"I just tossed my brain overboard," he said. "I gave up trying to figure out this puzzle. So help me, if anybody had told me I was going to run into this many blank walls since dawn I'd have told them they were nuts. Sweet tripe! Spies, stolen planes, secret orders, a swim in the Atlantic, bullets coming too darn close, mystery planes, French clothing, no speak the English, the R.A.F. after my hide, and.... Pal, that's a mess of fish right there. You cook it. I can't!"
"Well, I gather we're in for some flying," Freddy said with a puzzled sigh. "And that's something."
"Yeah," Dave grunted, and jerked a thumb forward, "unless he comes up with some more cockeyed unfinished business that sends us both to the bug-house for keeps. Oops! We're heading down. Guess we must be getting close. Luck, pal!"
"I'll jolly well double that wish," Freddy breathed and led the way forward along the cat-walk.
Air Marshal Manners had nosed the plane down and as the two youths reached his side and looked down over the nose they saw the southwest tip of England pointed like a crooked finger at the little cluster of Scilly Island and the broad rolling expanse of the North Atlantic beyond. Dave looked at the mooring basin with a dozen or more battle tried Consolidated Catalina flying boats at anchor. There were also two or three Short Sunderland flyingboats. Huge battle wagons of the air that in peace time serve England's Atlantic air lanes just as the mighty Clipper flyingboats serve American ocean travel by air. Just north of the basin was the airfield for land planes and amphibians. The hangar side was lined with twenty or more different types. And as Dave peered intently he saw several planes of American design. Bombers probably ferried from Nova Scotia last night. Right now they were receiving a check inspection before being flown on to England's active service fields for final installations and assignment to the ever growing armada of wings that went hurtling across the Channel day and night to dump thousands upon thousands of tons of bombs down on Adolf's head and his bandit hordes striving to wipe humanity and civilization from the face of the earth.
Lands End Base! The jumping off point for their greatest aerial adventure. The jumping off point for glory, and for perhaps death, too!
"Well, I've seen better dressed Frenchmen, but I guess you look the part."
Air Marshal Manners' outspoken comment brushed the rambling thoughts away inside Dave's head. He glanced at his superior officer and gestured in a polite but blank sort of way.
"Pardon, mon Capitaine?" he murmured. "Ze Eengleesh, I speak no, yes?"
The Air Ministry official threw back his head and laughed.