Maybe Tojo wasn't obliging the Flying Fortress' commander, but six Jap Zero pilots most certainly were. As Dawson leaped to a pair of waist guns and peered to port, he saw the six Zeros prop-piling down like six bullet-spitting maniacs. Steadying himself, he trained his guns on the leading plane and fired. His tracers streaked out and seemed to be cutting the Zero's left wing in two, but the Jap craft continued to come boiling in at the big four-engined bomber. Lumps of lead began to bounce and jounce around in Dawson's stomach. The pilot of that leading Zero seemed to be bullet-proof. He also seemed to have but one thought in his head: to keep right on thundering down and ram the Flying Fortress in midair.But cold fear was Dawson's for only a brief instant. He corrected his aim and let fly again with his guns. This time the Zero was out of luck. It took the full fury of Dawson's fire, seemed to stagger in the air for a moment before it blew up in a cloud of orange flame and smoke, and went showering down out of sight.

"One for our side!" Dawson shouted happily. "Now—!"

The chattering yammer of Freddy Farmer's guns in the slot above him cut off the rest of Dawson's words. And in practically the same instant a second Zero spouted black smoke, and then nosed over to go hurtling straight downward, tracing its path of doom straight to the surface of the Indian Ocean.

"My error!" Dawson bellowed. "I meant, two for our side. Nice going, Freddy!"

Of course the English-born air ace didn't hear him, because all of the Fortress's guns were hammering death and destruction into the four remaining Zeros. In less time than it takes to tell about it, there were only two Zeros left. Then only one. And then, as Dawson got off a perfect deflection burst, there weren't any Zeros left in that section of the sky.

"And that's that!" Dave panted as he searched the sun-tinted air. "Six for six. Not bad. It was almost fun while it lasted. It—well, strike me pink, as Freddy would say!"

He had happened to glance down at his shirt to see that his silver Air Forces pilot's wings were not pinned in place above the left pocket flap. His decoration ribbons were there, but no wings. Where they had been was a nice clean tear in the material. Pop-eyed, he stared at the tear, and then impulsively looked down at the compartment floor boards. And there they were. His wings. But not as he'd ever seen them before. In a few words, they looked as if they had been run over by an express train. Or better still, as if they'd been accidentally dropped into a meat grinder. They were twisted all out of shape, and there was a deep smooth groove right across the middle from one wingtip to the other wingtip. And as Dave stared at them, and leaned over to pick them up, a twitch of pain passed across his upper left chest.

"And I didn't even feel that Jap bullet!" he gulped, and fingered the bullet-creased wings. "But, boy, that—that was too darn close!"

"What was too close, Dave?" Freddy Farmer's voice spoke at his elbow.

Dawson held out the bullet-creased wings for Freddy to see.

"One of those birds was a sharp shooter," he said with a mirthless chuckle. "Only not quite sharp enough, thank my lucky stars. Kind of close, huh?"

Freddy Farmer's eyes widened, and for a moment all he could do was stare at the damaged wings and then at the torn space on Dave's shirt where they had been.

"Good grief, I can hardly believe it!" he finally gasped. "It's—it's a miracle, Dave. You should be dead, by rights, you know."

"Thanks, I like it better this way," Dawson replied grimly, and dropped the wings into his pocket. "If I believed in signs I'd take this to mean that it was only the beginning of something. And now that I come to think of it, I wonder if it is."

"Rubbish!" Freddy Farmer snorted. "It's a sign, all right. But it's a sign of how blasted lucky you always are!"

"Sure!" Dawson growled. "Also a sign that I've got to fork out dough for a new pair, and—No, by gosh, I won't! The pin on these is okay. So darned if I won't wear them for continued luck. I'll—"

He cut off the rest as Captain Banks came hurrying into the compartment. The worry on the bomber commander's face faded away as soon as he laid eyes on the pair."You two okay, eh, thank God!" he grunted. "Well, then I can bawl you out. What was the big idea, anyway? Didn't you stop to remember that there're eight other guys on this sky wagon?"

"Huh, Skipper?" Dawson echoed. "Come again?"

"Six nice juicy Zeros!" Captain Banks said with tears in his voice. "Six of them! And what happens? You birds nail four of them between you. It ain't right. There should be a law against birds like you cheating us war-starved ferry crews out of a look at the war. Kidding aside, though, fellows, thanks, and how! Those Zero rats don't waste much time giving you the works, do they? And my heart was choking me when I thought that one of them was going to ram us. Wonder I didn't put this old baby in a power spin. I—Hey! What happened to your wings, Dawson? You been teething on them?"

