"Him?" Dave snorted before Freddy could even shake his head. "The Nazis haven't made that bullet yet. No, sir. He just wanted to show you how fancy he could get when there're Messerschmitts around. I've just been telling him that if he pulls that on me again, I'll probably shoot him down myself. But it was pretty cute, wasn't it, Major? He should be given his wings any day now, I say. Practically a fighter pilot."
"Don't mind Dawson, sir," Freddy spoke up. "He's always that way. Pretty cool in a fight, but when it's all over he simply goes to pieces and says the craziest things. No, I wasn't hit, fortunately. I had a close call, though, and had to do a little something extra to get out of it. We're all here, though. And that's that!"
"And it's plenty!" Major Barber said with a grim nod. "It proves this sort of thing can be done on a large scale. That is—"
The Major paused and grinned.
"That is, if we have fellows like you two along," he added. "Well, stick around for a bit, will you? I've got things to do, but I want to talk to you again. There's the mess shack over there. I guess it won't make either of you mad to take aboard some breakfast, huh?"
"Oh, quite, quite!" Dave mimicked at Freddy. "And, of course, a pot of tea, what, old tin of fruit?"
Freddy Farmer groaned and shook his head, and looked helplessly at Major Barber.
"It's so utterly useless and futile, sir!" he sighed. "I mean the way Dawson murders the King's English. Something really should be done about it. Would you suggest gagging him, sir?"
If the Major replied, nobody heard it. At that moment the air raid siren mounted atop the Operations Office let forth with its blood-curdling wail. Without thinking, both Dave and Freddy spun around and dived for their planes. In nothing flat they were in the pits and rocketing their ships across the field. As Dave pulled his clear and went twisting around and upward, he snapped out of his action trance long enough to look at the fuel gauge. A sigh of relief spilled from his lips when he saw that he still had enough high octane for thirty-five minutes of flying.
"And lots of things can happen in thirty-five minutes!" he shouted aloud.