CHAPTER TWO
_Mysterious Orders_
Less than half an hour later, the three pilots of 207 were reporting alldetails of the patrol to Squadron Leader Trenton, and the R.A.F.Intelligence officer who sat at his side. No matter how trivial a patrolmay be, R.A.F. pilots always make a complete report upon their return tothe home field. That way the ranking powers are always able to have acomplete picture of the war in the air before them. In other words,every single scrap of information about a patrol is important, becauseyou never can tell what it might mean in the whole scheme of things. Forthat reason the pilots not only made out their reports in writing, butmade them by word of mouth, too.
"Good work, you two," the Squadron Leader said, and smiled at Freddy andDave. "It's not such an easy job getting a Junkers 88. Those planes havea pretty fair amount of fire power. So getting _two_ of them is a mightygood piece of work. And, oh yes, stay a bit, will you? I want to have atalk with you."
A few minutes later Flight Lieutenant Barton-Woods and the Intelligenceofficer headed off for the mess. As the door closed on them, SquadronLeader Trenton swung around in his chair and gave the two boys a longpiercing stare. Then he suddenly clasped his hands on the desk andleaned forward.
"I say, you two," he spoke up, "have you gotten yourselves into a bit oftrouble that might have been reported to the Air Ministry in London?"
Dave and Freddy looked blankly at each other for a brief moment, thenreturned their gaze to the squadron leader.
"Trouble, sir?" Dave echoed faintly.
"When, sir?" Freddy added. "And where?"
The squadron commander shrugged and looked completely at sea.
"I haven't the faintest idea," he said. "I was only asking you. Nothinghappened when you two popped up to London for a day's leave last week?"
"Why, no, sir," Freddy answered promptly for them both. "We just nosedaround and saw a couple of shows, that's all. We were both back here atthe squadron by midnight."
"Why?" Dave put the question. "Has anything happened, sir?"
"I can't say," Squadron Leader Trenton murmured, and stared at them witha troubled look in his eyes. "Just after you took off on this last show,I received a phone call from Air Ministry. You two are ordered to reportto Air Vice-Marshal Saunders bright and early tomorrow morning. You'dbetter go up to London tonight so's you'll be sure and be at AdastralHouse (R.A.F. name for the Air Ministry) bright and early."
"Air Vice-Marshal Saunders?" Freddy Farmer repeated in an awed tone."But why would he want to see us, sir?"
Squadron Leader Trenton smiled thinly as he gestured with his two handson the desk.
"In this case, I still haven't any idea," he said. "Usually, though,it's for one of two reasons: to give you a very hot going over forbreaking some rule and getting into trouble; or else to give you hispersonal congratulations as he tells you you've been recommended for amedal."
"Well, it surely can't be for either of those reasons," Dave said with afrown. "We certainly haven't bumped into any trouble, and we certainlyhaven't done anything to rate a medal. And--My gosh! Holy smokes! Do yousuppose--?"
Dave gulped and didn't finish the rest. Squadron Leader Trenton gave hima keen glance.
"Do I suppose what, Dawson?" he prompted.
Dave had to swallow again before he could speak. A crazy thought hadsuddenly flashed through his brain, but just the same it had given him acold chill.
"Do you suppose there's some new law?" he began. "I mean, could there besome new ruling that might force us to resign our commissions becausewe're both only seventeen, a year under the regulation age?"
A look of relief flooded the senior officer's face. He laughed and shookhis head.
"Not even likely!" he said in firm conviction. "After the way you twochaps have stood up, it doesn't matter in the slightest how old youare--seventeen or seventy. No, Dawson, I think I can assure youpositively that the R.A.F. will never make any new ruling or law thatwould rid it of you two. No, you can let that worry bail out of yourmind, and forget it forever. No, that wasn't the reason for my phonecall."
"And you really haven't _any_ idea, sir?" Freddy asked. "I mean, couldthis possibly mean that Dawson and I are being transferred someplaceelse?"
"By gad, I hope not!" the squadron leader exclaimed sharply, and sat upin his chair. "No, it couldn't be that, either. I would be informed. Thetransfer papers would be sent along to me. Besides, I'd raise the roofat any suggestion like that."
"Boy, I wish we were reporting today," Dave grunted. "I know doggonewell I won't sleep a wink tonight!"
"Which may be the exact truth!" Squadron Leader Trenton said with a drysmile. "The Jerries are starting to bomb London at night, now, youknow. And by the way, if they do while you two are there, just see to itthat you keep out from under, won't you? It cost the R.A.F. a fair pennyto make Spitfire pilots out of you. We want a return on the investment,you know."
