of the beefy, reliable type of the two who had towed us. Sander would never mistake a radio compass correction or miscalculate a landing level; an excellent pilot for a daylight passenger bus. But for finding the way about in fog and by night without bearings, in a one-place, five-mile-a-minute monoplane, give me Boggs or Donley—or myself or Pete.
Bane held to the same preference, I knew. He could supply himself with any number of pilots like Sander for passenger planes or freighters; but of the combat type, he had had only four to sit at his table until Pete and I followed him home; and we were not yet converted to him.
The object of taking me to headquarters—wherever they were—obviously was to convert me and, through me, convince Pete and make us trustworthy combat pilots in the imminent enterprise with the automaton planes and the ton bombs of TNT. Pete, I realized, was held as a sort of hostage for my good faith and behavior upon this educational expedition. Lacey, I supposed, was similarly held hostage for his daughter.
