The new dawn sun was well up over the eastern rim of the world and was driving the shadows of night over the western lip in a hurry when Dave Dawson and Freddy Farmer sighted the flight of American patrol planes.

They were Navy long-range Catalina flying boats and they were coming straight on toward the Flying Fortress.

"Nice!" Dawson grunted with a nod of his head. "That's something I was hoping that we'd see just about now. Asleep at the switch once, maybe, but not twice. Nope, not a chance."

"All of which sounds very interesting," Freddy Farmer murmured, and rubbed a dirty hand over his tired-looking face. "But do you mind explaining what you mean? I'm afraid I'm a little bit too done in this morning to bother making guesses. What about those Catboats, Dave?"

"That they're there, and coming toward us on a beeline," Dave replied with a nod toward the approaching flying boats. "It means that they are sure on the alert at Pearl Harbor, these days. Obviously they picked us up on radar, and radioed those patrol planes to come out for a look at us. In other words, there'll never be a second sneak attack on the Hawaiians."

"Oh, I see," Young Farmer grunted. "Yes, I guess you're right. I fancy that ... oh-oh. Half a minute, Dave. They're on the radio. I'll handle it, if you wish."

Dawson nodded and watched the three Catalinas move into line formation.

The request for an identification signal was already sounding in his earphones.

"Sure, go ahead, kid," he said. "But watch your English accent. They might wonder, and start to get funny. And I don't want to play around any more. I want just to get my feet on firm, hard ground for a change."

Freddy Farmer made a face at him, and then put his lips to the radio mike.

"Fortress to Catalinas!" he barked. "Plane XFT, Captain Dawson in command. Request permission to proceed to destination Four-Seven-Six.

Over!"

There was a moment of silence; then they both heard the reply.

"Patrol to XFT! Proceed to destination. Welcome. Did you have a nice trip? Over!"

Freddy Farmer glanced at Dawson out the corner of his eye, and grinned impishly.

"XFT to Patrol!" he called out. "A jolly fine trip, old tin of fruit.

Top-hole, really, what? Really a bit of all right, I fancy, old bean!

Off!"

Young Farmer started to switch off but at that instant came sharp words from the Catalinas.

"Patrol to XFT!" the voice crackled in their earphones. "Who is that talking? I thought you said Captain Dawson was in command."

Dave quickly shook his head as Freddy started to reply. He spoke into the radio mike, instead.

"Captain Dawson speaking, sir," he said. "And I am in command of this aircraft. That was an English refugee who gave you our identification.

Name of Captain Farmer. Sorry he hasn't been able to master the language yet, sir. If you were to meet him, and see what he looks like, you'd understand."

Laughter burst out in the earphones, and thunderheads clouded up in Freddy Farmer's eyes. He glared at Dawson, but after a moment or two he smiled sheepishly.

"All right, all right," he said in a resigned voice. "I should have known that I couldn't top you blasted Yanks in such a situation. I'll not forget it, my lad, though. Just remember that!"

Dawson chuckled, and made a face. Then the two of them watched the three Catalinas swing gracefully away and go back onto their patrol course.

Some twenty minutes later they picked up Diamond Head on the Island of Oahu, and shortly after that they were circling slowly over Hickam Field, waiting for permission to land.

"You know, Freddy," Dave murmured as he stared down at the huge military aviation base, "in a way the j.a.ps almost did us a favor by pulling that sneak attack. Take a look down there. That's really something, now, isn't it? The very latest of everything. No long lines of planes, now, to make perfect strafing targets. Every single plane dispersed just as it should be. And look at those flak batteries, will you! Boy! A mosquito's life wouldn't be worth a thin dime around here, once those guns opened up."

"Yes, the chaps are certainly ready and prepared for anything and everything now," Freddy Farmer said softly, and let his gaze wander.

"But what a blasted shame they had to be caught off guard that day. The one thing that amazes me, though, is the way you Yanks can dig in and clear up things. I declare you'd never guess, now, that such terrible damage had been done that way. It's positively amazing, really."

"Just an old American custom, Freddy," Dave said lightly. "When we really start to do a thing, we do it, tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs and all. We don't kid around. We roll up our sleeves, and ..."

"I know, I know!" Freddy cried with a wave of his hand. "You Yanks are positively wonderful. That is, next to the British, of course. Now, there is a people who ..."

"And there is the signal to come on in!" Dawson interrupted. "And praise Allah for that! But tell me about the British people again sometime, will you, pal? Say about ninety-nine years from now, huh?"

"What a shame I haven't my usual strength this morning!" young Farmer growled. "If I had, you'd go down by 'chute, and I'd take this thing in."

Dave laughed, and then concentrated on circling into the wind and sliding the Flying Fortress down to a perfect landing on the strip ordered by the officer in the control tower. As soon as the huge craft came to a full stop both youths breathed deeply, and then grinned at each other.

"Feels good, doesn't it, Freddy, huh?" Dawson said.

"Don't think it ever felt so good before," young Farmer agreed instantly. "English-born I may be, but I'm afraid I'm definitely not a follower of the sea. I always feel much better when there is the ground underneath me."

"Well, it's there under us now, and both of us are stationary, praise be!" Dawson said. "And between you and me, if there wasn't anybody looking, I'd get down on my hands and knees and kiss it, I feel so good to be here. Frankly, this flight's one that I'd like to forget in a hurry. And that's no kidding, either."

"Definitely not!" young Farmer echoed. Then with a frown he said, "But that business last night still bothers me. Somehow, I just can't see how that j.a.prat we met at San Diego could possibly have had anything to do with it. Just sabotage, I think, and we happened to be the two unlucky ones who took this aircraft off the L.A. base field."

"Maybe," Dawson said with a shrug. "But until I get a better explanation I'm going to continue to pin it on that j.a.prat. Anyway, here we are, and that j.a.prat back at Dago is a forgotten issue, as far as I'm concerned.

Now it's for that dirty n.a.z.i in a Yank Naval Aviation uniform, the stinker."

"Quite," Freddy Farmer murmured. "And here comes the reception committee, or something. Looks like they don't trust you to taxi this thing in. The signal tower says for us to stay put. Just as well, too.

You can mess up an airplane even on the ground, you know."

Dawson had a fitting crack to that remark, but he sighed and let it go unspoken. An Air Forces jeep had come rocketing out to the Flying Fortress, and braked to a stop just under the left wing. Dave half waved at the occupants of the jeep, three Air Forces officers and a Navy commander, and then slid out of his seat, and made his way aft to the belly exit of the plane.

A couple of minutes later they were facing the wide-eyed stares of the jeep's riders.

"I'm Captain Larkin, duty officer," one of the Air Forces officers said.

"But, what happened to you two? You run into trouble? From here you look like you b.u.mped into the whole j.a.p air force."

"We had a little trouble," Dawson said with a grin. "But ..."

That's as far as he got. The Navy commander gave a sharp shake of his head, and stepped forward.

"Sorry, Captain Larkin," he said with a pleasant smile, "but these two are to report to Vice-Admiral Stone at once. Any report is to be made to him."

Captain Larkin frowned, then shrugged and returned the other's smile.

"Yes, of course, Commander," he said. "I understand. But ... well, let it go. Welcome to Hickam, you two. If you get the chance, drop back over here and tell us what's new on the mainland, eh?"

"We'll do that, if we get the chance," Dawson a.s.sured him.

"Oh, quite," Freddy Farmer murmured.

And then the Navy commander took charge of them. He introduced himself as Commander Drake, and he talked pleasantly of everything save their flight to Oahu as he led them off the field and over to a waiting Navy car, with a rating at the wheel.