“All right, all right!” he laughed. “I’ll see you lazy birds on the runway, if you’re too late for mess call. So long!”
Hap Newton’s other boot caught him as he hurried out of the tent. He picked it up, but paused in the act of throwing it back.
“Setting up drill at this time of the morning, Lieutenant?” said Colonel Bullock’s voice behind him.
“No, sir—getting-up drill is more like it,” Barry replied. “My crew slept too hard last night, and they’re still in a fog.”
“Harrumph! I envy them!” grunted the colonel. “Couldn’t sleep at all myself, last night.... But I have good news for you, Blake. Your ship has passed every quick test for serious damage, and except for the holes that there wasn’t time to patch, she’s fit to fly. That damaged machine gun in the nose has been replaced. She’s been bombed up and serviced. I’m counting on her—and you men—to give the Japs a very special pasting today.”
“We’ll do that, sir, and—er—thank you for giving us so much of your time and thought,” Barry responded. “Are we taking off with the squadron this time?”
“Yes. Extreme right wing position,” Colonel Bullock told him. “The take-off is in thirty minutes.”
Barry saluted and watched the officer’s tall, still youthful figure stride away in the twilight. Behind him the crew were piling out of the tent.
“Just time to eat and run, fellows,” he said, turning toward the mess shack. “The squadron takes off at six.”