“Black coffee,” he ordered.
At that moment Tommy Lane strolled over and flopped into a chair. He winked at Stan as he elevated his lank legs to the top of the table, almost upsetting Allison’s coffee.
“If the notch don’t get you the Messerschmitts must,” he hummed softly. He seemed to be trying to tease Allison. When the Flight Lieutenant failed to show any interest, Tommy said, “Your treat, Allison. I’ll have black coffee with a big jug of cream on the side.”
Allison ordered Tommy’s drink and watched the corporal mark it up in his chit book. He rolled an eye lazily toward the lanky youth.
“Stan Wilson from Canada,” he drawled.
Stan grinned at Tommy Lane. His eyes bit into Allison. He did not like the way Allison was acting about his past record. If he was to have his chance to get a whack at the Jerries in this war, it was important that he be considered a subject of the British Empire, and he had come a lot of miles to get that chance.
All his plans would be ruined if the truth about him came out. Posing as a Canadian he had a good chance to get by, but there would be embarrassing questions about his past if his true nationality was found out. Questions that Stan Wilson couldn’t answer without having his new officer’s commission stripped from him. He waited breathlessly to see if Tommy would notice the challenge in Allison’s voice, but the tall youth merely grinned cheerfully and said:
“We get darn good men from Canada.”
Suddenly the intersquadron speaker rasped and began snapping orders. Every man in the room stopped talking and listened. A sudden tenseness filled the air of the room.
“Red Flight, all out! Red Flight, all out!”