STANDING in the hangar entrance, leaning lightly on the broom that he'd been wielding, Tom Carroll peered toward the purplish-green hills that framed Wayfield. Far in the distance, and high above the rising slopes beyond the town, he spotted a flock of ducks beating their way to the north. As if powered by motors, the birds drove through the blue and cloudless skies, on a steady beam for their northland haven. A little less ragged in formation, he thought, and the specks might easily be mistaken for sleek aircraft speeding to a base.

He wished that they were planes. Then they might swing eastward to Wayfield and the sea, circle overhead, peel off, and swoop down to land at the airport. One by one they would touch their wheels to the ground, lose speed along the runway and roar to a stop near the hangar. Of course, not many could be harbored at the Wayfield Airport, for it was small and meant only for light traffic. But it would be exciting to have, say, six or eight planes put in for a while. He could talk to the pilots and crews, maybe help them gas up their ships and listen to their chatter. It would really be fine, he thought, to have something like that happen.

His eyes dropped to the runway, and he sighed. In all the area there wasn't a thing to see, no motion except along the runway itself, where the tall grass was waving in the gentle spring breeze. There wasn't a plane on the field, for even Nick Crynes' L-5 was resting in the hangar. Not a single person was in sight, nor had been since Nick had gone off to town and left Tom in charge of the garage and hangar. The Wayfield Airport, Tom admitted gloomily to himself, was certainly a center of anything but activity. With a lingering look at the skies that were now even empty of birds, he turned about and resumed sweeping out the hangar.

As he made a final swipe at the floor with the broom, he heard a car squeal to a stop outside. He was starting toward the doorway when Nick Crynes, short and broad-shouldered, entered the building.

"Hi, Tom! Any business while I was away?" Nick asked.

"Air business or ground business?" Tom countered. "I know there wasn't any air business," Nick replied, his weather-beaten face wreathed in a friendly smile.

"The usual stuff--gas, oil, and one inner tube. Mrs. Tompkins phoned, too. She said she'd bring her car in Monday for a grease job. That's about all," Tom summed up.

Nick shook his head lugubriously. "It's a good thing you're taking your wages out in flying time. I'd have a hard row to hoe paying you in cash. Fact is, I made more money as a sergeant-pilot in the Army."

"It wasn't bad for a Saturday. Anyway, as far as the pay is concerned I prefer flying with you in that L-5 to money," Tom said, a grin lighting his face.

Nick looked curiously at his young companion. Slipping an arm over Tom's shoulder, he said, "You really do like to fly, don't you?"

"That's why I asked you to let me work here, right after we came to Wayfield," Tom answered.

"Let's see... you've been here a little more than a month. Have you gotten to know many of the fellows at high school yet?"

"A few," Tom replied. "But the only one I've spent much time with is Red Martin."

"I know Red. He's a nice youngster," Nick said. "But after you get to know the others a little better, you'll maybe want to spend your Saturdays with them instead of working around here."

"Any of them interested in flying?" Tom asked.

Nick laughed and shook his head again. "You've got a one track mind, son. But to answer your question, I'd say no. There isn't much interest in flying on the part of anyone here in Wayfield."

"No one at all?" Tom asked, unbelievingly.

"Oh, there're a few that did some flying during the war," Nick stated. "Sam Tolliver, for instance. You know him. He's the athletic instructor and coach at the school. He was in the Air Force, and so were Bill Trabue, Frank Parfish, Dick Hirsch and a few more."

"Why aren't they doing any flying now?"

"Well, that's not hard to answer. First of all, it costs quite a bit to keep a private plane. Then, several of them are air reservists and put in active time during the summer. Finally, there's really no reason why they should want to go to the trouble and expense of doing any private flying. As a matter of fact, I probably wouldn't even keep my plane if this garage business, which I bought right after the war, didn't happen to be located right here at the airport."

"Golly? Tom exclaimed in wonderment. "I should think everyone who could would like to fly."

"I sure wish they did," Nick said with a chuckle. "It would help business. I'd do a lot better if there was some real traffic here instead of the occasional plane that puts in at the field."

