“But you wouldn’t be again. Not one time in a million. Wars are not won that way.
“Look here, Applegate,” the Commander’s voice softened a little. “I’ve always liked you, been proud of you. You were not raised like the rest of us. When the war came you joined up and you’ve played your part like a man.
“This fighting in the air is different.” The Commander paused to look away. “It’s a little like the old days that Walter Scott wrote about, Ivanhoe, Kenilworth, Richard the Lionhearted, all that. Each man got him a sword and fought it out with the first enemy he met.
“It’s the same here in a way. You can’t always fight in formation. But you do have to fight under orders. You must, I must, everyone but the King must. And he’s not so free either.
“Last night,” his voice fell, “you took your ship without orders and did a stretch over London. Why?”
“I—I couldn’t stand myself.” The young Lord’s head was bowed. “Going out with five men, coming back with three. Not getting the man I was after. Losing the fellows we all love. What kind of fighting is that?”
“It comes to all of us.” The commander’s voice was gentle now. “Once over in France—
“Wait!” He sprang up. “There’s the phone.”
In the corner the young Lord heard the Commander exclaim into the receiver, “What? Who? Say! That’s great! How’s that? Yes. Certainly. As long as you like.”
The Commander’s voice was deep with emotion as turning back to the young Lord he said: