"Sure," O'Malley answered. "Bein' a son of good auld Ireland, I was itchin' to get into a fight an' it looked like the Jerries were the only ones preparin' to do anything."

"Why didn't you stay over there?" Stan grinned broadly as he spoke. "I hear there are pretty girls in Berlin and that their mammas can bake swell pies."

O'Malley sighed deeply at the mention of pie. His big Adam's apple bobbed up and down, then his wide mouth clamped shut.

"Sure, an' I don't like bein' pushed around, an' I don't like to see other folks kicked an' slugged by a lot of spalpeens dressed up in brown shirts."

"You may get to wave to that girl when we fly over Berlin," Stan said.

"I could go straight to her house, only she lives a ways out of Berlin. We used to go ridin' in the country on our bikes. Ivery lane we'd ride down some guy in a storm trooper uniform would stop us. I kept pawin' out me Luftwaffe card all o' the time." O'Malley grinned.

"So you got out and joined up with the British and then with us." Stan poked another stick of wood into the stove.

O'Malley yawned again and eyed his cot. "If you insist on keepin' the fire goin', I'll catch me a couple o' winks o' sleep."

"I'll keep the joint warm," Stan agreed.

O'Malley went over to his cot. He kicked off his shoes and crawled under the blankets fully dressed.

The minutes dragged away and Stan nodded beside the stove. An hour passed and he roused himself to poke in more wood. He dozed off again and was roused by an orderly making the rounds calling the crews. The stove was cold and he fumbled with stiff fingers as he lighted it again. When it was cherry red in spots, O'Malley poked his tousled head out from under a blanket. Stan knew he had been lying there waiting for the stove to get hot.

They dashed water over their faces and hurried out into the raw morning. Stan glanced at his watch. It was four o'clock. They walked to the briefing room where they joined a crowd of pilots who were seated on benches staring at a square of transparent talc pinned over a wall map. Red lines showed the route of the Forts and Libs. Soon a sleepy buzz of conversation filled the air. As the pilots talked, they watched the little group of officers gathered before the map.

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