"Meaning what?" Freddy asked and made a few final marks on his navigation charts. "Mad because all those ships down there are going to get through safely?"
"Nuts, of course not!" Dave snapped and gave him a scornful side glance. "And you know darn well what I mean."
"That's true, I do," Freddy said and scowled out over the nose of the flying boat's hull. "Certainly is funny. Do you think by chance that something's gone haywire?"
"All I know is that I'm getting close to going haywire!" Dave replied savagely. "For two days now, we've been attached to Seventy-Four Squadron of the Coastal Command, and what have we done? Nothing but toot these big babies out over the Atlantic, pick up a merchant convoy, and toot back with them. Not a sign of a U-boat, not a sign of a Nazi plane, and.... Heck! Not a sign of anything. And we were two chaps who were to tackle a do-or-die mission and receive secret orders from our new O.C. You know, Freddy, I'm beginning to think, it's all a lot of hog wash. But why Air Marshal Manners should hand out all that fancy stuff sure beats me."
"I'm just as much in the dark myself," Freddy grunted. "But somehow I don't think that it was supposed to be this way. I think that something went wrong some place, and Manners had to hold up our special orders. Or perhaps he wanted us to get well acquainted with things. I mean, make it definitely look as though we were just a couple of replacements."
"Maybe so," Dave sighed and stared at the flock of British destroyers steaming out to take over and lead the convoy into port. "Maybe so, but I still don't like it. So help me, I doubt I'd be able to recognize a Nazi plane now if one should fall into my lap. Well, there're the destroyers, so this trick is over. Send the code signal to Plymouth Base that we've made contact and are coming in. And tell Sergeant Black aft that I'll have another slub of that coffee before we go in. And tell him I mean coffee, not tea!"
"A regular barbarian, drinking that horrible stuff!" Freddy groaned and adjusted his radio mike. "I swear, we'll never be able to make you a real Englishman!"
"It's still coffee!" Dave said with a grin. "And hurry it along, my little man."
A few minutes later the Catalina flyingboat had left the convoy far behind and safely in the charge of the destroyers. A cup of warm coffee was in Dave's stomach, and he was almost becoming slightly satisfied with the world again. Now, if only about forty-'leven Nazi planes would show up and give them a little action everything would be all to the merry. No hope of that, though, he reflected gloomily. They were too near to Base, and any Jerry lad who showed his nose around Plymouth Base just naturally didn't get back to Germany. The Jerries knew that and so they stayed well clear of that little bit of England.
"And what about the great mystery, Dave?" Freddy suddenly spoke up to break his train of thought. "Do you think we should go to Squadron Leader Hays and tell him our story?"