"Fine." Allison leaned back and elevated his legs to the top of the table. "Fine. I figure the old man is going to give us a one-way ticket."

"A what?" Stan asked. The way Allison spoke made a chill run up his spine.

Allison turned his head and looked at Stan. "In the last war when fighters were sent out as scouts they had to come back to report. In this man's war they radio back their reports. After that they play tag with a swarm of Messerschmitt One-Tens."[Pg 17]

[Pg 17]

"I see." Stan could well imagine what sort of tag three Spitfires would play with a dozen or more ME's. It was just plain suicide stuff. "Ever been on one?" he asked.

Allison grinned widely. "Once. A cloud, plus eight Brownings and a lot of fool's luck, brought me back with most of my ship. It beats hitting the glory trail every night."

"Sounds interesting," Stan agreed as he pulled his steaming cup of coffee to him and began dropping sugar lumps into it. "I aim to get a kick out of it."

Allison laughed. "Hanged if I don't believe you will. You'll go if I do any of the picking."

"And about this Yank business." Stan looked Allison squarely in the eye. "It isn't international. It isn't a violation of any of the laws of Britain or any country. It's a personal matter. If you keep on talking about it you'll lose a flier, that's certain."

"I see," Allison said, but he kept on grinning his superior grin. "I knew it wasn't anything rotten. Sorry I was nosey. It won't come up before anyone, Yank." He lifted his cup. "Here's to the glory trail!"

Stan joined him. Tommy came in and[Pg 18] sprawled out on a bench with his feet against the wall. He looked over at Allison and Stan.

[Pg 18]

"The O.C. says Green Flight is taking over for the rest of the night, so you birds can go to bed."

"Where are you going?" Allison asked.

Tommy uncoiled himself and stood up. He began humming a snatch of song, stopped abruptly and answered Allison.

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