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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Yankee Flier with the R.A.F., by 
+Rutherford G. Montgomery
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: A Yankee Flier with the R.A.F.
+
+Author: Rutherford G. Montgomery
+
+Illustrator: Paul Laune
+
+Release Date: May 19, 2010 [EBook #32420]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A YANKEE FLIER WITH THE R.A.F. ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Roger L. Holda, Josephine Paolucci
+and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+https://www.pgdp.net.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A YANKEE FLIER WITH THE R.A.F.
+
+[Illustration: THE HAWK DROPPED UPON THE BATTLE WAGON BELOW.
+
+_A Yankee Flier with the R.A.F._
+
+_Frontispiece (Page 120)_]
+
+
+
+
+A YANKEE FLIER WITH THE R.A.F.
+
+BY
+
+AL AVERY
+
+_ILLUSTRATED BY_
+
+PAUL LAUNE
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP
+PUBLISHERS    NEW YORK
+
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1941, BY
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC.
+
+_All Rights Reserved_
+
+_Printed in the United States of America_
+
+[Transcriber's note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence
+that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+CHAPTER                                PAGE
+
+   I  GLORY TRAIL                         1
+
+  II  CLOUD TAG                          19
+
+ III  BILL O'MALLEY                      35
+
+  IV  NEW QUARTERS                       60
+
+   V  O'MALLEY BAGS A JERRY GUN          76
+
+  VI  THE SEA DOGS GROWL                 91
+
+ VII  SALT WATER SPRAY                  111
+
+VIII  STAN'S PAST RISES                 131
+
+  IX  SPECIAL MISSION                   149
+
+   X  GROUND SLEUTHING                  173
+
+  XI  PLENTY OF TROUBLE                 193
+
+ XII  LUFTWAFFE IN REVERSE              200
+
+
+
+
+A YANKEE FLIER WITH THE R.A.F.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+GLORY TRAIL
+
+
+Swing music was blaring from the radio set in the mess when Stan Wilson
+entered. His blue eyes, which gleamed with a great zest for living,
+gazed levelly around the room. There was a look in them which had been
+born of penetrating the blue depths of Colorado canyons and, later on,
+at the limitless spaces a flier sees. As usual, a half-smile, seemingly
+directed at himself, played at the corners of his mouth. There was
+seldom a moment so danger-filled that Stan Wilson could not laugh at
+himself.
+
+Here he was, really a fugitive from his distant homeland, standing in
+the Royal Air Force mess while outside the closely curtained windows all
+of London lay under an inky blackout, listening and waiting for the
+whine of the bombers. Stan was to be a member of Red Flight, which had
+been taking on replacements so fast that even the Flight Lieutenant
+wasn't able to get chummy with his men before they left him.
+
+Stan smiled as he looked over the group in the mess. He had met Judd, a
+plump youth who was unofficially known as "jelly bean"; McCumber, a
+silent Scot who seldom smiled; and Tommy Lane, who never ceased to
+whistle tavern tunes. At a reading table scanning a paper sat Irish
+Kelley whose dark face and hawklike features made him look like a real
+lead slinger.
+
+A man he did not know sat at a low table with a cup of black coffee
+before him. He was slender and even though his uniform needed pressing
+it seemed to fit him like a glove. His blond hair was closely clipped
+and the cool, gray eyes he lifted to meet Stan's gaze held a hint of
+insolent mockery. This was March Allison, Stan knew at once. A crazy
+Flight Lieutenant who was fast making a name for himself by his savage
+fighting heart and his dizzy flying ability. Stan stepped toward the
+table.
+
+Allison nodded to a vacant chair beside the table and Stan dropped into
+it.
+
+"I'm March Allison," he said and his cool eyes moved over Stan with
+irritating boldness. The superior air of the Britisher provoked Stan,
+but he refused to show it because he did not intend to lose his temper.
+
+"I'm Stan Wilson," he said, "the new member of Red Flight."
+
+"Stan Wilson, Canadian test pilot?" Allison clipped the words off in a
+manner that was almost derisive.
+
+"That's what my card shows," Stan said testily.
+
+"You're a Yank," Allison snapped. Then he grinned and little wrinkles
+crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I can smell a Yank," he added.
+
+"If you don't mind suppose we leave it as the card reads?" Stan said
+coldly.
+
+"All right with me, old fellow," Allison answered. "Only I hope you're a
+faster flier than the planes the Yanks have sent us so far."
+
+That nettled Stan. A picture leaped into his mind--the picture of a trim
+fighter plane with low wings, and two banks of Brownings on each side
+of a 2,000-horse-power radial motor. Stan had nursed several of those
+babies into the blue. He didn't have to close his eyes to remember the
+test flight card he had filled out.
+
+"Climbed to 20,000 feet in six minutes. Performed two barrel rolls,
+three loops. Checked all controls in neutral. Fired all guns and checked
+temperatures of gun-warming units. Did a series of sharp dives with
+steady pull-outs." As Stan's thoughts wandered back he grinned into
+Allison's face. He had put a number of Spitfires through their paces and
+knew that they were mud hens compared to the new babies which would soon
+be coming over from the United States.
+
+"You'll soon get one with 2,000 horses up ahead and then you'll junk
+your Spitfires and Hurricanes," he said.
+
+Allison cocked an eye at him and grinned widely. "Do you suppose you and
+I will be hitting the glory trail then?"
+
+"I figure I'll be around doing something," Stan answered and matched the
+Lieutenant's grin.
+
+A mess corporal was standing near by hopefully fussing with Stan's chit
+book which had just been issued to him. Stan gave the corporal a nod.
+
+"Black coffee," he ordered.
+
+At that moment Tommy Lane strolled over and flopped into a chair. He
+winked at Stan as he elevated his lank legs to the top of the table,
+almost upsetting Allison's coffee.
