"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."

CHAPTER II

ACTION

Stan and O'Malley found Allison in his comfortable quarters, an old English mansion set on a little hill. It stood in the middle of well-kept grounds. As they drove up in their borrowed jeep, O'Malley scowled at the house.

"A blinking castle," he said in mock cockney British.

They parked the jeep and went inside. The boys were gathered around an open fire lounging in easy chairs. Allison moved out of a huddle and crossed the room.

"Welcome, you wallflowers," he said with a big smile.

"Sure, an' yer a disgrace to the both of us, lollin' in the lap o' luxury," O'Malley answered with a big grin.

"How was it?" Stan asked.

"Very rugged," Allison admitted. "Sit down while I order a pie for O'Malley."

The boys seated themselves and Allison described the mission. He loaded his pipe and sat staring into the fire.

"Not much like pushing a Spitfire or a Thunderbolt. You just plow along through the muck and hope the boys will bat down all of the fighters coming at you from every angle."

 Prev. P 11/95 next