“’Tis time I quit this job,” he shouted at the briefing officer. “When a man can’t stay an’ settle an argument like a gentleman, ’tis time to quit.”
The officer grinned at O’Malley. Stan slapped his pal on the back. “I’ll buy you a pie, and darned if I don’t eat one myself.”
O’Malley considered this for a moment, then said: “If a man can’t fight, then the next best thing is to consider a bit of food.”
Arm in arm the three fliers of Red Flight walked into the mess.
The next morning Allison and O’Malley and Stan were eating breakfast at a side table. Allison had been over to headquarters and he had learned a few things. Over bacon and hot cakes he told them what he had heard.
“Garret was the man on the spot, but they got a fellow who was way up, they wouldn’t give his name. He kept Garret from getting tossed out of the service and worked it so he was made a Squadron Leader. They planned to get a man like Garret into every squadron if they could.”
“’Tis black, the likes of such a man is,” O’Malley said with a scowl.
“Garret admitted bleeding Stan’s gas tank and leading Moon Flight off the trail. I asked him how he found out Stan was a Yank and he said the information was sent him from the Nazi secret service.” Allison leaned back and smiled. “I have an idea our Intelligence will do a lot more snooping from now on.”
“Sure an’ ’tis a nice tale, but one we already had figured out,” O’Malley said.
“I got a real raking for not turning over Stan’s record to Farrell as soon as we were transferred,” Allison said with a grin. “I now tender my apologies but, after the first spoofing I did, I clean forgot about those reports. They didn’t seem important. Stan is one of the best pilots in the Royal Air Force, and what we need is fighters.”
“It’s all over now, and I accept your apology,” Stan said.
O’Malley scowled suddenly. “Do you gents think we’ll ever get to see any more action? I bet we won’t.”
He was answered by the intersquadron speaker. It began rasping:
“Red Flight, all out. Red Flight, all out. Bandits sighted over the Dover coast. Heavy fighter escort of Messerschmitt One-Tens.”
