As Dave spoke the last he returned the salute of the corporal driver, who had straightened to attention.
"This the H.Q. taxi, Corporal?" he asked.
"I guess you could call it that, sir," the non-com said with a chuckle. "Step right in and it will take you there itself. It sure has made enough trips these last couple of days to be able to do it on its own."
"Really?" Freddy Farmer murmured. "All Air Forces officers, Corporal?"
"No, not all, sir," the non-com replied. "About fifty-fifty Army and Navy, sir, I'd say. Quite a bunch of them, too. I guess maybe something's being cooked up for Tojo and his boys. High time, I'm thinking, too. We're quite a few runs behind them tramps."
"But we'll catch up, don't worry," Dawson assured him. "They took first swings, you know, so our team will get last swings. And I do mean last swings, too."
The non-com driver nodded and grinned broadly. Then as he held the car door open for the pair to climb in, he let his eyes rest on their decoration ribbons.
"Yeah, Captain," he grunted, "we get last swings. But I can see that you two officers ain't been exactly hitting loud fouls every time you came up. Nailed plenty of them slant eyes, huh?"
"A couple, I guess," Dave grinned. "But they were probably fledglings on their first time out."
"Yeah, I bet, I bet!" the corporal snorted, and slid in behind the wheel. "Well, here goes for trip nine thousand and something!"