He will eat nearly everything. No party nor any
review is complete without him. At one party, being left alone for a few
moments, it is reported that he ate two hundred sandwiches, three cakes, the
arrangements for piano and flute of “Pomp and Circumstance,” drank half a bowl
of punch, and then walked jauntily among the dancers, belching slightly and
regarding a certain lieutenant’s wife, who shall be nameless, with lustful eye.
He has the slightly bilious look of the
military of the higher brackets. Being an air-goat, he has rather unique
habits. If you bring an oxygen bottle into view, he rushes to it and demands
it. He puts his whole mouth over the outlet and then, as you turn the valve, he
gently relaxes, grunting happily, and his sides fill out until he nearly bursts.
Just before he bursts he lets go of the nozzle and collapses slowly, but the
energy he takes from the oxygen makes him leap into the air and engage
imaginary goats in horny combat. He also loves the glycol cooling fluid which
is used in the engines of the Typhoons. For hours he will stand under the
barrels, licking the drips from the spouts.
He has the confidence of his men. Once when it
was required that his wing change its base of operations quickly, he was left
behind, for in those days it was not known how important he was. At the new
base the men were nervous and Irritable, fearful and almost mutinous. Finally,
when it was seen that they would not relax, a special plane had to be sent to
pick up the wing commander and transport him to the new base. Once he arrived,
everything settled down. The Typhoons had four kills within twenty-four hours.
The nervous tension went out of the air, the food got better as the cook ceased
brooding, and a number of stomach complaints disappeared immediately.
Wing Commander Goat lives in a small house
behind the Operations Room. His name and honors are painted over the door. It
is very good luck to go to him and stroke his sides and rub his horns before
going out on operations. He does not go out on operations himself. There is not
room in the Typhoons for him, but if it were possible to squeeze him in he
would be taken, and then heaven knows what great action might not take place.
This goat has only truly bad habit. He loves
beer, and furthermore is able to absorb it in such quantities that even the
mild, nearly non-alcoholic English beer can make him tipsy. In spite of orders
to the contrary he is able to seek out the evil companions who will give him
beer. Once inebriated, he is prone to wander about sneering. He sneers at the
American Army Air Force, he sneers at the Labor party, and once he sneered at
Mr. Churchill. The sneer is probably inherent in the beer, since punch has
quite a different effect on him.
