In the briefing room there was little talk. The boys were grim and sour. London had been bombed. They got little comfort out of the impressive score they had chalked up—ten Stukas and six Messerschmitts. They knew that if they had headed west they would have stopped the raid.
No one challenged Garret when he claimed one Stuka and a Messerschmitt. Nobody spoke to him. They went on into the mess and flopped down to wait for the metallic voice of the intersquadron speaker.
O’Malley lay on a bench with his feet up against the wall. Allison lay back, his eyes closed, his thin face colorless. Stan sat staring at the floor. He was trying to get a lot of things straight in his mind. He couldn’t honestly say Garret had led them east purposely. The main control room must have sent them in the wrong direction, but it all bothered him, anyway. And he knew the other boys had the same feeling.
CHAPTER IX
SPECIAL MISSION
Stan was further mystified the next day when Garret came to him in the mess. He was smiling and very friendly.
“I have been a rotter, Wilson,” he said and held out his hand. “After all, this is pretty serious business and there isn’t much place for personal grudges and gripes.”
Stan hid his surprise. He could find no words to answer Garret. He shook hands with the Squadron Leader. Garret slapped him on the back.
“I have the toughest gang of sky-busters in the whole Royal Air Force,” Garret said. “We’ll see that no more bombs land on London.”
As he walked away Stan looked after him. Now that Garret had left him he could think of several things he might have said. Allison came up and there was a mocking leer on his face.