+
+"If the notch don't get you the Messerschmitts must," he hummed softly.
+He seemed to be trying to tease Allison. When the Flight Lieutenant
+failed to show any interest, Tommy said, "Your treat, Allison. I'll have
+black coffee with a big jug of cream on the side."
+
+Allison ordered Tommy's drink and watched the corporal mark it up in his
+chit book. He rolled an eye lazily toward the lanky youth.
+
+"Stan Wilson from Canada," he drawled.
+
+Stan grinned at Tommy Lane. His eyes bit into Allison. He did not like
+the way Allison was acting about his past record. If he was to have his
+chance to get a whack at the Jerries in this war, it was important that
+he be considered a subject of the British Empire, and he had come a lot
+of miles to get that chance.
+
+All his plans would be ruined if the truth about him came out. Posing as
+a Canadian he had a good chance to get by, but there would be
+embarrassing questions about his past if his true nationality was found
+out. Questions that Stan Wilson couldn't answer without having his new
+officer's commission stripped from him. He waited breathlessly to see if
+Tommy would notice the challenge in Allison's voice, but the tall youth
+merely grinned cheerfully and said:
+
+"We get darn good men from Canada."
+
+Suddenly the intersquadron speaker rasped and began snapping orders.
+Every man in the room stopped talking and listened. A sudden tenseness
+filled the air of the room.
+
+"Red Flight, all out! Red Flight, all out!"
+
+"Well, well. Out for a breath of night air," Allison drawled. No one
+else said anything and the men of Red Flight barged toward the door.
+
+"Green Flight, stand by," rasped the speaker.
+
+Stan moved out behind Tommy Lane with Allison striding ahead. In less
+than three minutes they were bundled in flying suits, with parachutes
+batting their legs. Like waddling Arctic explorers they shoved out into
+the damp blackness of the night.
+
+On the cab rank three Spitfires were shuddering under slow throttle.
+Flight sergeants were clambering down after warming up the motors. The
+ragged flare of exhausts whirled grotesque shadows across the ground,
+and oil fumes mixed with raw gasoline sucked up into their faces.
+
+Sidders, Recording Officer, waved a sheaf of papers at Allison as he
+halted before the Flight Lieutenant. Sidders looked like a big bear with
+his greatcoat muffled around him. "Take the notch at 2,500. Landing
+signal, K. Good luck."
+
+Allison grinned as he saluted. "Landing signal, K," he repeated
+mechanically.
+
+A moment later Allison was jerking his hatch cover back and pinching one
+wheel brake. He rammed the throttle knob up and swung the Spitfire
+around. It lurched away and his voice came through the earphones of
+Tommy Lane and Stan Wilson.
+
+"Slide up, Lane, Wilson." His voice was cold and impatient.
+
+The three Spitfires shoved their noses into the black wall of the night,
+their exhausts snarling flame. They hesitated, waiting for the take-off
+signal.
+
+"Check your temperatures," Allison droned into his flap mike.
+
+Stan Wilson settled himself against his crash pad and got his chute
+squared under him. He had taken up his belt a notch beyond what he
+thought was possible. Tension gripped him. This was combat with a
+flaming trail ahead. He wasn't test diving and stunting now, he was
+hunting and would be hunted. And up there the night was as black as the
+inside of a cellar.
+
+They got the clearance signal and the tails of the Spitfires lifted with
+a blast of prop pressure. They slid down the runway, gathering terrific
+speed. A few seconds later they were screaming over the blacked-out
+city.
+
+"Close, close, tight in," Allison's voice droned.
+
+Stan saw below the gray rectangle that was Hyde Park Square. He watched
+the knifing flame that the searchlights stabbed into the black heavens
+as they probed and searched for the black bellies of the bombers. The
+dull rapping of anti-aircraft shells beating against the heavy dome
+above smashed back the roar of his motor. The ground boys would soon
+spread a muck of fire and bursting steel over London.
+
+"Tight, tight, we're coming into the notch," Allison's voice warned.
+
+Red Flight swept north now in a steep, battering turn. The notch was
+dead ahead.
+
+"Shove in, Tommy. Don't try slicing a cable," Allison snarled. "Come in!
+Come in! Here we go!"
+
+The Spitfires slid closer together, bunched like darting swallows, their
+flaming breath licking into the night. In a few seconds they would be
+out where they could spread and go into action. For the first time,
+since rubbing elbows with a Spitfire, Stan wondered how you bailed out
+of the roaring monster if it broke up going 350 miles per hour. He slid
+his thumb across the black gun button as he set his windbreaker's edge
+on a line with Allison's aileron slit.
+
+Blood pounded in his ears and a chill eagerness laid hold upon him. He
+leaned forward and would have shouted. Allison and Tommy and the whole
+British Broadcasting System would likely get the benefit of it if he cut
+loose with a cowboy yell. He closed his mouth firmly and fixed his eyes
+on the aileron slit ahead. The 1,000-horsepower Merlin engine was
+throbbing, hurtling him up and into the night. He could feel the
+assuring Brownings in the wings, ready to spew a hail of lead at the
+enemy. He did not realize it but beads of sweat stood on his forehead.
+
+He was glad he was coming out of the narrow channel of terror which was
+charted anew each week. The notch was guarded by unseen, steel cables,
+slender knives of spun death, waiting to slice through the wing of a
+plane like a knife cutting through hot cheese. Or to come coiling down
+upon any ship that struck them squarely. The hydrogen bloated monsters
+that held the cables aloft swayed and tugged, sometimes swinging the
+steel lines far out into the notch.
+
+Out of this avenue the three Spitfires bored. When they were clear
+Allison's drawl came in clearly:
+
+"Pick yourself a bandit."
+
+Two blades of silver light knifed upward. They swept back and forth,
+then stopped, remaining straight up. This was a signal Allison
+understood perfectly.
