Stan slid over and down, sure now of his position. Ahead, he spotted Tommy and then Allison. They rocketed down through the notch, as sure of the narrow pathway as though the noonday sun was shining on the cables. Stan ducked in on Tommy’s tail and went home with them.
“Why ask silly questions,” Tommy was shouting to Allison. “Allison got one, Wilson got one, the Ack-Ack boys got one. Tommy got nothing except Allison’s Spitfire in his lap.”
Allison’s voice came back in a sarcastic drawl. “I just shut my eyes and cut loose. When I opened them, there was a bandit minus one wing. How about you, Wilson?”
Stan cuddled his flap mike and laughed. He was sure of himself now. He had hit the glory trail and could laugh at its terrors. “I just did potshooting. Later I’ll clip off tails and wings for you.”
“Later?” There was that mocking note in Allison’s voice.
The recall signal was calling them in. They swung over the blacked-out city and headed for home. Ten minutes later they did a parachute walk into the briefing room. Brooks, Squadron Leader, eyed them wearily. He acted as though he hadn’t had any sleep for a good many nights, which was about correct. The three pilots moved over to his high desk and reached for report forms.
“Everybody all right?” the Squadron Leader asked as he began filling out their time record.
“Fit as flying fish,” Tommy answered, grinning broadly. “Me, I like balloons.” He winked at Stan.
“Shut up,” Allison snapped.
“What did you spend on yours?” Brooks asked, looking at Allison.