Allison glared at him, and muttered, “You two make me tired.”
CHAPTER V
O’MALLEY BAGS A JERRY GUN
No call came for Red Flight until late afternoon. Other flights roared away to strafe the French coast, or to meet incoming bomber formations, or to do scout duty; but Allison and his crew just sat around and groused. O’Malley’s good humor finally broke down and he began prowling around hurling choice Irish words at the mess crew.
When the call did come, he was out of the room like a wild bushman. By the time Allison and Stan reached the cab rank, he was jerking his hatch cover into place and feeling out his Merlin.
“You’d think the boy was off to raid Berlin,” Allison said sourly. “All we have is a call from a few barges of coal.”
Red Flight roared out and up, heading toward the channel. Stan had checked his instruments carefully. Everything seemed to be in working order, though he could not be sure of his wing guns until he opened them up.
“Keep in close,” Allison’s voice droned.
They were up now and heading for the channel where a few big clouds hung over the sea. So far as Stan could see they were kings of the air and there might have been no war on at all. Not a wing was in sight except their own.
“Red Flight, level off.”