+
+"Four bandits, quarter left," he snapped.
+
+Before Stan could lay over, Allison's Spitfire was hurtling across his
+hatch cover, zooming up at the droning bombers. A second later he
+sighted a big Dornier just as she lurched upward in a frantic effort to
+avoid Allison's Brownings.
+
+A half-smile came to the lips of Stan Wilson. Everything they had said
+about March Allison was correct. He was a demon in the air. Stan shot
+his Spitfire up at the belly of the floundering Dornier. He had no time
+to play spectator. Pressing the gun button he felt the kick of his eight
+Brownings as they drilled away. Pinkish flames spurted from the
+mid-section of the bomber as it whirled about, sliding off on one wing
+with flames, red now, belching out of it. It turned over and four men
+tumbled out. Stan watched long enough to see their chutes blossom
+against the red glow of gunfire from below. He was glad that the crew
+had been able to bail out.
+
+On his right Stan saw tracer bullets from Allison's guns. He made out a
+dark hulk twisting and turning, then the hulk was lighted as the Nazi
+craft went down in flames. He couldn't spot Tommy as he zoomed upward
+and in a split second he lost Allison. Circling, he throttled down and
+let the Spitfire cruise. A chill feeling gripped the pit of his stomach.
+This was new stuff for him. He was out in the darkness roaring in a
+steep circle, looking for another bomber, but mostly waiting to hear
+Allison's voice. He knew the unseen cables were swaying and reaching,
+eager to knife him or to snarl his plane. Losing a wing wouldn't be as
+bad as having the cable come down on you. If you tangle in a cable you
+can't bail out. Stan peered down at the muck of shellfire below. He knew
+he wouldn't be able to hit the notch without help from at least one of
+the veterans.
+
+Then he saw a searchlight beam pick up a dark shape below. It was a
+bomber going down to unload. Stan nosed over and sent the Spitfire down
+in a screaming dive. The flaming field of muck leaped up to meet him and
+shells burst close. As Stan closed in on the dive bomber it suddenly
+seemed to explode in his face.
+
+Instantly Stan knew the cables had gotten the bandit. Frantically, he
+pulled the Spitfire up and sent her roaring toward the ceiling. He
+sucked in his breath as he brushed past one of the bloated gas bags.
+That was a score for the Ack-Ack gunners and the ground boys. Then he
+heard Allison's voice, cool and cheerful.
+
+"Come in close, Red Flight. Somebody got two bandits. Who got two
+bandits?"
+
+Stan slid over and down, sure now of his position. Ahead, he spotted
+Tommy and then Allison. They rocketed down through the notch, as sure of
+the narrow pathway as though the noonday sun was shining on the cables.
+Stan ducked in on Tommy's tail and went home with them.
+
+"Why ask silly questions," Tommy was shouting to Allison. "Allison got
+one, Wilson got one, the Ack-Ack boys got one. Tommy got nothing except
+Allison's Spitfire in his lap."
+
+Allison's voice came back in a sarcastic drawl. "I just shut my eyes and
+cut loose. When I opened them, there was a bandit minus one wing. How
+about you, Wilson?"
+
+Stan cuddled his flap mike and laughed. He was sure of himself now. He
+had hit the glory trail and could laugh at its terrors. "I just did
+potshooting. Later I'll clip off tails and wings for you."
+
+"Later?" There was that mocking note in Allison's voice.
+
+The recall signal was calling them in. They swung over the blacked-out
+city and headed for home. Ten minutes later they did a parachute walk
+into the briefing room. Brooks, Squadron Leader, eyed them wearily. He
+acted as though he hadn't had any sleep for a good many nights, which
+was about correct. The three pilots moved over to his high desk and
+reached for report forms.
+
+"Everybody all right?" the Squadron Leader asked as he began filling out
+their time record.
+
+"Fit as flying fish," Tommy answered, grinning broadly. "Me, I like
+balloons." He winked at Stan.
+
+"Shut up," Allison snapped.
+
+"What did you spend on yours?" Brooks asked, looking at Allison.
+
+"Six or eight seconds in one burst," Allison answered.
+
+"Hundred rounds," the officer jotted down. Then he looked at Tommy.
+Tommy nodded toward Stan.
+
+"Eight or ten, I guess. I used a pretty long burst," Stan admitted.
+
+"One hundred thirty rounds, eight seconds," the officer jotted down.
+
+A few minutes later Stan strolled into the mess with Allison. He felt
+tired and would have gone to his cubicle only he wanted to see what the
+boys did when they came in.
+
+"Black coffee, that's the thing for balloon nerves," Allison said and
+looked sharply at Stan. "It's on me." He waved a hand to the mess
+corporal and called. "Two, black." Facing Stan, with a glint of humor in
+his eyes, he said. "Not bad, old man, but you're a Yank and you learned
+to fly in a fighter. And I think you'd best break down and tell me about
+it."
+
+"Sorry, but I can't think of a story you'd believe," Stan said and
+grinned to hide his uneasiness. Allison was sharp as a tack. He had it
+in his head that Stan was a Yank, which would have been all right except
+that no Yank needed to masquerade as a Canadian to get into the Royal
+Air Force. Not a flier like Stan Wilson.
+
+They sank into chairs and waited for the coffee. Tommy hadn't showed up
+and they had the mess to themselves. Allison leaned forward.
+
+"I think the old man has something special up his sleeve," he said.
+"When he acts tough and gets hard he's about to cook up a messy job.
+Want in on it if it comes?" He was grinning at Stan in his most derisive
+manner. He might just as well have added, "Of course you won't want in."
+
+"Check me in," Stan said stiffly.
+
+"Fine." Allison leaned back and elevated his legs to the top of the
+table. "Fine. I figure the old man is going to give us a one-way
+ticket."
+
+"A what?" Stan asked. The way Allison spoke made a chill run up his
+spine.
