CHAPTER FIVE
_Air Vice-Marshal Saunders_
Though Freddy Farmer had his doubts about Goering's "little boys," it sohappened that they did not come back to London again that night. Brightand early next morning the two boys were up and inspecting what thehotel's valet service had been able to do about their uniforms. Itwasn't a bad job of cleaning, but it wasn't a good job either. True,they would pass muster out at their own squadron, but the Air Ministry,where the Royal Air Force "brass hats" prowl about, was something elseagain.
"If Air Vice-Marshal Saunders is one of those fussy chaps," Freddy said,and fingered a fire-scorched cuff of his tunic, "he'll probably bleatall over the place."
"Well, what the heck?" Dave cried. "We'll just tell him what happened,and add that we didn't have time to get new uniforms."
"Didn't have the cash, you mean," Freddy said with a grin.
"Same thing, isn't it?" Dave shrugged. "Well, we've got to take ourchances, that's all, and hope that he is an okay guy. How do you feel?"
"Stiff as a board," Freddy said, and moved his shoulders. "I feel as ifI'd been holding up that building all night."
"Know just what you mean," Dave chuckled. "But you're mistaken."
"Mistaken?" Freddy echoed, and glanced up with a puzzled frown on hisgood-looking face.
"Sure," Dave said with a nod. "About holding up that building. You onlyheld up half of it. My aching joints tell me I must have been holding upthe other half. Well, let's go hunt up some chow. Boy! It's a swell day,anyway--for whatever is going to happen."
Dave moved over to the bomb-shattered window and looked out. There wasstill a thin pall of smoke hovering over London like a grim reminder ofwhat had happened during the dark hours. On high, however, there was nota cloud to be seen. The sky was a soft blue bathed in the golden rays ofthe rising sun. When you looked up into that sky, it was hard to believethat death had struck just a few hours before, and that right now it waspoised and waiting to strike again when darkness returned.
"What a pip of a day for flying!" Dave breathed softly. "I sure hope AirVice-Marshal Saunders doesn't keep us hanging around for very long. Me,I want to get back to the squadron and get to work. The Jerries are sureto take a crack at us on a day like this. Boy! This is almost as good asthe kind of weather we have back home."
"You mean twice as good," Freddy snorted in his ear. "But hurry up andbutton your tunic, or you'll be spouting poetry in another couple ofminutes. I'm hungry."
Dave sighed and shook his head.
"There's a man for you!" he groaned. "Beauty, war, fire, famine, orflood--they don't mean a thing to him! Only his stomach. Well, you're infor a big surprise, my young fellow. There's one thing they don't allowin the R.A.F."
"What?" Freddy demanded as they walked out of their room.
"I won't tell you," Dave grunted, and headed for the elevators. "I thinkI'll let you find out for yourself. But no, you are a pal of mine,aren't you?"
"Oh, come off it!" Freddy growled. "I'll bite. What is this wonderfulruling I don't know about?"
Dave jabbed him in the stomach with his thumb.
"They don't let you wear a corset in the R.A.F., my friend," he said."So watch how much you eat. Also, you might get stuck the next time someMesserschmitt pilot makes you bail out. A Spitfire's cockpit isn't anytoo big, you know."
"Indeed I do know," Freddy grunted, and watched the elevator slide upand come to a stop. "And that's something I've been wanting to ask you,Dave."
"Well, then, shoot," Dave said. "I'll always help a pal out with thecorrect answer."
Freddy didn't speak directly. He waited until they were in theelevator. It contained two men in civilian clothes and two women. Looksof frank admiration were cast their way, but Freddy pretended not tonotice. He stared at Dave, and there was a look of baby innocence andcuriosity in his eyes.
"You'll really tell me, Dave?" he asked in a voice just a trifle loud."You'll really give me the answer?"
"Sure," Dave said without thinking. "Just ask me the question. I'll giveyou the answer. What?"
"It's your legs, Dave," Freddy said. "I've often wondered. They're soconfoundedly long and skinny, just what do you do with them in thecockpit of your Hurricane? Is it true that the mechanics have cut holesin the fuselage so's you can let them hang out over the leading edge ofthe wing? But what about when you're landing? What touches the groundfirst, your feet or the wheels?"
When Freddy stopped, Dave's ears, neck and face were a bright red, andthere was a look of murder in his eyes. Everybody in the elevator wasroaring with laughter. It was all he could do to keep from taking Freddyby the throat and throttling him right then and there. However, hecould take kidding as well as dish it out, and by the time the elevatorhad reached the lobby level he was laughing as loud as anybody.
"Okay, pick up the marbles for that one, sonny boy," he said to Freddyas they headed for the breakfast room. "But next time it's my turn. And,boy, look out, what I mean!"
"Don't worry!" Freddy chuckled, and squeezed his arm. "With you around,a chap has to watch out constantly."
