“I’m a fightin’ man,” O’Malley said gravely. “As such I waste no time on trifles.” His big mouth was tightly clamped shut and a frown wrinkled his homely face.

Stan and Allison broke out laughing. Colonel Benson would have to take O’Malley as he was, that they well knew. They had fought side by side with him in the Battle of Britain, in the Far East, and now in Africa. O’Malley was known as the wildest pilot in the service and one of the best.

“We better get going,” Stan said as he rose to his feet. He held out a hand to O’Malley. “Hold off the invasion of Sicily and Italy until we get back, pal.”

“I’ll be startin’ it tomorrow,” O’Malley said sourly.

“Cheerio,” Allison added as he shook hands with his pal.

O’Malley watched them walk out of the mess. He had to admit, as the door closed after them, that his gloom was due entirely to parting with the two men he had fought beside for so long. Such things as colonels who were tough did not bother O’Malley. Having Stan and Allison walk out on him was the thing that hurt. It was his own fault that he was not going with them. He had refused to quit the front for a month or so of ease and rest.

Gazing out through an open window, he watched a group of natives herd a flock of donkeys down toward the main part of the city of Bizerte. He certainly would kick himself if no invasion came off for a month. Lowering his feet from the top of the 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.