+
+Allison turned his head and looked at Stan. "In the last war when
+fighters were sent out as scouts they had to come back to report. In
+this man's war they radio back their reports. After that they play tag
+with a swarm of Messerschmitt One-Tens."
+
+"I see." Stan could well imagine what sort of tag three Spitfires would
+play with a dozen or more ME's. It was just plain suicide stuff. "Ever
+been on one?" he asked.
+
+Allison grinned widely. "Once. A cloud, plus eight Brownings and a lot
+of fool's luck, brought me back with most of my ship. It beats hitting
+the glory trail every night."
+
+"Sounds interesting," Stan agreed as he pulled his steaming cup of
+coffee to him and began dropping sugar lumps into it. "I aim to get a
+kick out of it."
+
+Allison laughed. "Hanged if I don't believe you will. You'll go if I do
+any of the picking."
+
+"And about this Yank business." Stan looked Allison squarely in the eye.
+"It isn't international. It isn't a violation of any of the laws of
+Britain or any country. It's a personal matter. If you keep on talking
+about it you'll lose a flier, that's certain."
+
+"I see," Allison said, but he kept on grinning his superior grin. "I
+knew it wasn't anything rotten. Sorry I was nosey. It won't come up
+before anyone, Yank." He lifted his cup. "Here's to the glory trail!"
+
+Stan joined him. Tommy came in and sprawled out on a bench with his
+feet against the wall. He looked over at Allison and Stan.
+
+"The O.C. says Green Flight is taking over for the rest of the night, so
+you birds can go to bed."
+
+"Where are you going?" Allison asked.
+
+Tommy uncoiled himself and stood up. He began humming a snatch of song,
+stopped abruptly and answered Allison.
+
+"Too quiet around here for me." Without any further explanation he
+strolled out.
+
+"That nut can't get action enough running the notch. He's on his way
+over to a bombing squadron. He'll talk the O.C. into letting him go on a
+bombing raid as a gunner." Allison got to his feet. "Me, I'm going to
+bed."
+
+"Reckon I will, too," Stan answered.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+CLOUD TAG
+
+
+Stan entered the mess room the next morning and stood looking around.
+There was the same air of indifference, with that undercurrent of
+tension. A dozen men were eating breakfast at the tables in the far end.
+They were all talking and joking, but at any moment they might be called
+to face the grim specter of death high in the clouds. Stan spotted
+Allison sitting by himself at a small table near a window. He looked
+about for Tommy but the lanky flier wasn't in the room. Probably
+sleeping in after an all-night party aboard a bomber, thought Stan.
+
+He crossed the room and as he approached Allison he saw that the Flight
+Lieutenant's breakfast lay untouched before him. His coffee looked cold
+and stale. But it was the grimness of his face that jolted Stan. Allison
+looked up and there were savage points of light in his eyes. His mouth
+twisted into a sardonic grin.
+
+"Sit down, Stan," he said, using Stan's first name, something he hadn't
+done before.
+
+"What's up?" Stan demanded quickly as he slid into a chair.
+
+"We're on day shift," Allison said. "Sunshine all the way."
+
+"Where's Tommy?" Stan drove at the thought that had leaped into his
+mind.
+
+Allison looked at him and his lips pulled into a thin line. "The kid
+picked up a package last night. A Flak-88 laid a shell right up against
+the Bristol and cracked her open."
+
+Stan said nothing for a minute. He knew that the words of the Flight
+Lieutenant were likely the last he would say about Tommy Lane's last
+ride. Then something like red fire surged up inside him.
+
+"We'll keep him in mind," he said grimly.
+
+"I'll see that the score keeps even," Allison said and savage lights
+flickered hot in his eyes.
+
+The mess corporal appeared with a private at his heels. "We have some
+very fine waffles," he said.
+
+"Bring me black coffee," Stan growled.
+
+"And waffles?"
+
+"Sure, sure."
+
+The corporal turned away. It worried him that his fliers were so
+temperamental they didn't eat enough of his food.
+
+Allison shoved aside his cold coffee. "We have a new man coming in. He
+ought to be here any minute now."
+
+Ten minutes later a tall man entered the mess. He stood looking around,
+then spoke to one of the privates. The soldier nodded toward Allison,
+and the tall youngster headed across the room.
+
+"Here he comes," Allison muttered sourly.
+
+Stan saw a black-haired, hawk-faced young man of perhaps twenty. The new
+flier had a big mouth that was pulled into a loose frown as his dark
+eyes stabbed about the room, pausing to rest for a moment upon each
+face. He walked with a swagger and his uniform was neatly creased. At
+first glance Stan didn't think much of him.
+
+"Hello," he greeted Allison. "Are you Flight Lieutenant Allison?"
+
+"Sure. Sit down and have something."
+
+"I'm Arch Garret. The O.C. sent me over to plug a hole in Red Flight.
+I'll take care of you boys." He glanced at Allison's sloppy uniform and
+then at Stan's, which was little better.
+
+"That's nice of you, old man," Allison said in a soft drawl.
+
+Then Arch Garret began to tell how good he was, and how many
+Messerschmitt One-Tens he had knocked off in coast combat. He spoke
+loudly so that all in the room could hear. After listening for a few
+minutes, Allison yawned and got to his feet. Without a word he walked
+away.
+
+Stan was sure Garret hadn't had all the experience he claimed. One thing
+was certain: Stan knew the new flier would soon have the gang down on
+him. He listened silently to Arch Garret's talk while he finished his
+waffles and coffee.
+
+"I'm from the United States," Garret said. "I was the best test pilot
+Lockheed ever had or ever will have. Spinning those Yank jobs was too
+slow for me. I had to have action." Garret smoothed a closely cropped
+little mustache and swelled out his chest.