"I'd really like to see more planes around here, too," Tom said. "I'd like to see this place--"

The sharp ring of the telephone cut him short, and Nick moved across the room to answer it. After a brief opening conversation, the airport man reached for a pencil and paper and began jotting down notes.

"Let me see if I have this right," Nick said into the mouthpiece. "Took off from Sandeford this morning... headed down between Easton and Greenville. Right. The CAP squadron will base its operations here at Wayfield . . . search and rescue planes will take off from Sandeford and will re-fuel here. Right. Okay, I think I've got it all. We'll do everything we can to help. See you later, Major."

"Well, Tom," Nick said as he hung up the telephone receiver, "it looks as if we're going to see a little action around here. That was Major Boswell of the Civil Air Patrol at Sandeford. He told me that a private plane had taken off this morning and was believed to be down somewhere between Easton and Greenville. It hasn't been checked in since it was last seen over Easton. The CAP is starting a search and rescue mission from Sandeford, but they're going to base the operation here at Wayfield. Let's take a look at the map and we'll see why."

Pulling down a sheaf of maps that were on a shelf above his desk, Nick thumbed through them until he found the one for which he was looking. Opening it up, he spread it out on the desk.

"Now let's see," he said, moving a pencil lightly across the chart. "Here's Sandeford, about a hundred miles south of Wayfield. No, southeast. West of us, more or less forty miles, is Easton. And Greenville is about seventy-five miles northwest of us. So Wayfield is about in the middle of a line between Sandeford and Greenville, and I guess that's why the CAP wants to use this field."

"I'm sure sorry about that plane going down," Tom said, "but glad the CAP is going to operate from here. Maybe I'll get a chance to fly with them, Nick."

"I'm afraid not, Tom. They're strictly business, you know," Nick said. "You've heard about them, haven't you?"

"Sure. They're a bunch of civilians who go out on jobs like this one."

"There's a lot more to the Civil Air Patrol than just doing this kind of work," Nick said. "When they get here maybe we can talk to some of them about it."

"Nick, do you think I'll be able to help out when they arrive here?" Tom asked with a worried look on his face.

"Oh, sure. There'll be lots of things for both of us to do. But right now you'd better get on home and have your lunch. I've already had mine, so take the jeep," Nick said. "Right. I'll be back as soon as I can," Tom promised. In a matter of seconds he was through the hangar door and into the jeep. A short while later he was heading the little car into the quiet Wayfield street on which the Carroll home was located. Braking to a stop, he climbed out and was about to swing open the gate when he spotted a slim redheaded boy about his own age turning the street corner.

"Hi, Red!" he called out, pausing in the gateway.

"I was just coming around to ask you if you wanted to play a little tennis this afternoon," the redhead said when he drew near.

"Thanks, but I'm going back to the airport to help Nick. Looks like there's going to be a big operation out there this afternoon, and he'll need some help," Tom answered.

"Okay. I wasn't too keen about it anyway," Red said with a good-natured smile. "But what kind of a show is going on out at the airport?"

Tom briefly described the program for the afternoon as the pair crossed the porch and entered the house. He was still telling Red why the Civil Air Patrol had selected Wayfield as its operating base when his mother called to him from the kitchen.

"Hi, Mom! How about a sandwich and a glass of milk for me? I've got to rush back to the airfield right away," Tom said, after greeting Mrs. Carroll with a perfunctory hug.

"Now, Tom, you just sit back and wait for a hot lunch. I'm not going to have you do all that work and just eat sandwiches," his mother declared.

"Can't wait, Mom," Tom said. "There's a plane down between Easton and Greenville, and I've got to go back and help Nick when the search planes come into the airport."

With a shake of her head, his mother said, "Well, if it's that serious, I'll have to give in to you. I'll fix something for you both."

"Swell! Then you can come along to the airport with me, Red. Nick'll be glad to have you there to help out, for there's sure to be lots of work for us."