"They dropped off, and Farmer stepped on them before I could pick them up," Dawson grinned. "Look at his big feet, if you don't believe me. But, speaking of other things, Skipper, how long before we get in?"

The Fortress commander glanced at his wrist watch, and pursed his lips.

"Twenty minutes," he said. "Unless we run into more Zeros. And I hope we do. But hey! Those jobs were pretty far out to sea, now that I come to think of it."

"Too far," Dave told him quietly. "My guess is that they were carrier-based. This is your usual ferry course from India to Australia, isn't it?"

"Check, and I get your thought," the pilot nodded as his face became grave. "You think maybe the Japs have sent out a carrier force to cut a hole in our air supply route, huh?"

"Could be," Dawson shrugged. "I wouldn't want to bet against it, anyway. And—well, skip it."

"No," the other said. "Go on and say the rest of it."

"Well, if I were flying this job," Dawson replied with a half grin, "I think that right now I'd give those four Wright Cyclones you've got a chance to show what they can do. But, after all, I'm strictly a safety first guy, Skipper."

"That makes two of us," Banks said quickly. "Anyway, my job is to get these babies to Australia for other guys to use, so I'll just stick to my knitting, I reckon. Okay, fellows, hang onto your hats. I'm going to cut that twenty minutes to fifteen, at least. And again, thanks for that job on those Zeros."The Flying Fortress commander not only called the turn, but made good. Just ten minutes later the west coast of Australia was sighted. And five minutes after that the big four-engined job, being ferried out to the South Pacific to play its part in the war, was tooled down to an expert landing on the Air Forces constructed field on the outskirts of the city of Broome. Dave and Freddy gathered up their small and compact kit bags and climbed out with the rest of the crew onto the ground. There they intended to bid goodbye to the others, but before either one of them could open his mouth a jeep streaked out from the hangar line and a staff major popped out of it like a pea out of a split pod.

"Captains Dawson and Farmer?" he barked, and looked hard at Dave.

"I'm Dawson, sir," Dave replied with a nod. "And this is Captain Farmer."

"Very good!" the senior officer snapped. "Come along, then. Get into the car quickly! Your plane is waiting. Maps and weather charts are in the pits. Come on; snap it up!"

A flash of resentment passed through Dawson. The major was a ground officer. He wore no wings on his tunic, nor any decoration ribbons, either. As a matter of fact, he looked to Dave like one of those well known forty-eight-hour soldiers. In other words, a man who gets a commission while en route to Washington, and comes back wearing his brand-new tailor-made uniform.

"Something up, Major?" Dave asked quietly. "What's all the rush about?"

"What would you suppose?" the major came right back angrily. "There happens to be a war on. Also, lots of things to do. H.Q. has ordered for you to report in a hurry, and that's what you're to do. Now, let's get going, you two!"

Dave knew that he was letting his anger get the better of him, but he couldn't help himself. This staff major was the type of officer that always gave him a pain in the neck. He'd met up with more than one during his war career. Put an officer's insignia on their shoulder straps and they went sky high with importance. And the higher the rank they held, the higher went their belief in their own importance. Maybe that was okay around training camps or induction centers. But that sort of thing didn't go with shot and shell-seasoned veterans. So naturally it didn't go with Dave.

"Just a minute, Major," he said. "I think first I should report the engagement."

"What's that?" the other gasped, rising to the bait. "Did you say engagement?"

"That's right, Major," Dawson assured him. "Half a dozen Zeros attacked us about ninety miles off shore. We got them all, but they must have been carrier-based. I heard a report that there is a huge Jap attack force heading for this coast. Of course, it may be only a rumor, but—"

"Heading for here?" the Major gulped, and his face tightened. "Are you sure?"

Dave shrugged and gestured with a hand.

"Well, I didn't actually see them, Major," he replied truthfully. "But the Japs have pulled a lot of fast ones in this war. You never can tell, you know."

"No, you never can, that's right," the other said, and glanced nervously toward the west. "Well, your plane is waiting. I'll run you over, and make the report myself to the commanding officer. A huge Jap attack force, eh?"

Dawson didn't say anything. He simply nudged Freddy Farmer's arm, and the pair stepped into the jeep. The major stalled the engine twice before he got the jeep going. And then he made a dash down along the edge of the field as though Jap troops were actually rushing up from the other side. He braked to a screaming halt in front of the field office, waved a hand at a waiting plane some fifty yards farther on, and then leaped out and dashed inside.

"Good grief, the blighter is in a hurry, isn't he?" Freddy Farmer breathed as they walked over toward the plane, a Wright-powered Vultee attack bomber. "But why did you fill him with all that junk about a huge Jap attack force?"

