"Since receiving a message from the Navy regarding your rescue I have had your service record handed to me. I find it quite interesting. What happened to Lieutenant O'Malley and Lieutenant Allison?"
Stan did not smile. "The last time I saw them they were fighting a ten-to-one battle with a flight of Messerschmitts, a delaying action, so that I could get through with these papers. We were flying Nardi fighters furnished us by the Italians."
The general's smile faded. "You think they are lost?"
"I'm going to check with operations," Stan said. "Both O'Malley and Allison have come back from some tough fights."
The general reached for a telephone. "I'll have a check made," he said.
"Has Colonel Benson been asking about us?" Stan asked and there was a twinkle in his eye.
"I believe it will be best to transfer you to another command. We do not wish to approve your conduct as ferry pilots, but you certainly have rendered a great service." The general gave his attention to the phone. After fifteen long minutes of waiting and talking he cradled the instrument and shook his head. "No Nardi fighters have been reported flown in by escaped American pilots. A number have come in piloted by Italian officers."
"Thank you, sir," Stan said. "I would like to have immediate service in a fighter squadron."
"That will be arranged from my office. Now get into some proper clothing and report to Mess Nine. Hold yourself ready there to report to this office. We have a lot of questions to ask and we'll be ready to start asking them as soon as you are clothed and fed."
Stan snapped a salute and about-faced. He marched out of the office, got the location of Mess Nine from an orderly, and headed in that direction.