ntly into Stan's arms, a limp rag of a man.

Stan gathered him up and carried him toward a field ambulance which was
roaring toward them with its siren screaming, while O'Malley trudged
along behind muttering savagely to himself.

A white-coated ambulance surgeon leaped out to meet them as the
ambulance slithered to a stop. Stan laid his burden down gently and
stepped back out of the way, dragging O'Malley with him. The surgeon
knelt beside the unconscious man and made a swift examination, then
turned and snapped to a couple of internes hovering behind him:

"Get a stretcher down here. This man is badly wounded."

Stan surged forward and clutched his arm. "How badly?" he queried
through bloodless lips. "Not...?"

The surgeon smiled and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "No,"
he replied simply. "I promise you he won't die. England needs all her
fliers, and we'll pull him through to go into the air again. I can't
tell how soon," he ended briskly. "Not until I get him to the hospital
and make a complete examination." He turned away and leaped into the
ambulance behind the stretcher, and it sped away with its unconscious
burden.

"Glory be to God," breathed O'Malley fervently. "Come along with you
now, we'd best make our reports."

In the briefing room the flight officer met them with more eagerness
than was usual with such an official. Nodding toward the chutes, neatly
piled on the floor, he said:

"You usually take care of those things, don't you know."

Stan nodded grimly. He was thinking about Allison. O'Malley just grunted
and planked his bony elbows on the high desk. Thrusting his chin out, he
remarked:

"What you limeys need is more fire wagons like I just slid meself out
of. I want one for my own use."

"I heard the new ship was a bit of all right," the flight officer said.
"I'll take your report. The Wing Commander wants it rushed right over."

"We'll be after blushin' to give you the actual facts of what happened,"
O'Malley said slowly.

"One Messerschmitt to us and three to Allison," Stan answered.

The officer nodded and began scribbling. "Fill out one for me right
away." He shoved a blank across the desk.

"How about the varmint I dissected with me guns?" O'Malley asked.

"Did you hit one of those Stukas?" Stan asked.

"Sure, an' I did that," O'Malley said.

"One Stuka badly damaged," Stan added.

They went into the mess and for once O'Malley did not order a pie. He
sat down and