"Okay, Tom. Sounds like it ought to be a lot of fun," Red said.

"Not much fun, but maybe some excitement. Nick says these CAP fellows are very serious about what they're doing. Now let's eat."

Sandwiches and milk, followed by cookies and more milk, disappeared as fast as Mrs. Carroll placed them on the table. Then, with Tom's mother again shaking her head, though with an understanding smile on her face, Tom and Red dashed from the table and tore through the door. A short while later they were speeding back to the airport. They found Nick straightening up odds and ends in his office when they arrived. With a greeting to Red, the ex-sergeant put the pair to work, helping to make the room letter perfect. Next they tackled the shop, off to one side of the hangar itself, where their principal concern was re-arranging the array of tools that were strewn along the workbench.

"Okay, okay," Nick said as Red flicked a dust-cloth over a window sill. "I guess we could even pass an Army inspection now. Let's stop work."

"Yipes!" Red said to Tom when Nick was out of earshot. "He really likes to have his place shipshape. I thought it looked good when I first arrived, but he's practically made us manicure the shop."

"That's his Army training, I guess," Tom answered. "He's as neat as a pin and he keeps after me to shine up everything, including the doorknobs."

The words were barely out of his mouth when they heard the hum of a distant motor. Tom and Red, with Nick ambling behind them, rushed to the front of the hangar. Shading their eyes from the early afternoon sun, they searched the skies. At practically the same instant they all spotted a black speck that was growing larger and gradually taking the shape of an airplane with each second that brought it closer to Wayfield. In a short while the craft was overhead, where it circled once before nosing down for a landing. With the trio still watching, the plane lit lightly on the runway and rolled to a stop. Then, bouncing over the uneven ground, the ship taxied up to the hangar.

Right after the motor had been cut, a tall, slender man climbed out of the four-place plane. He was wearing the light blue uniform of the Air Force, though with distinctively different insignia decorating it, and was followed by two other men similarly clothed. Behind them came a khaki-clad boy of about the same age as Tom and Red.

"I'm Major Boswell," the first man said, extending his hand to Nick. "And here are Captain Hall, Lieutenant Fuller, and Cadet Sherman."

When introductions all around had been completed, Nick turned to the major and said, "We were sorry to hear about the missing plane, but we're glad you're here and we're ready to do whatever we can to help."

"Thanks very much, Crynes," Major Boswell said. "As I told you over the phone, we figure that the ship must have gone down somewhere between Easton and Greenville. Three of our planes from the Sandeford Squadron are now over the area, trying to locate it. As soon as we're squared away here, Lieutenant Fuller and I will take off and join the search. Captain Hall and Ed Sherman will stay here and set up communication equipment and do whatever else they can. All four planes will come in here to re-fuel, if that becomes necessary."

"Good! We can handle the gassing of your planes," Nick stated. "Now, do you think there'll be anything else? Should we notify the hospital or have an ambulance stand by?"

"We know from his clearance record at Sandeford that the pilot was not carrying any passengers, so there's only one person involved," the officer answered. "But I don't believe it'll be necessary to arrange anything at the hospital. These light planes such as this chap was flying can land practically on a dime, you know, so he's probably okay. The trouble is that that area between the two towns is heavily wooded and we may not be able to do more than spot the downed ship. My guess is that a party will have to go in after the pilot on foot, especially if he had a rough time landing and isn't able to make his way out."

"Then I guess the first job is to set up your radio equipment,'' Nick said.

"Right," Captain Hall put in. "Can we use your office for that?"

"Sure thing. Make yourself at home and use anything we've got," Nick answered.

It took only a short while to unload the radio equipment from the plane and set it up in Nick's office. With the entire group standing by, Cadet Sherman started pulling switches and twirling dials. Then, talking into a hand microphone, he began calling each of the search craft. His face lit up as, one by one, the planes called back and made their contact. All three reported that they had not yet caught sight of the downed airplane.

"Well, Crynes," Major Boswell said as the last negative report came over the crackling loudspeaker, "Fuller and I will take off and join the others now. There's just one last thing: could either of your chaps go in to town and get us some sandwiches and coffee? If the other ships come in here to re-fuel, a little food might help."

