sat staring into the fire.

"Not much like pushing a Spitfire or a Thunderbolt. You just plow along through the muck and hope the boys will bat down all of the fighters coming at you from every angle."

"How many did you get?" O'Malley asked.

"Six for sure," Allison answered. "The real fun started when we headed for home. We had been plowing through flak as thick as a swarm of bees but we had been lucky. Two of our flight went down flaming and we saw the boys bail out. I thought we were slipping through pretty nicely when an Me winged us with an explosive cannon shell. After that we got hit plenty. We picked up a shell which went off inside our outboard engine. It started rolling smoke but no flames. Then a shell smashed the intercom system and communications went dead." Allison bit down hard on his pipe.

"Must have been tough," Stan said.

"We couldn't hold our altitude. We lost about a thousand feet a minute and nothing the copilot and I could do would hold her up."

"Sure, an' you did a good job of it gettin' in," O'Malley praised.

"When I couldn't talk to the crew I turned the controls over to the copilot and went aft. I got to the top turret man and told him to get the gunners together in the radio compartment. I figured we'd smack right down into the channel." Allison fingered his pipe and stared into the fire.

"I went back to the copilot and we fought her head. She sagged in over the coast and came right on home, smoking like a torch. As we came in, we found we had a belly landing on our hands, so we skidded her in. Poor Old Sal is a mess right now."

"Anybody hurt?" Stan asked.

"Bombardier got a piece of flak in his leg. The tail gunner had his greenhouse blown into his face and is in the hospital. I forgot to say we dumped our guns and everything else we could pry loose. I guess that saved us." Allison leaned back. "When you fellows going to shift over? This is the real thing."

"Sitting duck stuff," O'Malley snorted. "You jest sit there an' take it. You never fired a gun on the whole trip."

"No," Allison admitted. "But we bagged six Jerries and there was plenty of shooting. You should see my boys work those 50's."

"We aim to stir up a bit of excitement," Stan said.

Allison frowned at him. "You birds better remember this is modern warfare, not the Battle of Britain or the Pacific. They'll bounce you high and quick for breaking rules. This Eighth Air Force is big stuff now."

"Thanks for the warning," Stan answered. "But we plan to go through proper channels."

"And it's a deep secret," O'Malley added.

O'Malley's pie arrived and he dropped out of the talk for a time. Stan and Allison chatted about the changes and the amazing way the Eighth had grown up until it took a large section of British farmland to house it.

Stan and O'Malley left early and hurried back to their own mess. They wanted to corner Colonel Holt. They found him in the mess looking very dour and gloomy. He was alone. None of the other men seemed to care about trying to cheer him up. Stan and O'Malley barged over to his table.

"May we sit down, sir?" Stan asked.

"Sure." Holt motioned to two chairs.

The boys sat down. Stan ordered coffee and O'Malley ordered pie.

"I need just a bite to get me in shape for supper," he said when Stan glared at him as he gave his order.

"Lousy show today," Holt grumbled. "I don't mean the way you fellows flew it, but the way the Germans have everything figured out so neatly. We lost eleven bombers."

"We might fool Jerry," Stan suggested.

"How?"

"Suppose we just toted along some extra tanks of gas and cut them loose about the time the show should start. We know their tactics and pattern. We'd have a lot of fun." Stan leaned forward.

"Can't do that," Holt said. "You fellows might have to get busy as soon as you hit the coast. Kicking off a tank can't be done with an FW dropping out of a cloud on your tail."

"Just half of us will go with extra loads. The others can cover for us. We'd sure surprise Jerry." Stan spoke eagerly.

"Foine idea an' one I'd have been proud to have thought up," O'Malley broke in.

Colonel Holt began to smile. "I believe you have something there. The element of surprise and all that sort of thing. We'll take a crack at it."

"Elegant," O'Malley said. "I'm speaking for extra gas."

"You and O'Malley get extra tanks. You're both old heads at lone wolf tactics. I'm beginning to think we have too much handling out of the control room." He bent forward and his smile faded. "But, remember this, I'm under a general who's a stickler for the book, so be careful."

"We won't let you down, sir," Stan promised.

O'Malley just grinned wolfishly. "I got a date with that Jerry with the red beard."

"You boys tend to the installing yourselves. Oversee it yourselves. I'll put through an order clearing everything for you."

"Thanks, Colonel," Stan said. "Now we'll run along and get busy."

"First you come with me and we'll figure out how much tank capacity you'll need and how many men will go along." The colonel got to his feet.

"If you don't mind, sir, we'd like to have you sponsor the idea. We intended to take it up with Lieutenant Sim Jones first. Wouldn't want to be going over his head." Stan spoke quickly.

Holt looked at him and nodded. "That's fine of you boys. Mind if I claim the idea for the present?"

"Not in the least," Stan answered.

"In that case you'll hear from me later through regular channels. I see you men know your way around in this army."

Stan and O'Malley saluted and moved off. O'Malley grinned. "Slick work, Stan," he said. "Now we won't get blamed for anything."

"And we won't get a medal, either," Stan remarked as he matched O'Malley's grin.

Returning to their Nissen hut the boys policed their living quarters and got things in order. The hut was such a primitive affair that little could be done to keep it in order. The round wood stove leaked ashes on the floor which was always tracked deep with mud. There was a little wash bowl and a table which O'Malley used to stack his laundry upon. The cots were GI with GI mattresses.

After they had cleaned up, the boys went over to the huge sheds where the mechanics worked over the planes. They learned from the chief mechanic that Colonel Holt's order had come through.

"I have the boys on your ships," the sergeant said. He did not seem to approve of the idea.

"I'll be after lookin' out fer me own ship," O'Malley said and hurried away.

"You don't seem to like the colonel's idea," Stan said.

"We've tried it before, sir," the sergeant replied.

"What happened?"

"The boys got jumped out of cloud cover and were sitting ducks for the Jerries," the sergeant said sourly. "Too much cloud cover and too many Jerries for that stuff."

Stan grinned. "I'll drop around and let you know how it works this time."

Walking back to his ship he watched the boys working on her. He was soon satisfied that they knew just what should be done and made off. O'Malley did not show up at mess and Stan began to wonder where he had gone. He finally sauntered into the rest room where he found O'Malley shooting the breeze with a group of fliers.

"You missed a steak dinner," Stan greeted him.

O'Malley grinned, "That's what you think," he said. "I had me a steak dinner with the corporal that fixed up me ship. You know that feller hadn't had a steak for a month. He sure went for it." O'Malley seated himself and elevated his feet to the top of the radio. In this position he promptly went to sleep.

Stan talked with the boys until time to turn in. He wakened O'Malley and they sloshed through the mud to their hut. During their absence, two other boys, replacement men, had been quartered in the hut. They greeted the two old heads eagerly.

They were Bugs Monahan and Splinters Wright, both from Toledo, Ohio. They had just finished flight