Nick’s tone was sarcastic as he continued, “You may have been aces where you came from, but that doesn’t mean a thing to me. Now get out and when I give an order see that you carry it out to the letter. None of you have any brains to do any thinking for yourselves. You do as you are told.”
Nick Munson turned on his heel and strode out of the mess. Allison faced Stan. The insolent mockery Stan knew so well was in his eyes.
“Imagine, old man,” he drawled, “you’re short on gray matter.”
“I may be short on brains, but I still pack a left hook and a right cross. Nobody can insult O’Malley and get away with it. Not when he isn’t here to speak for himself.” Stan’s chin was jutting out and his eyes were blazing.
“I’d suggest waiting a bit. Colonel Munson may have some plans. Perhaps he’s worried about the morale of this outfit,” Allison smiled his cold smile. “Perhaps it’s too high. He might like to see a few fights among the men. Possibly they might get the idea of quitting. This is a voluntary job, you know.”
Stan laughed and his fists opened. “I believe you have something there. Suppose we just circulate around and talk with a few of the men.”
As they talked with the irate fliers, Allison managed to slip in a word regarding Munson’s possible intention to create unrest in their ranks. When they left the mess hall, Allison saw that the men were beginning to get his slant. He felt sure that they would not be goaded into making trouble.
They were crossing the field when an officer came out of the briefing shack. It was Nick Munson. He changed his course and approached them. They snapped a salute. Munson looked them over.
“You fellows didn’t seem much impressed by my talk,” he said gruffly.
“We have heard a lot of speeches in this war,” Allison said very softly.