The two boys laughed, but inside they glowed and felt very happy indeed.That was simply Squadron Leader Trenton's way of saying that he valuedtheir aid to 207, and didn't want anything to happen that would rob 207Squadron of their flying and combat ability.
"Don't worry, we'll sure watch our step, sir," Dave said. Then, with aquick side glance at Freddy: "I'll see that he doesn't stumble over anybombs. I'll keep hold of his hand all the time."
The squadron leader laughed, and Freddy Farmer blushed to the ears.
"When anybody has to hold my hand, I'll jolly well let you know!" theyoung Englishman said scornfully. "Like as not, it'll be the other way'round. Don't you think his face is getting a bit pale already, sir?"
Freddy addressed the last to Squadron Leader Trenton, who laughed again.
"Can't say for sure, Farmer," the O.C. said gravely. "The light's bad inhere, you know. Well, anyway, pop along, you two, and pack a bag. Theadjutant will give you railroad vouchers, and your passes. Get back heresoon. And no matter what--good luck to both of you."
The two youths thanked him, saluted and retreated outside. As theystarted toward their living quarters, Dave slyly stuck out his foot, andwhen Freddy tripped over it and started to fall headlong, Dave grabbedhim quickly.
"See?" Dave chided, as he helped Freddy to keep his balance. "Just as Ithought! You need somebody to hold your hand. Oh, well, I'll be glad todo it, because I like you, little boy. _Hey!_"
Freddy caused the exclamation, because as he straightened up he steppedhard on Dave's foot, then broke into a sprint for their living quarters.The English youth won by a good three yards. He was inside and haulingout his suitcase as Dave came bursting in. He glanced up with a look ofmock concern on his face.
"Something wrong, Dave?" he murmured. "Is a Jerry chasing you?"
"Just a pal!" Dave growled, and limped toward his own bunk. "I stop theguy from falling down and breaking his neck, and what does he do? Hepractically cripples me for life. A fine screw-ball I've got for a pal.Say, Freddy?"
"Yes?"
Dave sank down on his bunk with a frown and made no effort to haul outhis suitcase.
"This business at Adastral House tomorrow," he grunted. "Jeepers! I surehope it isn't bad news. I don't know why, but I've got a funny feeling."
Freddy stopped packing and looked up.
"What kind of a funny feeling?" he wanted to know.
Dave scratched the back of his neck and sighed.
"Just a funny feeling, that's all," he said. "I can't put it into words.I've just got a hunch that plenty is going to happen."
"Good, or bad?" Freddy asked.
Dave shook his head and got off the bunk.
"Boy, do I wish I knew!" he breathed. "Well, we can only wait and hope,I guess. Where do you want to stay in London? Your family's house onBaker Street is closed up, isn't it?"
"Yes," Freddy said. "But, if you like, we can open it for the night.There'd be no objections."
"No, let's bunk at a hotel," Dave said. "How about the Savoy? That'sclose to the Air Ministry."
"So
the lad's a blinking millionaire!" Freddy commented with a chuckle."He must stay at the very best of places. Too bad they don't rent roomand bath at Buckingham Palace."
"Okay, okay!" Dave growled. "Then where do we park?"
"Why, at the Savoy, of course," Freddy said with a sly grin. "I fancyour pilot officer's pay can stand it for one night. And that makes mewonder a bit, you know?"
"What does?" Dave asked absently, as he started studying a Londontimetable. "What are you wondering about now, my little man?"
"I was wondering where we'll be _tomorrow_ night," Freddy replied.
"Somehow I don't even dare guess," Dave said. "And--Hey, get a move on,fellow! There's a train leaving Chelmsford in forty minutes. Let's grabthat. It gets us in London just about in time to put on the feed bag.Gee! I wonder if they've got strawberry shortcake at the Savoy. Boy,can I go for that dish!"
"Good grief!" Freddy groaned. Then, in mock gravity: "Why, certainly, mydear fellow. Anything for a weary R.A.F. pilot, you know. After all, whoelse is fighting the blinking war?"
Dave heaved a book at him, but Freddy dodged it neatly, and then thepair set to packing in earnest. As they expected to be away only a dayand a night at the most, they didn't put many "spares" into their bags.As a matter of fact, though, had the two of them been able to look intothe future at that moment, they wouldn't have bothered about packinganything! Clean shirts, spare socks and handkerchiefs, and all that sortof stuff, were items they wouldn't be even thinking about in the hecticdays that lay just ahead.
"Okay, I'm set, are you?" Dave presently announced, and clicked his bagshut.
"Right you are," Freddy called out, and shut his own bag. "Off we go!"
Dave caught up his bag and started for the door. When he reached it, hesuddenly paused and turned around.
"Doggone that hunch!" he grunted. "Wonder what it means, anyway?"