"Listen to who's talking!" Dave snorted. "That dizzy-looking get-up of yours is the one thing that has me worried about this flight."
"Ah, so the chap is worried!" Freddy murmured. "I thought so!"
"Darn tooting!" Dave said. "One look at you and both of the Pegasus engines on the bus are liable to up and stop working just like that. And then where'll we be? See what I mean?"
"I doubt if they'll even get us off the ground if you get close to them!" Freddy scoffed. "So be sure and stay well back out of sight. But to be serious, Dave, what do you really think of our chances? Oh, I know we'll go the limit, but what do you really think?"
Dave didn't answer for a moment. He turned his back to the scene of night aerial warfare to the south and stared unseeingly at the four "Wellies" with their propellers slowly ticking over.
"That's a tough question, Freddy," he finally said. "To tell you the truth, I really don't know just what I do think. As a matter of fact—No, skip that."
"Skip what, Dave?" Freddy prodded earnestly. "What were you going to say? I really want to know."
Dave looked at him and smiled a trifle wryly.
"Maybe I'm getting old too fast, Freddy," he said. "Or maybe I'm just getting too many cockeyed ideas for my age. But from what I've already seen of this war, nothing is absolutely certain. I mean, you can plot and plan how you're going to do a thing until you're blue in the face; get every little thing all set so that it's—well, so that it's in the bag, as we say back home. Then, zingo! Something pops up that knocks all your plans completely haywire. And—Oh, nuts! I guess I'm like a kid whistling in the dark."
"And I feel exactly the same," Freddy said quietly. "But go on. What else, Dave?"