ention 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.

Suddenly the Old Man, Colonel Holt, turned and faced them. There was an
immediate hush.

"A lot of people think we just go along with the bombers to catch a bit
of fresh air and to keep from going stale. This mission promised to be
our chance to crack the enemy, but unfortunately, Weather reports clouds
up to our return point." The Old Man stared unwinkingly at his men. He
read the disappointment in their faces. "We are hoping that for once
Weather will be wrong."

This brought a few grins and a snort or two from the pilots. The Old Man
went on talking.