"Sitting duck stuff," O'Malley snorted. "You jest sit there an' take it. You never fired a gun on the whole trip."
"No," Allison admitted. "But we bagged six Jerries and there was plenty of shooting. You should see my boys work those 50's."
"We aim to stir up a bit of excitement," Stan said.
Allison frowned at him. "You birds better remember this is modern warfare, not the Battle of Britain or the Pacific. They'll bounce you high and quick for breaking rules. This Eighth Air Force is big stuff now."
"Thanks for the warning," Stan answered. "But we plan to go through proper channels."
"And it's a deep secret," O'Malley added.
O'Malley's pie arrived and he dropped out of the talk for a time. Stan and Allison chatted about the changes and the amazing way the Eighth had grown up until it took a large section of British farmland to house it.
Stan and O'Malley left early and hurried back to their own mess. They wanted to corner Colonel Holt. They found him in the mess looking very dour and gloomy. He was alone. None of the other men seemed to care about trying to cheer him up. Stan and O'Malley barged over to his table.
"May we sit down, sir?" Stan asked.
"Sure." Holt motioned to two chairs.