“I’m sure it is,” Dave agreed.
“And after all, it’s not your war,” his companion added.
“No. Of course not,” Dave agreed. “It’s not my war.” For the first time in his life those words seemed a bit strange.
At headquarters Dave asked for coffee and got it, good coffee served by a bright faced English girl.
He had just taken his first swallow when two young men entered. At once the Young Lord was on his feet.
The slim, dark-eyed one of the new arrivals said: “As you were.” At once tension relaxed.
“Commander Knox,” said the Young Lord, “I want you to meet my friend Dave Barnes from America. He thinks he can fly.” He grinned slyly.
“All Americans think that.” The Squad Commander chuckled. “Didn’t you ever notice that?”
“Yes—yes I have,” the Young Lord agreed. “And mostly they can’t. But this chap,”—he gave Dave a quick grin—“I shouldn’t wonder if he could fly. Oh, just the least little bit.”
“You wouldn’t be spoofing us?” said the red-headed companion of the Commander. He was grinning broadly.