Dave Dawson on Guadalcanal

BOOKS BY R. SIDNEY BOWEN Dave Dawson at Dunkirk Dave Dawson with the R. A. F. Dave Dawson in Libya Dave Dawson on Convoy Patrol Dave Dawson at Singapore Dave Dawson with the Pacific Fleet Dave Dawson with the Air Corps Dave Dawson on the Russian Front Dave Dawson Flight Lieutenant Dave Dawson with the Commandos Dave Dawson with the Flying Tigers

Stretching out as comfortably as the gear-packed bomb compartment of the Flying Fortress would permit, Dave Dawson lazily unwrapped a bar of semi-sweet chocolate, and bit off a man-sized hunk.
Ub glub dish blub ice, he grunted, and winked at Freddy Farmer, who was sitting on a packing case of spare parts a few feet from him. Deferenally jice!
The English-born air ace gave him a cold stare and a scowl.
Don't talk with your mouth full, little boy! he said. In fact, don't talk at all.
And that from a guy I've often seen eat peas off a knife, Dawson chuckled after he had swallowed. But, as I was saying, this is my idea of something nice. Definitely nice.
You think so? Freddy snorted, and glanced out the port at the broad expanse of sun-flooded Indian Ocean beneath the wings of the B-17. What's nice about it, I'd like to know? Nothing but water down there. And more water!
So what are you kicking about, Pal? Dave shot at him. You're only seeing the top of it, you know. But I meant it's nice to be air chauffeured around once in a while. Just sit back and relax and enjoy yourself, while some other guy does all the work.
I always suspected that you were born lazy, Freddy said. And every day in every way I'm becoming more and more convinced. I wouldn't relax too much, old thing, if I were you. In case you don't remember, there is still a world war going on. And particularly in this part of the world. Just over there a couple of hundred miles or so are some islands called the Dutch East Indies. Right now a mess of slant-eyed devils are in control. And they have quite a few airplanes, too, for another thing.