All through breakfast they maintained a steady stream of kiddingchit-chat talk. Of course each knew what was really uppermost in theother's mind: one Air Vice-Marshal Saunders. Neither of them mentionedit, though, until the meal was over and it was time to go and report atthe Air Ministry located but a few blocks from their hotel.
It was Dave who brought the subject up. He slid a tip beside his emptycoffee cup, looked at Freddy, and pushed back his chair.
"Well, let's quit stalling and go see what it's all about," he said."I'm going nuts with worry and wonder, aren't you?"
"Am I!" Freddy breathed, and gave a little shake of his head. "To tellyou the truth, I feel exactly like a criminal waiting for the jury tocome in with the news of his fate. What do you suppose--?"
"Don't ask!" Dave cut in. "I've been slowly going nuts asking myself thesame question over and over again. Oh, heck, let's go. They can't do anymore than shoot us!"
They walked the short distance to the Air Ministry in mutual thoughtfulsilence. Just inside the wide front doors of the building, they gavetheir names, ranks, and squadron numbers to an officer seated at a deskthat was practically covered with rows of bell buttons. When they addedthat they were reporting on orders to Air Vice-Marshal Saunders, theofficer shot a scowling glance at their uniforms. He didn't sayanything, however. He simply nodded, wrote something on a card and thenjabbed a button and picked up a Husho-Phone. A moment later he hung upand stabbed another button. An R.A.F. staff sergeant seemed to pop downout of the air. The non-commissioned officer saluted smartly. Theofficer at the desk handed him the card.
"Take these two officers to Air Vice-Marshal Saunders," he said in acrisp voice.
The staff sergeant took the card with his left hand, saluted smartlyagain with his right, and looked at Dave and Freddy. They nodded. Thesergeant clicked his heels, executed a smart about-face and went offdown the hall. Dave and Freddy followed.
"Holy smoke!" Dave breathed out of the corner of his mouth. "Did you geta load of all the bell buttons on that desk, Freddy? I wonder if he'sgot one that'll do it? There sure are enough."
"Do what?" Freddy whispered back. "What are you talking about?"
"A button he can jab to make Hitler pop out of a secret door in thewall," Dave chuckled. "Boy, wouldn't it be something if all thoseconnecting wires should get mixed up! I think I could enjoy myself atthat officer's desk some quiet night with nobody around."
"I can just imagine!" Freddy grunted. "And what a madhouse this placewould be the next morning! Well, forget it, my lad. There's a chap atthat desk twenty-four hours a day, I fancy."
Dave glanced back over his shoulder just in time to see the officerreaching out to punch another button. He sighed heavily.
"It's still a swell idea," he murmured. "Well, we're getting close."
The office of Air Vice-Marshal Saunders was at the rear of the thirdfloor. The sergeant turned the t
wo boys over to a smartly uniformedflight lieutenant in the outer office. A moment or two later the flightlieutenant ushered them into the presence of the high ranking Air Forceofficial. As Dave saluted and looked at the tall, well built figure, astrange sense of relief flooded through him. There wasn't any worry inhim any more, only wonder. Air Vice-Marshal Saunders had not reached hisposition of high responsibility through political pull, nor by knowingthe right sort of people. You had only to glance at the rows ofdecoration ribbons under his pilot's wings over the left upper pocket ofhis tunic to know that. There was the red, blue, and red ribbon of theDistinguished Service Order (the D.S.O.). There was the blue and whiteribbon of the Distinguished Flying Cross (the D.F.C.). And on thatribbon was the small silver rosette, or bar, which meant that its wearerhad performed a feat of air valor for which he had been granted theD.F.C. a second time. There was also the Air Force Cross, and the Monsribbon, denoting that Saunders had been with that valiant British armythat had met the Germans at Mons in 1914, in the First World War. And,of course, there were ribbons to show that he had been decorated by manyother governments. No, one look at Air Vice-Marshal Saunders' row ofribbons, and Dave knew that here was a real soldier, a real pilot, and aman who had won and deserved the high position he now held.
The vice-marshal smiled and nodded acceptance of their salute.
"At ease, gentlemen," he said, and pointed to some chairs. "Sit down.We'll have to wait a bit. The colonel is delayed, but he'll be hereshortly. Ah! You were in London last night, eh?"
Both boys looked blank for a moment. Then Freddy found his tongue.
"Why--why, yes, sir," he stammered. "But how did you guess, sir?"
"And I'll bet five pounds," the senior officer said with a laugh, "thatyou two have been worrying yourselves sick that I would hit theceiling, and rant and rave all over the place, eh?"
"Why, yes--sure--I mean--" Dave stumbled and stopped. "I don't think Iunderstand, sir."
The vice-marshal laughed again and pointed a finger.
