"No, we'll see Holt. He's our superior officer. Let him have the credit." Stan leaned back.
"If we tell a lot o' brass hats, the Jerries will sure hear about it," O'Malley said sourly.
"I think not. We have to get permission to install the tanks, you know. This isn't the South Pacific where you just go to your ground crew and ask them to rig up something for you." Stan laughed as O'Malley screwed his face into a frown.
"I'll say it's not the South Pacific," he agreed. "We got so many rules here a fellow gets tangled up before he takes off."
"We have lots of time on our hands. We'll barge over and have Allison tell us what happened. He'll be back after a bit."
O'Malley gave Stan a suspicious look. "You're not thinkin' o' askin' fer one o' them crates full o' guns?"
"No," Stan answered. "If I did, I doubt that they'd take me. I've been a fighter pilot too long."
"They took Allison," O'Malley said.
"Allison is a natural for bombers, he has no nerves and he can handle a crew." Stan got to his feet. "Finish your pie and we'll be on our way."