“Sure, an’ that’s the first time the brass hats iver turned us loose,” O’Malley said with a big grin.
“And it will likely be the last time,” Allison said with a chuckle.
“We’d better be getting over to operations. Now, who’s flying the Mosquito?” Stan looked from Allison to O’Malley.
O’Malley swallowed eagerly. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, but he turned to Allison. Allison grinned at him.
“You fly the crate, old man. I’m one blighter who wants to get even for some of the slaps and kicks we got in that prison dog house.”
“Sure, an’ I’ll be after flyin’ her,” O’Malley said. “But only because I’m thinkin’ ye’ll be needin’ the best pilot in this crew at the controls o’ that ship.”
“You hate yourself, don’t you?” Stan teased. “You fly her, but just remember, if you get into a dogfight and don’t show up when we set off our flares, you’ll get the beating of your life when we walk in.” He grinned at O’Malley.
“I’ll be right there,” O’Malley promised.
All of the details had been worked out and gone over so many times by the boys that they did not need to check again. They drew the machine guns and grenades they needed along with flares and other equipment. The supply officer got blue parachutes for them from an operating unit.
“Can’t be spotted at night,” he explained.