erry was standing with his arms still elevated. He was alone and
unguarded.

"And be lettin' O'Malley of Red Flight be knowin' where you put the bye.
I aim to see that he has cigarettes and a few of the common comforts."
O'Malley grinned at the Jerry. The youngster grinned back at him and
saluted stiffly.

Dragging the gun between them, the three members of Red Flight stamped
across the field and barged past a startled sentry who was walking post
outside headquarters.

Wing Commander Farrell was just finishing a flight report. His gray eyes
were hard and his mouth was drawn into a tight line. Coral Raid had
dropped two bombers and three fighters. The credit side showed only one
fighter and a Junkers. Farrell looked up and his eyes rested upon a lank
and hungry-looking Irish youth. He stared at O'Malley for a long minute,
then remembered him and his pie.

"What do you want, Lieutenant?" he snapped. "I suppose you have that new
enemy gun in your pocket."

His sarcasm was lost upon O'Malley. He grinned wolfishly as he stepped
aside.

"Indaid, an' I hope it's the latest model. I put a very good Jerry
flier to a lot of trouble to be after fetchin' it to you."

The Wing Commander's eyes popped out as he stared at the machine Allison
and Stan had dropped upon the floor. Suddenly he leaped out of his chair
and charged around the desk. Getting down on his knees, he bent over the
gun and examined it. When he straightened he was smiling.

"So you are the wild Irishman we have been hearing about," he said. "It
would seem some rumors are correct in this war."

"An' now, sor, I'll be running along," O'Malley said. "I'm feelin' a bit
o' the pinch of hunger."

"Have two pies on my chit book," the Wing Commander said and smiled
broadly.

"Indaid, that I will," O'Malley answered gravely.

The three coal barge nurses returned to the briefing room and checked
their chutes which had been discarded on the field. They found
Lieutenant Garret waiting for them. He drew his mouth into a triumphant
frown. Beside his desk lay the three chutes, neatly piled there by the
field crew.

"See those chutes?" he snapped.

"Sure, an' one of them gadgets is a personal friend o' mine," O'Malley
said and grinned broadly.

"I'm putting it down against you. You discarded them on the field
without properly caring for them. That is a violation of general
orders." Garret scowled at the Irish flier.

O'Malley leaned his elbows on the desk and