+
+Stan pretended to be dumb, but he was looking Arch Garret over very
+closely. He knew every ace test pilot Lockheed had had in the past five
+years. He was sure Garret was lying.
+
+He was about to ask some questions when the intersquadron speaker began
+snapping and clicking. A voice filled the room.
+
+"Red Flight, all out! Red Flight, all out!"
+
+"That's us," Stan said as he jumped to his feet. "Sorry, you'll have to
+miss your coffee."
+
+Arch Garret's manner changed at once. He quit bragging and seemed to be
+a little nervous as he got to his feet.
+
+"Where are we headed?"
+
+"I don't know," Stan snapped.
+
+They barged out of the mess close upon Allison's heels. Everything was
+rush, with parachutes to adjust and flying suits to climb into. Stan
+paid no more attention to Garret until they were outside.
+
+The three Spitfires of Red Flight were throbbing with restrained power
+on the cab rank. Stan felt better about sliding into his cockpit because
+the sun was shining and he could see the silver wires attached to the
+hydrogen gorged balloons. This was better.
+
+The flight sergeants had cleared the ships and Allison had gotten his
+orders from the recording officer. In another minute the lead Spitfire
+had cramped about and was sliding toward the line. Stan swung into place
+and watched Garret get set. The new flier slid his plane up to the line
+with showy flash, gunning and idling the big motor in a way that made
+Stan's nerves rasp. To him a motor was a living thing and he hated to
+see one abused.
+
+"Steady, Red Flight," Allison was snapping into his flap mike. "Check
+your temperatures."
+
+Stan called back his O.K. Garret did not clear. Allison's voice came in
+angry, cold.
+
+"Are you set, Garret?"
+
+"Sure, big boy, I'm always set," Garret replied.
+
+"Then sound off as you should," Allison snapped.
+
+A second later they were off, tails lifting, boring across the turf.
+With a wrenching lift, they bounced up and lifted into the blue where
+big clouds floated over the city of London. Allison's voice came in. The
+crispness was gone and the drawl was there again.
+
+"Close formation, and keep it close all the way out. We're headed for
+emergency work below the Thames estuary. Junkers Ju 87's for breakfast."
+
+The Spitfires closed in and roared away, gaining altitude as they bored
+into the early morning light. In a very short time the twisting streets,
+the masses of little squares that were blocks of buildings faded away
+below them. Allison took them up above the fleecy clouds and into the
+great, high-piled formations.
+
+"Ought to find them sneaking around up here," he drawled.
+
+Stan looked out upon the mountains of clouds and the patches of blue
+sky. The Junkers Ju 87's were dive bombers, popularly known as Stukas,
+and their presence meant a raid upon shipping.
+
+"Red Flight, keep west by south. Red Flight, keep west by south." It was
+the control room at the field sending them directions from the big room
+with the table which had a huge map spread on it. On that map were toy
+planes which the watchers shoved about with wooden rakes.
+
+Ahead, Allison broke out of the feathery edge of a cloud into a great
+valley of clear blue. Stan sliced through the cloud close beside him.
+Garret was trailing a little now.
+
+"Three Stukas cruising, four points right," Allison grated. "Three
+Stukas. Don't let one of them get away or he'll come back again."
+
+Instantly the Spitfires broke formation and Allison went plummeting
+down, his Merlin roaring wide open. His twisting flight was an amazing
+show of cold skill. Stan peeled off and shot after him. He was sure
+Allison had picked the Stuka on the right so he took the one on the
+left, leaving the center bomber for Garret, who wasn't getting in as
+fast as he should.
+
+"Easy, a cinch!" Allison's voice roared out of Stan's headset. "Here's
+one for Tommy."
+
+Stan saw his Spitfire lay over on her side and slice down upon the
+Stuka, her eight Brownings drilling flame and lead. The startled crew of
+the bomber immediately came to life. They had been craning their necks,
+looking for slow crawling freighters headed into port. They sent the
+Stuka into a nose dive, spewing bombs to lighten their load, but they
+were not fast enough. Stan saw the right wing of the big raider rise,
+then whirl away. The Stuka spun out of the square space in his
+windscreen doing grotesque loops.
+
+Ahead lay Stan's target and his thumb pressed gently on his gun button
+as he roared down. His Brownings opened up and he saw the Stuka stagger
+and swerve as he thundered past in a hissing dive. Coming up he noticed
+that Garret's Stuka was streaking away toward the south with Garret
+making a feeble try at coming up under the big ship.
+
+"Missed a dead target," Stan said grimly. "He hasn't fired a single
+burst."
+
+Then Allison's voice cracked in over the air. "Messerschmitts up above
+in the big cloud. They're coming down. Seven in all." His words snapped
+off in a sputter of crackling static. Stan nosed up and saw the seven
+fighters diving upon Allison. Then he heard Allison's voice again.
+
+"Better let me have them. Keep clear!"
+
+Stan yelled into the flap mike. "Coming, Allison."
+
+He gave the Spitfire all she had and the Merlin wound up beautifully,
+lifting him up to meet the fighters diving out of the cloud above. As he
+went up he looked for Garret. At that moment they sure needed all of Red
+Flight. He spotted Garret diving for a great thunderhead.
+
+"The scum," Stan snarled. He shot the words into the flap mike without
+realizing it.
+
+It did not seem possible that Allison could escape from the deathtrap.
+The Stuka setup had been too easy after all. The Spitfires were twisting
+upward, straight on to meet the seven diving Messerschmitts, any one of
+which was near their match. Stan knew the boys at the controls of those
+ships were good fliers.
+
+Allison's ship rolled over suddenly and fell away, then hit a steep
+spiral climb. For a few seconds it knifed along on its back. The
+maneuver threw the seven fighters off for a moment, giving Stan time to
+get more lift and more ceiling. Allison laid over in a vertical bank,
+and, as he swung back his guns, cut a swath across the enemy craft. One
+Messerschmitt went into a crazy whirl.
