"Personally, I wish there was no sense in any of you going along," Squadron Leader Markham said gravely. "However, war's war, and that's that. I guess it's time for you to be off. The very best, lads! And happy landings ... on this field!"
The trio hesitated a moment, looked at each other, and then as one man turned and walked over to their planes. As Dave climbed into his pit a soothing calm flowed through his body. The calm before the storm, perhaps. But for the moment the excitement of the occasion, the tingling, eager anticipation of things to come, and the myriad little inner fears and doubts, were banished. It was as though he were climbing into his Mark 5 to take it aloft for a joy hop, or a bit of gunnery practice on the field's ground target. That soon he would be leading Freddy Farmer and Barker deep into mystery skies over occupied Europe was as something as far removed as the sun.
A sense of peace and contentment were his as he settled himself in the pit, and made a last minute check of everything. But perhaps the war gods were perfectly willing that he should feel that way for a spell. They knew it would not last long. They knew what awaited those three stout hearted aces of the R.A.F. They knew what was waiting, and what was going to happen. And they clapped their hands and nudged each other in high glee.
"Well, there'll always be an England," Dave murmured and reached for the throttle. "So, I'll be seeing you soon!"
Five seconds later three Spitfire Mark 5s thundered out across the field, cleared, and went zooming up to lose themselves quickly in the shadowy sky. Back down on the tarmac Squadron Leader Markham stood like a carved statue, his eyes still turned upward toward the half night, half dawn sky. He saw nothing but murky shadows, but the drone of three powerful Rolls-Royce engines was still in his ears. He listened until the sound faded away in the distance. Then slowly he clenched both fists and turned to look at Colonel Trevor.
"If they don't come back," he said in a strained voice, "I fancy you and Group Captain Ball had better catch the first boat for South Africa!"
"Amen!" the Intelligence officer said softly.
[CHAPTER NINE]
Vultures Over Europe
Comfortably settled in the pit of his Mark 5, but with every nerve and muscle set for instant action, Dave veered slightly more toward the southeast, and fixed his gaze on the yellow splashed horizon ahead. The shadows of night were now far behind him. And so were England, and the Channel. The Nazi defiled ground of Occupied France was under his wing, and the blinding glare of a new day's sun was directly ahead.