"I've had mine crossed since we came in," Freddy replied. "Had a feeling that something like this might pop up. Luck, Dave, old boy!"
"Luck to us both!" Dave breathed fervently and took his place in the line that was forming.
Some ten minutes later each pilot held a sealed envelop in his hands, and he held it as gingerly as though it were a delayed action bomb that might go off any second. Air Marshal Manners crushed out the cigarette he was smoking and faced them again.
"More rubbish talk, chaps," he said, "but I owe it to you and to myself to give you all a fair chance. Don't take what I say lightly. This is serious business. Mighty serious. Maybe half of you will be dead by this time tomorrow night. There is no telling. When you open your envelopes you'll jolly well be thumbing your nose at death. The odds will be all against you. That's why I had to pick the best I could find. Pilots with all around ability, courage, and fighting spirit. The Emergency Command, and just that. Pilots who have the choice of two things. Doing the well nigh impossible, or getting a wooden cross. And so, if any of you want to change your minds now, go ahead. It will still be perfectly all right with me."
As Air Marshal Manners spoke the last he looked at each man in turn, and his eyes repeated sincerely what his lips had just said. Nobody made a single move. Not a pilot so much as licked his lips as though to say something. Thirty-five steel clawed birdmen of the R.A.F. stared him right back in the eye, and waited.
"God bless you all," the famous ace said softly. "Right-o. Open your sealed assignments. Orders as to what you are to do will be awaiting you at the Squadron you join."
Almost before the Air Marshal had finished the room was filled with the crackling sound of sealed envelopes being ripped open. However, neither Freddy nor Dave opened theirs at once. Invisible hands seemed to stay them, and they looked once more at each other. For some crazy reason Dave's throat choked up, and for a moment Freddy's face became a sort of a blur. It was clear again in his vision almost instantly, however. He grinned and shrugged.
"Well, it's got to be done, and so here goes," he said.
With that he ripped open his envelop, and drew out the card inside. The few words were printed by typewriter, and read:
Squadron No. 74,
Coastal Command,
Squadron Leader Hays,
Plymouth, England.