"Right now!" the English youth snapped, and gave him a scornful look.
They followed the Group Captain out and over to the officers' mess. There they ate their fill, and when the senior officer had taken his departure they went outside and started wandering around the field. Their legs were still a little stiff from the Atlantic crossing, so a little exercise wouldn't do either of them any harm. At the end of an hour or so they had had enough. They hunted up a hutment orderly, and were shown a couple of bunks where they could catch up on a little much needed sleep and rest.
It was late in the afternoon when the orderly awakened them. He told them that there had been two raid alarms sounded while they had been asleep. However, no Jerry planes had put in an appearance.
"The Commandant told me to find out when you would be taking off, Captains," the orderly added later. "There're two Spitfires just ferried here from the factory, waiting on the tarmac. The Commandant says as how he would like you to deliver them to the squadron you're going to. Shall I have them revved up?"
Dave dug sleep seeds out of his eyes and looked at Freddy. His pal did likewise, and nodded.
"Might as well," he grunted. "There's nothing more to be learned here. Might just as well get on with it."
"Check," Dave said, and turned to the orderly. "Do that, will you, and thanks."
Half an hour later the two air aces were out on the tarmac, and ready to leave. They were about to climb into their Spitfires when Group Captain Farnsworth came over to them.
"Just wanted to say goodbye," he smiled, "and wish you all kinds of luck."
"Thank you, sir," Dave grinned. "And we're sorry about those two Jerry planes. I promise that next time we won't be so selfish."