+
+After that Stan was busy with his own end. He cut across the path of a
+streaking fighter and sawed off his tail so neatly it seemed to have
+vanished by itself. But the next second he had a brace of roaring guns
+in his face and the hatch cover above his head shattered, showering him
+with glass and pieces of metal. His engine did not falter as he stalled
+and slid off after the Nazi, his Brownings ripping away. The fighter
+dodged and twisted and got away, though it was plainly hit.
+
+As he dived to shake off another red-hot gunner he saw Allison going
+straight at another Messerschmitt, the only one in his field of vision.
+He waited for the burst from Allison's guns that would send the Nazi
+down, but it did not come and Allison thundered over the enemy ship,
+taking a ripping hail of lead as he went.
+
+"His guns are out," Stan groaned as he sent his ship over in a roll and
+went down after the raider, who was banking to dive upon Allison's
+defenseless tail. Stan's lightning drop carried him down just in time to
+drive the Messerschmitt away from Allison. The crippled Spitfire ducked
+into a cloud. Allison's voice came to Stan, mocking but with his old
+drawl.
+
+"Thanks, old man."
+
+"Where's Garret?" Stan rasped back.
+
+"I'm up here. Just finished off my second bandit."
+
+"You don't say," Allison cut in. "Well, we're going in, boys, before we
+meet all of Goering's gang. If they're all as active as those Messers we
+just slipped away from, I don't care to tackle any more of them."
+
+They settled into formation and dropped down upon London. The headset
+began to sputter and a voice from the ground said.
+
+"Red Flight, come in. Red Flight, are you all there?"
+
+"All here," Allison called back cheerfully. He had recovered his
+sardonic good humor.
+
+They slid up the Thames and on over the city to their field. Sliding in,
+Allison and Stan set down on an even glide. Garret slid in with a
+grandstand flourish. Stan eased in close beside him, clambered out of
+the cockpit and stepped across to Garret's Spitfire, giving it a
+searching look. His lips were twisted with anger as he caught up with
+Allison.
+
+Allison gave him a wide grin. "Sweet going, Yank," he said softly.
+
+"What got into your guns?" Stan asked in an effort to let his wrath
+cool.
+
+"Got a burst through the center section. Those Jerries are liberal with
+their lead."
+
+Stan saw that Allison was going to say nothing about Arch Garret's
+cowardly trick in cloud-sneaking when his pals were in a tight spot. He
+hitched along beside Allison, his parachute rapping him behind the
+knees. Garret had paused to show off before the ground crews. They heard
+him say, in a loud voice:
+
+"I cut down on one Messer and then laid over just in time to take out
+another one."
+
+Stan looked at Allison. He was grinning at Brooks who was chewing on a
+pencil and staring at him as if he had seen a ghost.
+
+"Mead of Green Flight said seven Messers had you bottled, Allison," he
+said.
+
+"Mead needs his eyes fixed," Allison answered as he slid out of his
+chute.
+
+Squadron Leader Rainey came in. He had three rings of braid on his
+sleeve and wished he had only two so that he could be out on flight duty
+with the boys. In the last war Majors were flying men, but in this one
+they were just ground officers. His grim face lighted in a thin smile
+as he looked at Allison.
+
+"Nice work, Red Flight," he said. "Like to have been up with you."
+
+"We could have used you, sir," Allison said and laughed almost directly
+into Garret's face.
+
+Garret had strutted to the desk just inside the briefing room. He spoke
+loudly, paying no attention to the Squadron Leader. He leaned on the
+desk and fixed the briefing officer with a steady look.
+
+"Chalk up a Stuka and two Messerschmitts for me. And add a note saying
+it was lucky for two stiffs I was along."
+
+Stan swung around facing Garret. The gall of the man made his anger
+flare up and he forgot all about regulations. "Why lie about it," he
+said, his lips a tight line. "You didn't fire a burst, you hid in a
+cloud. Next time you better unlimber your guns while you're in the cloud
+so you'll have an alibi."
+
+Arch Garret's dark face twisted with rage. "So you play that way, lying
+me out of credit."
+
+"I checked your guns before I came in. You didn't fire a shot." Stan
+turned upon Allison and the Squadron Commander. As he did so he realized
+he had made a mistake. They were silently watching, their faces
+expressionless.
+
+"Well then, Canuck, if you've checked my guns I'll pull down those
+credits," Garret snarled.
+
+"You said something about my lying," Stan gritted as he swung around to
+face the flier. His six feet and two hundred pounds of muscular body
+made him look like a certain Colorado U. half-back who had once been
+picked as All-American. Stan wouldn't have admitted it, he wouldn't have
+dared, but he had once been a great blocking back.
+
+Allison stepped forward. "You come with me, Wilson," he said. "I want to
+tell you a few things you ought to know."
+
+The Squadron Leader nodded to Allison. He turned upon his heel without
+looking at Garret. Snarling, his lips twisted with anger, Garret made
+off to his cubicle.
+
+In the mess Allison sank into a chair. He grinned across at Stan, who
+had seated himself. "Mind if I order tea? I've drunk a gallon of coffee
+just to be polite to you."
+
+Stan grunted, "You don't have to be polite to me."
+
+"I don't intend to from now on, old man." Allison's eyes were twinkling.
+
+"What's on your mind? Regulations and such rot, I suppose." Stan was
+still hot under the collar.
+
+"We don't do it that way here," Allison said. "A rotter like Garret is
+always taken care of."
+
+"You mean he's out?"
+
+"No, I can't swing that, but we don't have to have him in Red Flight."
+He reached for the cup of tea the corporal had set in front of him. "You
+made an enemy who will go a long way to stymie you."
+
+"He'd better stay out of my way," Stan growled.
