escape attempts in the bud." He laughed sourly. "I never heard of anybody getting away from one of these camps." Another chap drifted in and seated himself. He was a lank Britisher with a mop of black hair. "I hear you hail from the fighter strip near Diss." "That was our outfit," Stan said. "I just got a new roommate who says he's a Yank who was stationed at Diss," the Britisher grinned. "He got shot down a while back. He just came out of a hospital. Got a bad rap on the head." "We'd like to meet him. He must be one of the boys we lost on our first bombing coverage." Stan got to his feet. He and O'Malley went upstairs and into the little room. Two men were seated on a bed playing cards. Stan halted in the doorway. Over his shoulder, O'Malley said: "Sim!" At first Stan was not sure. The man looked like Sim Jones. He was thinner and he had a freshly healed scar on his cheek. His face was sallow and he looked much older. O'Malley barged past Stan and caught the man's hand. "Glad ye're alive," he said eagerly. "O'Malley?" Sim stared at O'Malley as he said it. He looked up at Stan. "Wilson, you here, too." Stan grinned. "Yes, I'm here. We cracked up on a fighter strip while bombing with Mustangs. I'm glad you made it safely. When I last saw you, your P-51 had buried its nose in the ground." Sim's eyes narrowed sharply. "That crack-up knocked me silly," he said grimly. "I don't remember much." He put his hand to his head. "I was nuts for quite a while, I guess. Even now I forget things. Sometimes I forget what's happened." "You'll come around," O'Malley said cheerfully. "They might let us three have this room together," Sim said. "I'd like to have you fellows around." "It could be fixed," the Britisher said. "They let us line up about as we wish. I'll help you fix it. I've been here a couple of months." Stan went with the R.A.F. man. They located a non-com who told them to shift around as they pleased. He seemed to know who Stan was and all about him and O'Malley. "Ve treat you goot," he said.
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