eros 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