Piece of Cake by Derek Robinson Page A

had reached their targets; seven had been shot down. Another formation of bombers had dropped leaflets over Hamburg and Bremen by night.
    â€œLeaflets?” Fanny said. “What are we trying to do: bore them to death?”
    â€œDon’t you be so sure,” said one of the visitors. “When I was on the Northwest Frontier we often dropped leaflets. And in Mesopotamia. It was a jolly good way to tell Johnny Arab to behave himself, or else! It worked, too, as often as not. They knew we meant what we said, and they changed their ways.”
    â€œSuppose they didn’t,” Skull said. “What then?”
    â€œOh, we went back and blew them to bits, of course. But they couldn’t say they hadn’t been warned, d’you see? That was the point. It’s very important to follow correct form with these people.”
    â€œDid our bombers sink any
German
ships?” Kellaway inquired.
    â€œI expect we knocked a few of them about a bit,” said the visitor. “The really interesting thing is what happens now. I can’t see Jerry letting us have a go at him without him coming over here and having a go at us, can you? Frankly I hope he does, and the sooner the better. Then the Government will have to think again. The gloves’ll be off, and we can really hit Jerry where it hurts.”
    â€œSo you expect a counter-attack pretty soon?” Fanny said.
    â€œDon’t you?” The visitor steered his last potato into the middle of his plate and forked it with a deadly stab. “I think you should.”
    The warning increased Fanny’s nervousness about leaving Flip Moran in charge while he took “A” flight up. He went to his office and telephoned Group operations room. They had no news. Nothing had changed. The only plots on the table were friendly.
    â€œThe weather’s begun to close in a bit,” Fanny said. “We’ve got three-tenths cloud at about five thousand feet here.”
    â€œThat will probably thicken. The met men expect six- or seven-tenths by the end of the afternoon. Still fairly high, though. Nothing to worry about.”
    Fanny thought:
The sooner I’m up, the sooner I’m down.
“We’ll go now,” he said.
    â€œGood for you. I shall watch your perambulations with interest.”
    Fanny called the officers’ mess, asked for Pip Patterson, and told him to get “A” flight off their backsides and moving because takeoff was in twenty minutes. He also told him to ask Flight Lieutenant Moran to report to the CO’s office at once. Then he telephoned the flight sergeant in charge of the ground crews and gave orders for “A” flight’s aircraft to be warmed up. He sat back and listened to the silence and realized he had done it all wrong: he should have left the ground crews to Pip, and he should have told Flip to meet him in the locker room, or better yet at his plane. Now he was stuck here, waiting. Blast. Why didn’t he
think
first?
    Five minutes passed. Fanny was twitching with angry impatience; he could feel his heart thumping as if it were trying to get out. He allowed one more minute, watching the second hand stroll around the face of his watch, and then he set off. He met Flip Moran coming along the corridor: not slowly, but not rapidly, either. “For Christ’s sake, Flip,” Fanny said. “Where the hell have you been?”
    â€œI’ve been in the lavatory, moving my bowels,” Flip said. “That’s something we mere humans have to do occasionally.” His voice was dead level.
    â€œWell, you chose a bright bloody time to do it.”
    â€œIs that so?” Flip allowed his eyebrows the smallest flicker. “Had I known you were interested in my bowel movements I would have recorded the size, weight and specific—”
    â€œDon’t be so bloody silly. Anyway, I haven’t got time to argue about it now.”
    â€œI’m not