"Sure we can, Major," Tom cut in eagerly. "My mother will be glad to do it."

"No, no!" Major Boswell protested. "We have funds for that sort of thing, and I'll give you the money to pay for everything."

"Can't hear you, sir," Tom said with a grin.

"Better let him have his way, Major," Nick said. "Besides, I know you don't get any government funds to pay for things like that."

Major Boswell shrugged and said, "Well, we'll be very grateful to you, though I still wish you'd let me pay for it."

Tom and Red delayed just long enough to watch the two CAP officers take off on their searching mission. Then, boarding the jeep again, they sped back to Tom's home. It took little effort to persuade Mrs. Carroll to make the coffee and sandwiches, and under her direction the pair set briskly to work. Not much later the two boys were on their way back to the airport, laden with food enough for twice the number of crewmen expected.

Though Ed Sherman had maintained contact with the four searching planes, there was no news about the missing ship. In the absence of reports, Nick, Tom, and Red talked to Captain Hall about the Civil Air Patrol.

The Sandeford Squadron, the captain told his eager listeners, was almost two years old. Major Boswell had been the moving spirit behind the organization and was its commanding officer. The squadron was one of several in the state and had a cadet squadron attached to it. The principal headquarters was the CAP Wing, of which there was one in every state, as well as in several territories outside of the United States.

In answer to a question from Tom, the captain stated that cadet squadrons could be formed without being attached to a senior squadron that was located in the same area. Such squadrons, known as Cadet Squadrons (Separate), generally operated under the direction of Group Headquarters, though they could co-ordinate their activities with near-by senior squadrons. On the whole, however, Captain Hall felt that it was far better to have a senior squadron with a cadet squadron attached as an integral part of the organization. That was the type outfit that Sandeford had, and Hall felt that it had worked out very well.

As an auxiliary of the U. S. Air Force, though not a part of that service, the CAP received some equipment and material from the government. Light airplanes, for example, were made available to many squadrons, and as much surplus equipment and training materials as could be spared from the defense effort were also issued. In Sandeford, due largely to the community support, the squadron had been able to purchase three additional planes, all of them secondhand. An extensive training program had been established. The high schools taught CAP studies as a part of their curricula, and students received regular credits for their classroom work.

"I guess Sandeford is really air-minded!" Red exclaimed as the officer paused.

"Thanks to the CAP, it is, son," Hall replied.

"I sure wish Wayfield was that way," Tom said disconsolately.

"Then all you have to do is to get a squadron organized. That's the quickest way I know of to turn the trick," Hall said with a chuckle.

Sherman had flicked a switch on the receiver and was using earphones to listen to the incoming messages. Now he turned around in his chair and said, "Lieutenants Dietz and Taylor are coming in to re-fuel, sir."

"Okay, Ed. We'll go outside and watch them come in. Let me know if there are any other reports," Captain Hall said.

In a short while two aircraft came into view and circled overhead. A few seconds later the first one landed, followed shortly by the second. As soon as the two-man crews had climbed out of the planes and had been introduced all around, Nick and his two helpers began re-fueling the ships. When the job was finished, the trio joined the flyers inside the hangar, where they were busily gulping coffee and munching on sandwiches.

They had seen nothing of the missing airplane, the airmen reported. Though the terrain over which they had been flying was rough and wild, they were hopeful that on the second leg of their mission they would have better luck or that perhaps one of the other two planes might be successful.

"Captain Hall! Captain Hall? The cry came from Nick's office.

The whole group followed on Hall's heels as they heard Ed Sherman's yell. When they entered the office they heard Major Boswell's voice coming over the loudspeaker.

"... plane seems to be only lightly damaged and I'm dropping to a lower altitude to see if we can locate the pilot. Over."

"Sherman to Boswell. Your message received. We are standing by for additional information. Over," the cadet said into the microphone.

