[CHAPTER EIGHT]
The Dead Speak
The dawn sun was still out of sight far down below the eastern lip of the world. Not even the first faint glow of its coming could be seen in the sky. On the tarmac of Eighty-Four's field three powerful Mark 5 Spitfires were being warmed up and mothered by mechanics as though they were infant babes in arms. Off to one side, Dave Dawson, Freddy Farmer, Barker, and Squadron Leader Markham, stood waiting and talking of everything under the sun except the special patrol that was soon to get underway.
That was a taboo subject with them. It was for the simple reason there wasn't anything else to discuss. All the plans and preparations had been made. Special high speed cameras, that could be operated from the control stick, had been fitted in the planes. The cameras had been tested and found to be in perfect working order. Each pilot had taken his plane aloft and tested it until he was thoroughly satisfied with every beat of the engine, and every single response to a touch on the controls. Everything that could be done, had been done. There was nothing to do now but wait for the engines to be warmed up ... and then get on with the job.
"Say, Barker," Dave suddenly broke a minute's silence. "Meant to speak to you about this, but we've all been pretty busy. I mean.... Well, darn it, you're still senior officer, and I'm perfectly willing for you to take over command of this show. Fact is, I think it would be a sensible idea. I...."
"Oh, no you don't, Yank!" Barker cried and laughed. "Decent and mighty sporting of you, old bean. And I like you a lot for saying it. But I've been in command of special shows before. Not at all to my liking. Hate responsibility, you know. I'm always getting things messed up something terrible."
"Yeah, I can guess!" Dave snorted. "He's won the Distinguished Flying Cross, and bar! And he says he'd mess things up? Nix on that line, friend. But I really am serious about your...."
"Don't be!" Barker said firmly. "I refuse, flatly. No, my lad. I'm going to tag along obeying orders on this show. And love it, I fancy."
"Then you won't...?" Dave started again and hesitated.
"No!" Barker repeated. "Absolutely not. If it's a success then you get perhaps the Victoria Cross, my lad. If it's not, then you get Squadron Leader Markham on your neck. I don't! See what I mean, old thing?"
Dave grinned and looked at his commanding officer who was shaking with laughter.