"About what?"
"About the blighters across the Channel," Freddy said. "Think they'll be fools enough to try and invade us? I mean, seriously."
"I don't know," Dave said with a shrug. He plucked a blade of grass and started chewing on it thoughtfully. "No, I don't know if Hitler's that crazy, or not," he continued after a moment. "All I can say is I sure hope he tries it. We'll give him a beating he won't forget in a hurry. Gee! That makes me feel good!"
"What makes you feel good?" Freddy wanted to know.
"Saying that," Dave grunted. "Saying we'll give him a beating. Gosh, a few months ago I was an American citizen, standing on the sidelines watching things. Now, though, I'm a part of it. When I speak of England doing this or that, I'm including me, because I'm really a little part of it, now. It sure gives me a kick to feel that way, and to know it's true."
"And England is grateful, Dave," Freddy said solemnly. "I guess you might say that England's fighting to save the world, and—"
The young Englishman didn't finish the rest. At that moment the phone bell in the Dispersal Office not far away rang harshly. In a flash they were both on their feet, because the ringing of that phone bell always meant just one thing. It meant that German planes had been sighted approaching 207's patrol area. The voice at the other end of that phone would state where the planes were, how many in number, the types, the altitude, direction, and so forth. To pilots on stand-to duty the ringing of that bell meant action coming up. And so, as their flight leader answered the call, Dave and Freddy started pulling on their helmets and zipping up their flying suits, for although it was summer on the ground it was cold up around twenty thousand feet where they usually did battle.
A moment later Flight Lieutenant Barton-Woods, leader of their flight, known as Green Flight, came dashing out of the Dispersal Office.
"Right-o, chaps!" he called out to them, and hurried toward his plane. "A couple of Junkers 88s cutting across Zone H at twenty-two thousand. Let's go up and chase the beggars down into the sea."
In less than a minute the three Spitfires streaked off the field and went wind screaming up for altitude. As soon as they were clear, Flight Lieutenant Barton-Woods checked his radio with the field's station, and then checked with the two members of his flight.