"Boswell to Sherman. We've spotted the pilot... he is dragging himself out from the woods and seems to have hurt his leg... now he is waving... we will drop a message to him, telling him to wait where he is until we can get a rescue party in to him. Over."

The two-way conversation between the plane and the base continued, and the major indicated that there was no way of landing his plane anywhere near the crashed ship. The nearest town, he reported, was a hamlet called Pineview, and he requested Captain Hall to call the authorities there and arrange for a rescue party to proceed overland to the site of the crash. He would continue circling in the neighborhood of the accident until the two planes now at the Wayfield airport could arrive to relieve him. Those planes, in turn, could guide the ground party to the scene of the mishap.

With that information, Captain Hall got busy. Poring over a map, he plotted the spot where the missing plane had gone down. Next he telephoned to Pineview and, after explaining what had happened, arranged for a rescue group to start on its way. That done, he carefully instructed the crews of the two planes that had come in for re4ueling to take off, relieve Major Boswell, and then stand by over the crash area to show the approaching rescue team the way to it. Finally, he had Sherman call the fourth plane, that by now had joined up with Boswell, and order it back to Wayfield with the major.

During all this time, Nick, Tom, and Red had been watching the efficient functioning of the CAP men with undisguised admiration. There had been no lost motion, and every member of the group seemed to know his job and what was expected of him. Nor was there anything but serious attention to every detail of the operation, for each one performed his work as if his life depended upon the outcome.

"What do you two think of all this?" Nick asked, as the Wayfield trio watched the two planes taking off." They really do a fine job," Red observed.

"You bet they do!" Tom exclaimed. "I wish we had a CAP squadron here in Wayfield."

"That," Nick said with a quizzical glance, "was just what I was thinking."

Captain Hall came through the hangar entrance with a broad smile on his face. As he saw the two planes point their noses toward the west, he turned to the others and said, "Well, I guess everything's going to turn out all right. All we have to do now is to wait for news that the people from Pineview have reached our unlucky friend."

"I'd say that he was pretty lucky, the way the CAP took over things," Tom said admiringly.

"Boy! I'll agree with Tom on that!" Red said fervently. "He'd have had a rough time of it if your outfit hadn't been on the job."

"I'll have to admit that we all get a lot of satisfaction out of doing something like this," Hall said. "I guess it's the most spectacular type of operation that we handle, but there are lots of other things that the CAP is doing all over the country that may be just as important."

"What sort of things, sir?" Tom asked.

"Well, we're a civilian organization, but we try to cooperate with government authorities in all sorts of emergencies. Sometimes it's flood control, or helping to fight forest fires, or flying blood plasma for the Red Cross, or taking part in Civil Defense exercises, or anything else in which we can help. Then, from a broader point of view, we think our training program for cadets as well as seniors is very important because it is helping to develop our country's air potential. I could keep talking for hours on the subject," the captain said enthusiastically, "but we'd better leave that till some other time."

As Nick and Red returned with Captain Hall to listen in on the radio conversation that Ed Sherman was carrying on with the CAP planes, Tom sat down on a box near the hangar entrance. His mind was a jumble of thoughts, all centered around the idea of organizing a Civil Air Patrol squadron in Wayfield.

They added up to the fact that if a squadron were to be formed in his home town, he would be able to fly. Moreover, from all that he had gathered from the visitors, there were a great many other advantages to be gained from membership in the CAP. He could learn navigation, radio procedures, meteorology, and a flock of other subjects; Captain Hall had said that those subjects and others were taught both in the Sandeford High School and at the squadron meetings. He would be preparing himself for service with the Air Force and for a vocation in civilian aviation. And Wayfield, he told himself more or less as an afterthought, would also gain from having a squadron established, for the CAP men had emphasized the value of the organization in community life.

Then and there Tom resolved to try and arouse interest in the formation of a squadron in Wayfield. It ought not to be too difficult, he felt, for there could be little or no reason why any town should not get behind such a project. Nick had told him that there were men in the community who had served in the Air Force and who would probably still be interested in flying. In addition, if enough high school students would join up, a cadet squadron could easily take shape. He was sure, even though he had not been living in Wayfield very long, that he would find many others keen to enter the CAP. All in all, he told himself, everything favored the chances of the outfit going over with a loud bang.

