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and the other crewmen in the club to recognize he was no American pilot.
    "Underneath all that fancy spit and polish, gentlemen," Psycho announced suddenly,
    "we got a pure naked Aussie. A renegade from this godawful continent on which we now stand ass-deep in dust."
    Goddamn if that big hulk wasn't right. Somehow Alex seemed, was , different. He stared unblinking at the scrutiny to which he was being subjected.
    "I was supposed to fly that mission," added Czaikowicz. "Fly right seat for the captain.
    We were in the 22nd then. Two of our B-26s and two more from the 38th, and they stuck torpedoes under our bellies, Jesus, I'd never even seen what the hell a torpedo looked like before that day, and they were gonna send us out with six of them new Avengers the navy got in a hurry to Midway." He shook his head with self-chagrin. "There I go again, making it sound like I was on that run. I was supposed to, but I can't go." The look on his face even now showed his incredulity at what had happened then. "Food poisoning. Of all the rotten luck. Can you believe it? Food poisoning, for shit's sake. Anyway, I'm all doubled over with cramps, and I can't even stand, let alone fly, and Alex was there, and…" Psycho let it hang. He knew someone would ask the question.
    "What the hell was an Aussie doing at Midway?"
    Alex smiled, and the deeply tanned face with the thin white mustache took on a rueful look. "Navy, you know. Our navy, I mean. Australian. Liaison officer with your people.
    Why" — he shrugged to encompass the enigmatic workings of government — "I never did know, really. Ours not to question why, but only to stumble forth and, well, and all that sort of rot." He sipped at his beer and smiled.
    "After all, I was a pilot. A ruddy good one, I might add. I thought I would be flying in this war. Certainly I had every intention of it. Shooting down Zeros left and right in my trusty Wirraway, you know."
    Laughter met that last remark. The pilots recognized the Wirraway. An American trainer to which the Australians had added a more powerful engine than the original model, and then with no more than ghostly faith and monumental courage, was sent out to battle with the tigerish Zero fighters, which with appalling ease tore them to shreds.
    "But everything became scrambled," Alex went on. "My rotten luck not to have one of those splendid machines. Someone goofed. I was shipped off by flying boat to Midway to coordinate with your navy on our fighting the war together. Of course, I appreciated the faith my government had in me, since I was all the Australian forces on Midway. I found myself, bluntly, with my thumb stuck up my ass. Not a thing to do, everyone too busy to talk to me. So I watched what was going on. The big battle was shaping up. And the aircraft they brought in."
    "I saw those brand-new TBFs, those Avengers, that were going out to destroy the Japanese fleet." He shook his head and they saw he was serious. "Poor, misguided souls."
    Alex Bartimo seemed to come alive as his words shifted to the machines in which they were so interested.
    "And the Marauders. Those Martins you people call the B-26. A lovely airplane, really.
    They were trying to sling torpedoes under them. I was in the operations center, the war room, I suppose they called it, and people seemed quite mad the way they dashed about.
    Then, in the middle of all this profound insanity this little fellow came in. Whip Russel."
    Alex chuckled with the memory, and suddenly he became aware of just how intent was his audience. Including his own men. Alex realized — funny he'd never thought of this before — that not even Whip's men had ever really known what happened that day at Midway.
    "Well." Alex took a longer swallow. "He was in a real snit. I didn't know him then as Whip, of course. Captain Russel. He came storming into the war room and no one paid him the slightest. Just ignored him. Froze him out. They were rather busy, to give them their due. Whip took it