"Your uniforms," he said. "Souvenirs from Hitler, I fancy. Did a bombfall on you, or did you go out hunting for one? Knowing you fightercommand lads, I'm guessing it was the latter."
The words banished the last of any fears that might have been lingeringin the boys' minds. They relaxed completely and laughed.
"It was about halfway between, sir," Freddy explained. "I mean, a coupleof them landed close to the hotel, so--well, we went out and took alook, you might say."
"We didn't bring extra uniforms, sir," Dave added. "And this was thebest the hotel could do. I'm sorry, sir."
"Sorry?" the air vice-marshal echoed. "About a little bit ofwater-soaked and fire-scorched cloth? Rot! It's not the looks of auniform that really counts; it's what's inside that matters. I won'tpush you for information, but I fancy you did more than just take alook. I--Ah! There's the colonel now."
The boys heard the door open in back of them. They both got quickly totheir feet, turned around, and stopped dead with their eyes popping insheer amazement. A big man in civilian clothes was walking into theroom. He had a strip of surgeon plaster over his left eye, and his lefthand was completely hidden by a bandage. He walked with a slight limp.The two boys watched him, speechless. They stared at him as though hewere a ghost, because it was the man who had been trapped under the deskin that bomb-blasted building the night before.
"Ah, good morning, Colonel," they heard Air Vice-Marshal Saunders say."Had a bit of an accident, eh? Or is this just another of Intelligence'sdisguises?"
"Not this time, sir," the colonel said with a tight smile. "Caught a bitof trouble during that mess last night, and--Well, bless my stars!"
The injured man had looked at Dave and Freddy for the first time. Hiseyes grew wide with amazement, and he gave a little shake of his head asthough to clear his vision.
"Great guns, you two?" he gasped. Then, turning to Air Vice-MarshalSaunders: "Are these two Pilot Officers Dawson and Farmer--the two I'msupposed to meet?"
"That's right, Colonel Fraser," the air vice-marshal replied. "Why?You've already met them?"
"And jolly well right I have!" the colonel exclaimed. "But for these twochaps, and a fire lieutenant, I wouldn't be here now. I was in my secretoffice last night with two of my agents, and my secretary, when a bombcaught the place fair and square. We were all trapped under thewreckage. These two lads got us out a split second before the floor gaveway and dropped everything down onto the next floor. Great guns, this isa small world. And say, you two, I'm deucedly sorry about last night."
"Sorry, sir?" Dave echoed, and gave him a questioning look.
The man reached up his good hand and touched the strip of plaster overhis eye.
"Got a bit of a crack, and it put me off my napper for a spell," hesaid. "I was pretty much in a daze while you lads were saving our lives.When I came around, I found myself in my regular office in the WarOffice building. Must have walked all the way there. Everything cameback to me clear as day, but you and those fire fighting chaps had leftthe spot by the time I got back there. But I certainly want to expressmy heartfelt thanks to you two, now. I certainly owe my life to you."
"We're glad we were of service," Freddy said, as embarrassed crimsonseeped up into his cheeks. "How about the others, sir? Are they gettingalong all right?"
"Coming along fine," the other said. "Miss Trumble, my secretary, willbe out of things for a bit, and I'll certainly miss her. Smartest womanin the service. But that's a jolly sight better than losing hercompletely. By Jove, this is like a cinema thriller, isn't it! My word!"
Dave and Freddy moved their feet uncomfortably and glanced at AirVice-Marshal Saunders. The high ranking officer was grinning broadly andslowly nodding his head up and down.
"So you simply just went to _take a look_, eh?" he murmured. "Knewperfectly well that it was much more than that. You two certainly havethe reputation for chasing after trouble, _and_ whipping it."[1]
[Footnote 1: _Dave Dawson at Dunkirk._]
The air vice-marshal suddenly stopped short. The smile faded from hisface, and he stared gravely at the two young R.A.F. pilots for a momentor two.
"And that is just why you are here," he said presently. "This officer,as you probably have guessed already, is Colonel Fraser, of BritishIntelligence. He is the one who wishes to speak with you. I onlysuggested to him that you two should have first chance to listen to whathe has to say. Shall we all sit down? Colonel, are you ready to start?"
The Intelligence officer seemed to have difficulty in tearing his eyesfrom the two boys. He finally succeeded, and nodded. And as though acurtain had been drawn across his face, he too became grave andunsmiling.
"Yes, of course, sir," he said in a flat voice. "Let's get on with it atonce."
As Dave sat down on his chair again, his heart was pounding so hard hefeared it would push right out through his chest. His throat was drywith excitement, and there was that familiar tingling at the back of hisneck. The tingling was a sure sign that danger and action were waitingfor him just ahead. He glanced at Freddy and saw the look in his pal'seyes. That look said that Freddy was thinking and wondering the samethings.