The Indian orderly at Combined Intelligence Headquarters, Syrian Northern Command, saluted smartly.
“Major Kenton keep you not waiting long, memsahibs. He is now engaged. He request you please sit down.”
memsahibs“Thank you.” Flight Officer Joan Worralson—“Worrals” to her comrades in the W.A.A.F.—sank into a long cane chair. Her friend, Flight Officer Betty Lovell, otherwise “Frecks,” did the same.
The orderly retired, leaving them alone in the anteroom.
Frecks moved her chair so that she could see through the window. “So this is Aleppo,” she murmured. “Gosh! I’m tired,” she added, yawning. “Air travel isn’t all that it’s made out to be.”
“We flew high, and we’ve come a long way,” returned Worrals. “The main thing is, we’re here.”
Frecks yawned again. “It will be interesting,” she re