+
+Allison grinned. "Guess he had, at that," he admitted.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+BILL O'MALLEY
+
+
+Allison leaned back in his chair and laughed softly. Stan waited for the
+Flight Lieutenant to explain his sudden mirth. Allison had just come
+from the O.C.'s office. He turned to Stan.
+
+"I put in a call for a new flier. After all, I can't have a couple of
+prize fighters trailing me around. I got a very sweet fighting man. He
+doesn't love the English so much, and he doesn't hate the Jerries so
+much. He's an Irish boy whose ancestors haven't missed a war in a
+thousand years. He just couldn't stay out of this one." Allison chuckled
+and nodded his head.
+
+Stan turned his gaze toward the door, which had swung inward revealing a
+tall youth.
+
+"There," said Allison, "comes Bill O'Malley."
+
+Bill O'Malley was long and lank, with an Adam's apple that bobbed up and
+down his throat. His bony shoulders were stooped in a most unmilitary
+manner, and his head boasted a thatch of flaming red hair. He was about
+the last person in the world Stan would have picked as a daredevil
+flier. His homely face and his sloppy figure would not have inspired
+fear or confidence in anyone. Allison waved to him.
+
+"Hi, old fellow, come over and meet a pal."
+
+Bill O'Malley grinned as he slouched across the room. As soon as his big
+mouth cracked into a smile Stan knew he was going to like this big
+Irisher.
+
+Allison arose. He was acting with deliberate and mock politeness.
+"O'Malley, meet Wilson," he said with a sweep of his arm. Then the
+derisive mask slipped over his face and he seated himself again.
+
+"Sure, 'tis a quiet an' homelike place ye have here, Commander,"
+O'Malley said. "Wilson, me boy, I'm right glad to meet up with ye."
+
+"Nothing ever happens around here," Allison agreed. "It's a peaceful
+place."
+
+"Snug as a clambake," O'Malley agreed. "But much more dead. Now when I
+gave me word I'd come in with you boys the O.C. made quite a talk about
+how tough the job was. Here we sit like auld friends at a picnic." He
+scowled bleakly at Allison.
+
+"I'll send over for a flight of Jerries," Allison said with a grin.
+
+"'Twill be a pleasure, me foine fellow," O'Malley answered. "I came over
+here to see some action."
+
+Both Stan and Allison knew Bill O'Malley meant just what he said. He was
+wild as any crazy hare, but he had a name that was already on the
+tongues of ground men when spectacular stunts were talked about. Stan
+guessed that Allison had not had much trouble in getting the Irisher
+away from whatever flight he was with. Few Flight Lieutenants would have
+cared to be responsible for him.
+
+The loud-speaker began to blare. "Red Flight, all out! Green Flight, all
+out! Yellow Flight, all out!"
+
+"Sounds like the whole Jerry outfit is on the way," O'Malley said as he
+unwound himself from a stool and made for the door.
+
+There was no mistaking the fact that O'Malley was a first-class fighting
+man. Stan knew it by the way he got into his Spitfire and rammed the
+hatch cover home. By the time they had zoomed up and away, he was sure
+of it. Allison was chuckling over the radio.
+
+"Cuddle in, Red Flight. We pick up Bristols and Blenheims at 10,000."
+
+"'Tis no wet nurse I'll be," came the Irish brogue of O'Malley. "I
+resign this minnit."
+
+"Headquarters says the Jerries have two dozen Messer One-Nines on a
+reception committee," Allison droned back.
+
+"The spalpeens! Why such a measly little bunch?" O'Malley demanded
+indignantly.
+
+Stan gave his attention to flying. The squadron droned into a thick bank
+of clouds and was swallowed. Nine demons bored ahead to take a bombing
+flight through.
+
+"Rose Raid, take position. Rose Raid, take position," came a voice over
+the air from the tactics group gathered around a big map at
+headquarters.
+
+Stan grinned. The British were odd in many ways. For no good reason,
+they called this raid Rose Raid instead of B-7 or some other
+businesslike tabulation. Then he sighted the bombers 1,000 feet below.
+Three heavily loaded Bristols and three Blenheims. Stan remembered the
+fast-flying Consolidateds and the B-19's of the United States Army.
+Soon, if he was lucky enough to stay alive, he might be escorting
+B-19's.
+
+Up and up they went into the clouds, with the bombers droning steadily
+southeast and the Spitfires cruising above and below and around.
+
+The radios were all strangely silent now. There was no talk and Stan let
+his ears fill with the pleasant roar of his Merlin. He bent forward and
+stared at his instrument panel. That gauge couldn't be right, it must be
+jammed or something. If the needle was reading right he had less than a
+half tank of gas. He bent forward and rapped the panel. The needle did
+not change, except to surge a bit further toward the empty side. Stan's
+mouth drew into a grim line. He could believe that gauge and turn
+tail--or he could figure it was wrong and go on.
+
+If it was right, he was short of gas for the trip. A hard gleam shone in
+his eyes. Regardless of the gauge, his tank should have been filled
+full. If it hadn't been filled there was dirty work somewhere. He
+thought of Garret. Allison had said Garret had been put on the ground.
+Stan wondered what job Garret had been given.
+
+Then he snorted. He was letting himself go. Just because he was sore at
+Garret he was imagining things. He rapped the dial sharply and the
+needle jumped, then settled back. If he went on he would run out of gas
+over German territory and have to go down. In spite of himself, he
+couldn't help muttering:
+
+"That would be a nice way of getting rid of me."
+
+He shrugged his shoulders. Allison was dipping his wings in a signal.
+They were going down to have a look below. He couldn't use his flap
+mike. If he cut and ran he would have to prove he hadn't drained his
+tank to get out of a hot odds-on battle; he'd have to have proof that
+the tank wasn't filled when he took off. But he had to decide at once.
+
+A guarded voice spoke. It was Allison's. "Peel off and dive by position.
