He crossed the room and as he approached Allison he saw that the Flight Lieutenant's breakfast lay untouched before him. His coffee looked cold and stale. But it was the grimness of his face that jolted Stan. Allison looked up and there were savage points of light in his eyes. His mouth twisted into a sardonic grin.
"Sit down, Stan," he said, using Stan's first name, something he hadn't done before.
"What's up?" Stan demanded quickly as he slid into a chair.
"We're on day shift," Allison said. "Sunshine all the way."
"Where's Tommy?" Stan drove at the thought that had leaped into his mind.
Allison looked at him and his lips pulled into a thin line. "The kid picked up a package last night. A Flak-88 laid a shell right up against the Bristol and cracked her open."
Stan said nothing for a minute. He knew that the words of the Flight Lieutenant were likely the last he would say about Tommy Lane's last ride. Then something like red fire surged up inside him.
"We'll keep him in mind," he said grimly.
"I'll see that the score keeps even," Allison said and savage lights flickered hot in his eyes.
The mess corporal appeared with a private at his heels. "We have some very fine waffles," he said.