"Well, you said you heard on good authority that there was one, didn't you?" Dawson chuckled. "And, I just don't like efficient stuffed shirts like him. I like to see them get their whiskers burned. Anyway, I'm hoping that the C.O. of this field is the kind of a bird who'll do it. We'll know when Major Importance comes out. Well, anyway, we've got a nice job to fly. And we should see quite a bit of this down-under continent by the time we hit Sydney."

"You take the scenery," Freddy Farmer grunted, and stowed his kit in the Vultee's pit. "I'll take Sydney as fast as I can get it. Lord, Dave! Do you suppose General MacArthur himself wants to see us?"

"Nope," Dawson replied instantly, and tossed his kit aboard. "If the orders had read for me to report alone, I'd say probably. But we are both to report, so meeting the general is definitely out, if you get what I mean?"Freddy Farmer glared and stuck out his tongue.

"Too bad you were wearing those wings at the wrong time!" he snapped. "But pardon me, old thing, for stirring that brain of yours. You aren't wondering about the future any more, are you? Well, let's get on with it. Half a moment, though. As I recall, it's my turn to pilot. So get into the gunner's seat, young man. Up with you!"

Dave shook his head, and grinned.

"Let me sky-steer her this time, as a favor, Freddy," he pleaded. Then, as he looked past Farmer toward the field office, he added quickly, "There isn't time to explain, but be a good guy and let me take her off. I'll remember you in my will, if you do."

The English youth started to shake his head, but something he saw in Dawson's face suddenly caused him to change his mind. He let out a resigned sigh, and shrugged.

"Right you are, then," he grunted. "But I think I'm a fool to let you. You're up to something!"

"Me?" Dave murmured innocently, and strapped on his parachute pack. "Perish the thought, sweetheart. I just like to pilot. Oh-oh! Somebody got choked off plenty, but is trying not to show it!"

That somebody was the staff major. He came over to the plane very flushed in the face, and with an ugly look in his eye.

"You reported that rumor to the commanding officer, sir?" Dave asked politely.

"I did!" the other snapped, and let it go at that. Then, suddenly pointing a stiff finger at Dawson, he barked, "And just what do you call that, Captain?"

Dave didn't catch the meaning of the question for a couple of seconds. He was enjoying the mental picture of this band box officer rushing into a hard bitten C.O.'s office with a scare rumor that a huge Jap attack force was less than a hundred miles off the Australian coast. And of how he came out with his ears burning from the officer's words about what he could do with his crazy and utterly impossible tale! And then Dave realized that the Major was stabbing a finger at his bullet-smacked wings.

"Why, they're my pilot's wings, sir," he replied. "They met with a little accident."

"And they certainly look it!" the Major rasped. "A fine thing to wear on a Government uniform! A lot of you young officers certainly need to be taught a bit more respect for your uniforms, and the insignia you wear. I'd advise you to obtain a new pair before you report to H.Q. in Sydney. Now, go ahead and take off! You're late enough as it is! Get going!"

"Yes, sir, very good, sir," Dave said as meekly as he could, and climbed into the pilot's pit with anger seething in his soul.

The engine had already been warmed up, and it was now just idling over. Strapping himself in, Dave looked back to get the nod from Freddy, and to snap a quick glance at the major. The senior officer was standing a few feet off the right wing tip in the perfect attitude of an old crank waiting to make sure that a couple of trespassing kids got off the property. Turning front, Dave smothered a grin and released the wheel brakes, and inched open the throttle enough to get the Vultee rolling forward. Then when the tail came abreast of the major, Dave opened up the throttle wide and tapped the left wheel brake just enough to swing the tail over to the right. Then he banged the throttle the rest of the way open and took off in a hurry. As he cleared the ground, he looked back and hooted. The major was flat on his back in a cloud of dust, with his feet straight up in the air. And his officer's cap was spinning along the edge of the field like a runaway spare wheel.

"Oops, so sorry, Big Shot!" Dawson shouted. "Darned if I didn't forget you were there. Better go wash your neck. The Army must always look clean and tidy, you know, Major. So long, chump!"

"And the Military Police will probably be waiting for you, old thing, at Sydney!" Freddy Farmer sang out between spells of laughter. "There's such a thing as radio, you know."

"And that'll be okay, too!" Dave chuckled. "They can bring me back here, so's I can do it all over again. Make cracks about my wings, huh? Too had he wasn't a captain, or I wasn't a major, too. I think I would enjoy very much pasting that make-believe in the nose. Well, here we go again. On again, off again—as usual!"