obbed up and
down his throat. His bony shoulders were stooped in a most unmilitary
manner, and his head boasted a thatch of flaming red hair. He was about
the last person in the world Stan would have picked as a daredevil
flier. His homely face and his sloppy figure would not have inspired
fear or confidence in anyone. Allison waved to him.

"Hi, old fellow, come over and meet a pal."

Bill O'Malley grinned as he slouched across the room. As soon as his big
mouth cracked into a smile Stan knew he was going to like this big
Irisher.

Allison arose. He was acting with deliberate and mock politeness.
"O'Malley, meet Wilson," he said with a sweep of his arm. Then the
derisive mask slipped over his face and he seated himself again.

"Sure, 'tis a quiet an' homelike place ye have here, Commander,"
O'Malley said. "Wilson, me boy, I'm right glad to meet up with ye."

"Nothing ever happens around here," Allison agreed. "It's a peaceful
place."

"Snug as a clambake," O'Malley agreed. "But much more dead. Now when I
gave me word I'd come in with you boys the O.C. made quite a talk about
how tough the job was. Here we sit like auld friends at a picnic." He
scowled bleakly at Allison.

"I'll send over for a flight of Jerries," Allison said with a grin.

"'Twill be a pleasure, me foine fellow," O'Malley answered. "I came over
here to see some action."

Both Stan and Allison knew Bill O'Malley meant just what he said. He was
wild as any crazy hare, but he had a name that was already on the
tongues of ground men when spectacular stunts were talked about. Stan
guessed that Allison had not had much trouble in getting the Irisher
away from whatever flight he was with. Few Flight Lieutenants would have
cared to be responsible for him.

The loud-speaker began to blare. "Red Flight, all out! Green Flight, all
out! Yellow Flight, all out!"

"Sounds like the whole Jerry outfit is on the way," O'Malley said as he
unwound himself from a stool and made for the door.

There was no mistaking the fact that O'Malley was a first-class fighting
man. Stan knew it by the way he got into his Spitfire and rammed the
hatch cover home. By the time they had zoomed up and away, he was sure
of it. Allison was chuckling over the radio.

"Cuddle in, Red Flight. We pick up Bristols and Blenheims at 10,000."

"'Tis no wet nurse I'll be," came the Irish brogue of O'Malley. "I
resign this minnit."

"Headquarters says the Jerries have two dozen Mess