The next afternoon, as she worked at her highly important, if slightly tiring, task of bringing in the big planes only to send them out again, Sally said:
“Major Storm, why is that faraway look on your face?”
“Why?” He gave her a sharp look. “Is it noticeable?”
“Very.”
“Thanks for telling me. I shall discipline my thoughts.”
“Is it so terribly bad to want to be in one place, when you are serving in another?” she asked.
“Rather bad,” was the slow reply. “We do not always give our best, that way.
“Do you want to be in some other place?” he asked abruptly.
“Not—not just now!” she stammered, taken aback. “But sometime, not too far away, I’d like to be transferred to a fighting ship.”