Kind of a lonely life, if you get what I mean? Take this ferry hop, for example. We're armed, of course, and there are Jap air bases within range to give us some action. But will we run into anything like that? No such luck. So we bear up the best we can, and make a hobby of collecting gossip. So if you two know any—"

And that's as far as the Flying Fortress commander got. At that moment there came the bank and snap of the aft turret guns. And a split second later the excited cry carried through the ship.

"Enemy aircraft off to port! A half dozen of them. Zeros!"

"My gosh, what do you know?" Captain Banks gasped, and stared wide-eyed at Dawson.

"You shouldn't have talked so loud, Skipper!" Dave laughed, and sprang to his feet. "Tojo heard you that time, and is obliging!"