“The Fifth group of the Fifth German army,” he went on, kicking the dirt with his toe, as if to say he didn’t envy the Ninety-Fourth’s men. “The best, now that the bloody Baron has gone, I guess.”
Dorman, however, was not awed. He said with elaborate contempt, “The bigger they are the harder they fall.”
Saufley looked at him and grinned.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Dorman said. He drifted his eyes inside the hangar and saw three trim Spads in the shadows. “Those guys can’t match Spads.”
“Don’t kid yourself,” Saufley said. “That kind of thinking’ll get you hurt. Never done combat, have you?”
Dorman shook his head.
“I’m going over this afternoon,” he said. He went on, “but I think I can handle myself all right.”
“Sure, you can. But don’t ever forget the other guy is pretty good or he wouldn’t be up there. Lissen, I ain’t one of these smart alecs who think it’s clever to buddy around with the officers. But I wanna tell you not to underestimate the Boche. Them Germans ain’t dummies.” He shook his head and added, as if to himself, “Not by a damn sight.”
“I know it,” Dorman said, “just the same I’m anxious to get over with eight-one-nine.”