“This is quite a war and we have to hit as hard as we can and all pull together. They need you more at Croydon than I do here. Good luck to you.”
The three snapped salutes and faced about. They hurried out of the building and across the square. Within a half-hour they were packed and ready for the car that was to take them to their new home.
“I’m not sorry saying good-by to those bloated balloons,” Allison said as he looked up toward the south.
“I’m glad I’m leaving. It will save me punching a fellow officer in the jaw,” Stan said grimly.
“There won’t be anything excitin’ goin’ on over there,” O’Malley said sourly.
“They may have some other kind of pie.” Allison grinned.
An eager light came into O’Malley’s eye. “Sure, and that’s a thought worth rememberin’,” he muttered.
The mess at Croydon was a large room and had a phonograph as well as a console radio. There was a nice assortment of old but comfortable chairs and lounges, and there was a counter where food and drinks were served. The three members of Red Flight arrived at the mess about the same time.
O’Malley saw the counter at once and his eyes lighted eagerly. Back of the counter were shelves and on one of the shelves sat a half-dozen pies. A Wing Commander and a Squadron Leader were leaning against the center of the counter. Allison was for barging on past without disturbing the superior officers, but O’Malley had his eyes on the pie shelf.
“Shove in, me hearties, the treat’s on Mrs. O’Malley’s son.”