“Fine, sir. I believe I made several hits.”
A short while later they circled above their home field and came in. Lights blazed on the field for the first time since Stan had been flying from it. Number 30 would be lighted up for an hour at least, in spite of raiders. This was by way of celebrating their victory.
Stan climbed out of his plane. He saw Allison coming across the field. They met and Stan could think of nothing to say. O’Malley hadn’t come in.
“Tough, O’Malley missing that big fight after the raid,” he finally said.
Allison looked at him. A slow smile came to his lips. He pointed out across the field. Stan looked and saw a mass of twisted wreckage. What certainly was the tail assembly of a Hendee Hawk was sticking out of the twisted mass.
“He parked that mess there, then climbed out and walked into the briefing room,” Allison said. “We’ll find him in there grousing because they called us in before we got all of those Messerschmitts.”
Stan’s laugh rang out and he made for the briefing room. Sure enough, O’Malley was there and he was fuming.
“’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.”