"Yes, Farmer?" Group Captain Spencer asked.
Freddy hesitated a brief instant, and then spoke.
"It is not a question, sir," he said in a low but clear voice.
"Then what is it?" the group captain demanded gruffly.
"A request, sir," Freddy replied promptly. "I should like to volunteer to go in the first plane."
Freddy's words opened the floodgates of a reservoir of sound. Instantly every other pilot in the room leaped to his feet and shouted the request to be selected for that first plane. Group Captain Spencer grinned happily, then held up both his hands, and shook his head.
"Just a minute, you chaps!" he roared. Then, when he had obtained silence, "Just waiting for one of you lads to start it off. And I knew perfectly well that every one of you would fight for the job. That's the kind of spirit that has made the Fleet Air Arm the two-fisted, do-or-die unit that it is. However, we're not going to do it that way. I'm not going to select anybody. It wouldn't be fair. Besides, I don't fancy to be dumped overboard some dark night by some lad I didn't select. I like to wear just trunks when I go swimming, you know, not full dress service uniform."
The pilots roared with laughter, and then Group Captain Spencer continued.
"No, the way we'll decide that is by drawing lots," he said. "There are thirty-four of you lads here, and in this cap of mine are thirty-four folded slips of paper."
The group captain picked up his service cap that had been resting top side down on a table on his right.