table, he strolled out into the sunshine. Colonel Benson was due to arrive that morning and he had orders to be on hand, along with other flight commanders, to meet his superior. O'Malley yawned. Meeting brass hats always bored him. He was not sure that he was going to like being one of them. O'Malley considered even a flight commander a brass hat.

Colonel Benson was late in arriving. He was exactly three hours late and that made O'Malley exactly two hours late for his dinner. Dinner was a very important item in O'Malley's day, and he was in a very dour mood when an orderly called the boys in to meet the new commander.

The commander's room once had been a lounge and music room. It was part of a huge old mansion located on an estate. An Italian political boss had taken it over from a native prince. O'Malley crowded in behind the first man entering the room. At once the man ahead of O'Malley clicked his heels and snapped a smart salute. O'Malley looked the colonel over, then dabbed at the front of his cap with a big hand.

Colonel Benson was a big, rawboned man, standing six feet two inches and weighing two hundred and ten pounds. His red face looked as though it had just been scrubbed with soap and water. It had a pink and white smoothness under the sunburn which reddened it. The eyes of the colonel took away the softness of his smooth face. They were green and hard as agate. At the moment they were looking Lieutenant O'Malley over with a decidedly unfavorable glint.

The other boys shoved in and lined up. There was no mistaking the atmosphere in the room. It fairly vibrated with military correctness. The colonel's uniform, his carefully parted hair, his smooth, freshly scraped chin, all added to the feeling of tightness.

Most of the boys in the room were used to dirt and dust and bearded faces. They recently had come through a dusty, dirty, and bloody battle. During those months on the desert they had forgotten all about military correctness. The colonel's expression plainly indicated that he thought them a sloppy outfit. He remained standing as he talked, and the men remained at attention.

"I have been sent here to teach you men some of the combat tricks developed recently." His eyes roved over the men and stopped upon O'Malley.

"I am not going to insist upon strict military observance, but there are a few details I will insist upon." The colonel's voice was rising and his face was getting a bit redder.

"You." He stabbed a finger toward O'Malley.

"Lieutenant O'Malley," O'Malley informed him.

"Lieutenant O'Malley, nothing can excuse the sloppiness of your attire. In the future you will give more attention to your uniform."

"Yes, sor," O'Malley said and grinned.

The grin made Colonel Benson rise up on his heels. He came down with a thud, but he said no more. His eyes moved from O'Malley.

"We will soon be invading Italy." The Colonel paused to let this sink in. It was exactly what the boys had been expecting, and therefore they showed no sudden interest.

"How about Sicily, sor?" O'Malley asked. He had been flying missions all over the proposed routes and knew something would have to be done about Sicily.

"That will be merely a step in taking Italy, Lieutenant," the colonel explained. He looked about the room. There were plenty of chairs. "You may be at ease, gentlemen. Seat yourselves and we will proceed with our conference."

O'Malley grunted. Dinner hour was long past and here they were settling down for a conference. He picked the chair nearest the door and slumped down into it. The colonel seated himself and launched into a lengthy and detailed talk upon tactics and plans. O'Malley listened for a time, then stretched out his legs and made himself comfortable. His mind wandered far from the droning voice of the colonel.

An hour passed and Colonel Benson was still outlining plans and driving home things he felt were very important. O'Malley had not exactly been asleep, but he had failed to hear more than just a small part of what was said. Suddenly he roused himself. Colonel Benson had just made a remark that brought him up sharply.

"Gentlemen, I will now outline the procedure we will follow in handling the various flights assigned to my sector. This will not take longer than one hour. Give me your close attention."

O'Malley looked about as though seeking a way to escape. He saw an orderly standing at the door. Nodding to the corporal, he leaned forward and whispered a command. The orderly disappeared.

Ten minutes later the corporal returned. He was carrying a tin plate with half of a blueberry pie on it.

"Thank you, son," O'Malley said as he slid the pie into his lap. He scooped out a quarter of the pie and opened his mouth. As he bit down upon the pie he began to grin. He gave his attention to the colonel with the first real show of interest he had given during the afternoon. The quarter of pie disappeared quickly. O'Malley slid the remaining quarter into his hand and opened his mouth.

"The close co-ordination between our fighter units and the low-level bombers will be secured by a system of code signals." Colonel Benson's voice snapped off suddenly. His green eyes were on O'Malley and sparks flashed in their depths. The other boys turned and looked at O'Malley.

"You are hungry, Lieutenant O'Malley?" Colonel Benson asked coldly.

"Yes, sor. 'Tis three hours an' more past dinnertime," O'Malley answered calmly as he shoved half of the pie into his mouth.

"Stop! Stop—swilling that pie!" the colonel roared.

O'Malley got rid of the pie in a simple manner. He shoved what was left into his mouth and munched upon it.

For a full minute the colonel could not think of anything to say. But his face got deeper red and his eyes blazed. Finally he rapped on his desk and said:

"Gentlemen, I will not tolerate eating during a conference. Any sort of eating. I will not tolerate eating pie while I am giving instructions. Lieutenant O'Malley, you will retire. I will consider your case later."

O'Malley got to his feet. He handed the pie plate to the embarrassed corporal. "Thank you, sor," he drawled as he made off.

The colonel snorted and went back to his lecture. O'Malley headed for the mess hall. The half pie had whetted his appetite. Locating a comfortable place near a window he ordered a big dinner, with a whole blueberry pie for dessert. In a leisurely manner he began devouring his meal.

He had spent most of an hour enjoying his dinner and was ready to eat his pie, when the fliers began drifting in from the conference. Several of them headed toward O'Malley's table. O'Malley was the most famous pilot in their outfit. The stories about him amounted almost to legend. The boys admired his disregard for military usage. All of them had been working according to the colonel's carefully explained plans for months and knew them better than the colonel did. They had been bored by the long session but had not had the nerve to show their feelings.

But none of them reached O'Malley. Colonel Benson came in and strode over to O'Malley's table.

Nodding to O'Malley, he said, "Mind if I join you?" His voice did not sound so stiff outside his office.

"Sure, an' I'm glad to have you," O'Malley said, but there was a gleam of suspicion in his eye.

Colonel Benson seated himself. He watched O'Malley attack the pie. His interest amounted to fascination and he did not speak until O'Malley had finished three fourths of the pie. He ordered coffee and leaned back.

"I have heard a great deal about you, Lieutenant," he