Dave Dawson with the Commandos

by Robert Sidney Bowen

"Somehow you hope not, Freddy?" Dave asked softly. "That what you mean, pal?"

Freddy grinned and nodded slightly.

"Frankly, yes," he said. "I enjoyed every minute of that Commando school. I fancy I'd like the chance to put into actual practice a bit of what I learned. Quite! It would be a bit satisfying to take a knife away from some Nazi blighter and toss him over my shoulder, the way they taught us."

"You can say that again!" Dave chuckled. "I received a lot of lumps learning that bit of self-defense. I sure would like to try it out on a Nazi tramp. And no rubber knife, either, like the instructor used. But, heck! I guess we're just hollering down the rain barrel, pal. Commando and Yank Ranger units are being formed in England, not here. That's where the finishing touches are put on. After all, we're a couple of pilots, not infantrymen. No, I guess Colonel Welsh figured it might be a good idea to round out our combat education a bit. So he suggested that we take the course."

"Probably," Freddy agreed with an unhappy sigh. "Just a bit of schooling to keep us out of trouble while he decided what job to set us at next. Oh well, I enjoyed the schooling—thoroughly!"

"It was fun, and how," Dave grunted. "But I sure hate to have all these tough muscles I built up go to waste. Doggone you, Freddy! Seeing you shovel that extra slab of pie into your face has made me hungry again! I guess I'll join you, at that. But without the tea!"

Dave turned to signal the waiter, and it was then that he saw the man in person heading his way. The waiter carried a white envelope in one hand, and he was taking the shortest route across the dining room. In his other hand he carried the dinner check. In true waiter style, he presented the check first. Dave glanced at the score and whistled under his breath. The hotel they had picked slip-out-of-the-hat style was not exactly favorable to a Captain's pay. However, he felt a little better when he realized that three fourths of the check was Freddy Farmer's obligation.

"Pardon," murmured the waiter. "Are you Captains Dawson and Farmer?"

"That's right," Dave told him. "I'm Captain Dawson. So that makes him Captain Farmer."

"A gentleman just gave this to the head waiter, sir," the man said, and held out the envelope. "He said it was to be given to either Captain Dawson or Captain Farmer."