Stan’s heart dropped with a thud. This likely meant a lot of questions to be answered, questions put into the O.C.’s head by Garret.
“Yes, sir,” he answered and followed the Commander inside.
Farrell seated himself behind his desk. He motioned toward a chair. “Sit down, Wilson.”
Stan sat down and waited. The Commander fished into his desk and took out a cigar. He clipped the end off with a silver knife, then lighted the weed and looked at Stan.
“Allison tells me you have had a lot of experience with various types of fast planes. Testing over in Canada. Most of the American ships have been going through trials up there. Did you have a chance at any of them?”
Stan breathed more freely. “Yes, sir,” he said.
“We have a new type American plane here.” The Commander fished through some papers, found a blue sheet and studied it for a minute. “They call this one the Hendee Hawk. We have tested it and found it to be rather fast but very tricky.” The Commander frowned at the report, then looked up at Stan.
Stan could hardly hold back a grin and a whoop. Did he know the Hendee Hawk? He knew the Hawk from her prop to her tail assembly. The Wing Commander was being very conservative when he said the Hawk was rather fast. Stan had squinted at her air-speed indicator when it was jiggling crazily at 600 miles per hour. He waited for the Wing Commander to go on.
“Ordinarily we would train enough special men to handle these ships, but we are pressed for fighting ships at the moment.”
Stan’s face did not reveal anything of what he was thinking. The Britisher was talking calmly and appeared not to be worried. Stan knew the need for Hendee Hawks was desperate, and he knew the ships would deliver.