"Yeah, more or less," Dawson grunted with a nod. "So what?"
"So what?" young Farmer echoed sharply. "So why?"
"Ye gods, right back where we started!" Dawson groaned. "The old rotation idea, that's why. A bit of front line service, and then a bit of back home service, passing out your knowledge to those who have yet to see action. For Pete's sake, Freddy! What's so mysterious about that? Maybe it is a bit odd that we were stationed at a Naval Aviation base. However, perhaps the idea is to get Army and Navy pilots to know one another better. Too much rivalry between services is just as bad as none at all, you know."
"Well, I do, now that you've explained, sir!" Freddy barked at him. "But you still haven't answered my question. I mean, with the invasion of Hitler's Europe bound to pop any day now, why in the world send a hundred or more seasoned pilots away from England? Answer me that."
The corners of Dawson's mouth twitched in a grin, but Freddy didn't see it.
"I don't know that I've a right to tell you, Freddy," he finally said, and tugged at his chin with a thumb and forefinger.
"A right to tell me what?" young Farmer demanded. "Come off it, Dave! Stop being so blasted mysterious. You and I've always shared everything, haven't we?"
"Everything, except food," Dawson ribbed him. "You never were anybody's pal when you had the feed bag on. But I guess it's all right to tell you. It's because of what General Eisenhower said."
"To who?" Freddy asked.
"To whom, is what you mean, little man," Dawson said with a straight face. "What he said to me when he called me down to London High Command H.Q."