Colonel Trevor didn't thrust out his hand, or stiffen to attention and salute the three R.A.F. aces. He did nothing but look at them each in turn. That was plenty. His eyes said far more than his lips could have said. Expressed far more than any firm hand shake or slap on the back.
"Thanks, sir," Dave said for the three of them. "You can depend on us to bring back the pictures ... or else."
"Never mind the, or else, Dawson," Squadron Leader Markham grunted. "Just make sure all three of you come back! And, Dawson?"
"Yes, sir?" Dave murmured.
Squadron Leader Markham didn't speak for a few seconds. He stood staring Dave straight in the eye. Then suddenly he raised a cautioning finger.
"In case things don't turn out as you hope," he said eventually. "In case the patrol looks like a complete wash-out, don't get too many of those hunches of yours, will you? There'll always be a tomorrow in this blasted war, you know. Don't try to win it in a few hours, though goodness knows you and Farmer could probably make a fairly good go at it."
"Don't worry, sir," Dave chuckled and tightened the strap on his helmet. "I'll watch my step, and try not to lead with my chin. But if I should get out of line you can count on Barker and Farmer to throw a halter on me."
"Oh, quite!" Flight Lieutenant Barker echoed. "I don't fancy to step out of this war for quite some time, if ever. Don't worry, sir, Farmer and I will keep an eye on this wildman from the States."
"And a good grip with both hands, too, sir!" Freddy added. "But, I've handled the balmy blighter before, and I can do it again."
"Shucks!" Dave said in mock disappointment. "Then what's the sense of my going along, if I can't have fun?"