"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.

The boys sat down. Stan ordered coffee and O'Malley ordered pie.

"I need just a bite to get me in shape for supper," he said when Stan glared at him as he gave his order.

"Lousy show today," Holt grumbled. "I don't mean the way you fellows flew it, but the way the Germans have everything figured out so neatly. We lost eleven bombers."

"We might fool Jerry," Stan suggested.

"How?"

"Suppose we just toted along some extra tanks of gas and cut them loose about the time the show should start. We know their tactics and pattern. We'd have a lot of fun." Stan leaned forward.

"Can't do that," Holt said. "You fellows might have to get busy as soon as you hit the coast. Kicking off a tank can't be done with an FW dropping out of a cloud on your tail."

"Just half of us will go with extra loads. The others can cover for us. We'd sure surprise Jerry." Stan spoke eagerly.

"Foine idea an' one I'd have been proud to have thought up," O'Malley broke in.

Colonel Holt began to smile. "I believe you have something there. The element of surprise and all that sort of thing. We'll take a crack at it."

"Elegant," O'Malley said. "I'm speaking for extra gas."

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