Still mulling over the idea, he watched Major Boswell's plane and its companion ship drop out of the sky and land at the airfield. He listened, along with everyone else, to the account of how the missing plane had been found. Then he went with the group to listen in on Cadet Sherman's conversation with the two craft that were still patrolling the crash area.

They did not have long to wait before receiving the report that the Pineview rescue team was making its way through trails to reach the downed ship. The party had sped in cars to the nearest point possible and then had started cross-country, through the dense woodland. The rescuers moved fast, cutting trails where necessary, and it was not long after they had begun their trek before they reached the lamed pilot. Not until the flyers had received a signal from the ground that all was well did they send a message to the airport that they were leaving the area. Finally, at Major Boswell's direction, an order was issued to the planes to proceed to Sandeford.

Almost sorrowfully, Tom helped to dismantle the radio equipment and load it in the major's ship. As the last piece of material was put aboard and secured, everybody gathered around the two planes. There were handshakes, expressions of gratitude on the part of the CAP men and promises of mutual visits. In the course of the talk Tom managed to get Major Boswell off to one side for a couple of minutes.

"Sir, what do you think our chances would be of getting authority to start a squadron here in Wayfield?" he asked the officer.

"There's a lot of hard work connected with organizing a squadron, son," the major said in a kindly manner, "but if there are enough of you really interested in getting one going, I don't see why you can't do it. And believe me, if there is anything that I can do, you just let me know. Our whole outfit would be glad to help out in whatever way we can."

"Thanks, Major," Tom said happily. "I was hoping you'd say that. And you can bet that we'll ask you to help us, too."

"Good. You just let me know what we can do," the major replied.

Once more there was a roar of motors, and the two planes jounced across the field to take positions at the end of the runway. One by one, like birds suddenly cut loose from the ground, they took to the air. Banking in wide circles, they flew over the hangar where Nick, Tom, and Red stood waving in the doorway. They dipped their wings in salute, then leveled off and headed south.

"Well, it was a good afternoon's work," Nick said. "Now you fellows had better get on your way home. I've still got a lot to do around here, 'cause this business kind of set me back a little on an overhaul job."

"Nick, you remember telling me about those friends of yours that might be interested in flying?" Tom asked.

The former Army man laughed quietly. "I knew this was coming," he said. "You're wondering if they might like to try and organize a CAP squadron here in Wayfield, aren't you?"

"That's right," Tom answered. "What do you think of it?"

"It's a good idea, Tom, but there are lots of angles to it. Do you want me to try and see what I can do about it?"

"You bet I do!" Tom exclaimed. "What do you think about it, Red?"

"Sounds swell. After what I saw today, I'm all for getting an outfit like that set up here," Red agreed enthusiastically.

"Okay, I'm convinced," Nick said. "I'll see some of them tonight and find out how they feel about it. But don't get too excited over it, because even if enough of them go for the idea, there'll still be a thing or two to worry about. You'll find out later what I mean."

Walking home with Red, Tom talked of little else but his hopes and plans. The slim redhead, in fact, had few chances to do anything except listen. A new day lay ahead, according to Tom, and all of their troubles were behind them. With a CAP squadron set up, the town would practically be made over. Not only that, the futures of both of them were assured, for the CAP would enable them to get off to a good start in aviation. Admitting that there would be hard work connected with the organizing of the squadron, there was still no reason to believe that it couldn't be done. Everyone, young and old alike, would be eager to get behind the outfit, Tom declared. Anyway, even if there might be some obstacles, he was going to lick them, he promised his friend.

"You," Red stated with a shake of his head as they parted in front of the Carroll home, "are just slightly nuts!"

But as he entered the front yard, after saying good-bye, Tom had a sparkle in his eyes. For the second time that day he resolved that, whatever the obstacles, Wayfield would have its squadron.