"Yes sir, I will," the Adjutant said and shook his head sadly from side to side as Markham walked out of the office.
When the door slammed shut Adjutant Phipps sighed heavily, leaned back in his chair and stroked his greying hair.
"Yes, I should have joined the artillery," he murmured. "I'm too old to understand these brave young lads who wear wings. They're chaps from another world, I fancy."
[CHAPTER TWO]
A Present from Satan
Out on the tarmac of Eighty-Four Dave Dawson and Freddy Farmer stood peeling off their flying gear and feasting their eyes on the new Mark 5 Spitfires. Lights of joy danced in their eyes, and their faces were flushed with excitement and eagerness for the future to become the present in a hurry.
"That is an airplane!" Dave cried and slung his parachute pack up into the pit. "That's a dream. The sugar in my coffee. The moonlight on a summer night. The smell of a lovely rose. The goal from the field in the last ten seconds of play. The whozit of the whatzit. And how!"
Freddy looked at him and sighed unhappily.
"And he was such a bright chap before he took that Mark Five up for a test hop!" he murmured. "He could count all the way up to ten. He could write his own name. And he even knew what day of the month it was. But, now.... O well! They say his kind last just so long. And, of course, he's a blinking Yank at heart. So.... Hey! Ouch!"
The swinging Mae West life preserver jacket caught Freddy on the ear, and almost toppled him off his feet. He caught himself in time, ducked as the Mae West came sailing around again, and charged at his best pal. Dave backed up and stepped quickly to the side.