In the mess Allison sank into a chair. He grinned across at Stan, who had seated himself. “Mind if I order tea? I’ve drunk a gallon of coffee just to be polite to you.”
Stan grunted, “You don’t have to be polite to me.”
“I don’t intend to from now on, old man.” Allison’s eyes were twinkling.
“What’s on your mind? Regulations and such rot, I suppose.” Stan was still hot under the collar.
“We don’t do it that way here,” Allison said. “A rotter like Garret is always taken care of.”
“You mean he’s out?”
“No, I can’t swing that, but we don’t have to have him in Red Flight.” He reached for the cup of tea the corporal had set in front of him. “You made an enemy who will go a long way to stymie you.”
“He’d better stay out of my way,” Stan growled.
Allison grinned. “Guess he had, at that,” he admitted.