“We sure miss a lot of missions because of bad weather,” Stan admitted. “One of these days some fellow will invent a seeing eye sight that will look right through the clouds.”
“You been readin’ the funny books too much lately,” O’Malley said.
“Missed any of yours?” Stan laughed as he glanced toward a pile of comic books stacked beside O’Malley’s cot.
“I think our dog robber’s been snitchin’ a few.” O’Malley yawned and stretched his arms over his head. They were long bony arms with huge hands attached to them.
“Weren’t you in Berlin before the war?” Stan asked.
“Sure,” O’Malley answered. “Bein’ a son of good auld Ireland, I was itchin’ to get into a fight an’ it looked like the Jerries were the only ones preparin’ to do anything.”
“Why didn’t you stay over there?” Stan grinned broadly as he spoke. “I hear there are pretty girls in Berlin and that their mammas can bake swell pies.”
O’Malley sighed deeply at the mention of pie. His big Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, then his wide mouth clamped shut.
“Sure, an’ I don’t like bein’ pushed around, an’ I don’t like to see other folks kicked an’ slugged by a lot of spalpeens dressed up in brown shirts.”
“You may get to wave to that girl when we fly over Berlin,” Stan said.