"How about Intelligence in France? They ought to be able to get us something," said the Squadron Leader.
"No, if we get one it will be by pure accident," the Wing Commander answered sourly.
O'Malley was starting on his third piece of pie. He had it in his hand and halfway to his open mouth. He lowered it and swung around to face the Wing Commander.
"The aisiest thing in the world, gettin' one of them guns," he said.
The Wing Commander turned toward O'Malley and looked from his face to the big slab of pie and then back again. His manner dripped frost. Allison got a glimpse of his insignia and kicked O'Malley on the shin. O'Malley grinned at the Wing Commander, then took a big bite of pie. The Wing Commander stiffened and snorted like a Merlin backfiring on a sub-zero morning.
"Did you speak, sir?" he asked.
O'Malley was unabashed, even when the Wing Commander bent a frigid look upon the wreck of the apple pie on the plate at his elbow.
"I said it would be aisy, gettin' one of them new guns," O'Malley repeated.
"Perhaps you can bring one to my office not later than tomorrow night," the Wing Commander snapped.
"And may I ask who I'll deliver it to?" O'Malley opened his mouth and the rest of the pie disappeared into it.