Allison frowned at him. “You birds better remember this is modern warfare, not the Battle of Britain or the Pacific. They’ll bounce you high and quick for breaking rules. This Eighth Air Force is big stuff now.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Stan answered. “But we plan to go through proper channels.”
“And it’s a deep secret,” O’Malley added.
O’Malley’s pie arrived and he dropped out of the talk for a time. Stan and Allison chatted about the changes and the amazing way the Eighth had grown up until it took a large section of British farmland to house it.
Stan and O’Malley left early and hurried back to their own mess. They wanted to corner Colonel Holt. They found him in the mess looking very dour and gloomy. He was alone. None of the other men seemed to care about trying to cheer him up. Stan and O’Malley barged over to his table.
“May we sit down, sir?” Stan asked.
“Sure.” Holt motioned to two chairs.
The boys sat down. Stan ordered coffee and O’Malley ordered pie.
“I need just a bite to get me in shape for supper,” he said when Stan glared at him as he gave his order.
“Lousy show today,” Holt grumbled. “I don’t mean the way you fellows flew it, but the way the Germans have everything figured out so neatly. We lost eleven bombers.”