"At least," Dave grunted. "And it puts us right behind the eight ball. We've got to turn it over to General Kashomia. Nothing happens until we do. And we can't do anything until something does happen. We've sort of got to pay out more rope, and pray we can take up the slack fast when we have to. If you get what I mean?"
"Yes, but what a chance we've got to take!" Freddy said in a voice that trembled slightly. "If we fail, Dave.... I mean, if things go through as the blasted Japs seem to be planning, the blood of Singapore will be on our hands. It will be because we failed. It...!"
Dave stuck out an elbow and jabbed the English youth in the side.
"Cut it!" he hissed. "That's not Freddy Farmer talking! Let's beat our brains out after we've failed. And, pal, that's something you and I just ain't going to up and do. Not while we can stand up and keep punching. So, heave that kind of talk in the river, Mister!"
Dave felt pressure on his arm, and heard Freddy's emotion choked voice.
"Thanks, Dave. I'm all right, now. I wish you'd kick me, and hard."
"I'll take a rain check on that invite," Dave said with a chuckle. "But forget it, Freddy. Heck! You'd up and leave me flat, if you knew some of the thoughts that have been breezing around in my head. So skip it. I guess it's this waiting that's getting us. I wish Serrangi's boys would hurry up and start the fireworks so's we can get started. You know, this sort of thing is darn near getting to be a habit."
"What is?" Freddy wanted to know.
"Posing as Axis agents, and swiping a British plane," Dave said. "Remember that time when we were on convoy patrol, and had to waltz off with that Catalina? We were plenty lucky then, and I've got a hunch we're going to have to be twice as lucky this time."[2]
"Lucky to get off without British bullets in our backs," Freddy Farmer murmured. "And lucky if all the gas tanks are filled. It will certainly be a blasted mess if our gas gives out and we have to force land somewhere in Thailand, or Burma."