+Come up after a check below clouds."
+
+The Flight Lieutenant's Spitfire lanced over on its side and streaked
+down like a rocket. O'Malley followed. Stan's lips pulled into a hard
+line. He flipped the Spitfire over on its side and went roaring down the
+chute. The air speed and altimeter were going insane. The shriek of the
+dive shook every nerve in Stan's body, and set him back against the
+crash pad, holding him there with a powerful grip. The three Spitfires
+roared out of the clouds at the same instant. They streaked into the
+clear blue for a moment, then shot upward and ducked back into the cloud
+again.
+
+They had seen nothing except a low and rocky coastline with white lines
+of breakers beating against it. Not a plane in the world, except the
+squadron, so it seemed.
+
+And then the clouds broke away and a harbor was in the frame of their
+windscreens. It looked like a toy harbor with its oblong breakwater. A
+great hangar with a black painted roof looked out upon the gently
+rolling waters. There were seaplanes in the picture somewhere. Stan
+craned his neck and saw what was holding the eyes of the men in the
+Blenheims and the Bristols. Three toy boats rode at anchor beside a
+dock. Those were supply ships that had slipped through the blockade.
+Headquarters was taking a last desperate chance of keeping that valuable
+cargo from getting through.
+
+Then the Rose Raid actually started. The radio began to crackle. "Rose
+Raid at targets! Rose Raid over targets!" That was the squadron leader
+telling headquarters they were going down.
+
+The nine light Spitfires went down in a screaming dive to cover the
+Blenheims and the Bristols. The big Bristols swung into line-astern
+formation and bashed through the first upheaval of Flak-88 shells. Black
+and white blooms of bursting shells bracketed them as their leader slid
+into the curtain of fire. The next instant the big Bristol disappeared
+in a mass of smoke and flame.
+
+A Blenheim on Stan's right twisted upward, threw away a wing and went
+down in a dizzy spin, ramming its nose into the roof of the black
+hangar.
+
+The remaining four bombers plunged down upon their objective with the
+Spitfires doing dizzy stunts alongside them and the air seemingly filled
+with Heinkel single-seaters which had slashed into the picture from
+nowhere. A darting Heinkel dived upon Stan. Stan opened up and saw an
+aileron flutter away from the plummeting fighter. The formation of
+Spitfires had broken up now. It was everybody into the dogfight to keep
+the Heinkels from getting at the four precious bombers.
+
+The slashing, whirling Spitfires did the job. They tore into the
+Heinkels and their deadly eight-gun combinations showed at once what
+superior fire power they had. Stan watched O'Malley send a fighter down
+and slide over on his back, out of the path of three more, to get
+another before his first burst of fire had ceased smoking. O'Malley was
+a demon of the sky. He was in and out and up and down and his trail was
+a trail of death. Allison was up there, too, doing just about as well
+but doing it with cold precision rather than by sheer recklessness.
+
+Stan knifed into a wedge of Heinkels darting down to drop upon one of
+the Bristols. The Heinkels scattered before his fire, twisting and
+ducking and darting. Stan laid over and looked down. The bombers had
+unloaded. Below him the three ships, big now, and dirty in their
+streaked gray and black paint, were very close. Men were running wildly
+about on their decks or leaping into the water. One of them burst into
+flame amidship, another seemed to explode, the third listed far over and
+her stern sank slowly down.
+
+Stan's radio was shouting at him. "Rose Raid! Rose Raid! Ten bandits
+down. Two bombers have left formation. Two fighters have left formation.
+Rose Raid, come in. Rose Raid, come in!"
+
+The Spitfires could not come in. While the bombers slipped away under
+full throttle, free of their loads and faster than they had been, the
+Spitfires slashed and blasted and ducked. Stan watched a Spitfire go
+into the bay, twisting and spinning. He wondered if it could be Allison
+or O'Malley.
+
+"Red Flight, come in." That was Allison's voice.
+
+"Comin' soon as I get me another spalpeen," O'Malley's brogue burred.
+
+Stan glanced at his gas gauge. It showed empty, but the Merlin was still
+hammering away. He nosed her up as he cuddled his flap mike.
+
+"Wilson coming in."
+
+Up and up the Spitfire roared, shaking the Heinkels off her tail as she
+twisted and banked, her 1,000 horses tossing her toward the ceiling.
+Stan held his breath as he headed her home. Was that gas gauge a liar?
+
+He heard the Merlin cough and knew the gauge had not lied. Looking back
+he saw the dim outline of the enemy shore. Back there he could cripple
+down and they would not shoot him. They would be glad to get a sound
+Spitfire and they would keep him locked up for the rest of the war.
+Ahead lay the gray waters of the English channel, rough and sullen, cold
+as ice.
+
+"Wilson out of gas. Making a try for home," he shouted into his flap
+mike.
+
+Above him he saw that Messerschmitt One-Tens had joined the Heinkels in
+trying to finish off the Spitfires. He leveled off as the Merlin gave
+its last gasp of power and sent the ship gliding toward home.
+
+For a time Stan thought the Jerries had missed him, they were so busy up
+above. Eight thousand feet below his wings the rough waters of the
+channel were moving up to meet him. The first warning Stan had that he
+was not to escape without a fight was a terrific jolting and ripping
+that almost shook him loose from his seat; the next was the staccato
+rattle of a rapid-fire cannon that was ripping great chunks out of his
+right wing.
+
+The Spitfire writhed up on her side, then rolled over on her back and
+shot seaward. Stan pulled the stick back against his stomach and kicked
+the right rudder viciously. He looked up just as the Jerry loosed
+another broadside which missed the ship. The Jerry zoomed back up,
+satisfied he had finished the Spitfire that was trying to slip away.
+
+Stan gave the Jerry but a glance. He was battling to pull the Spitfire
+out of the spin he had jammed her into. He soon realized that there was
+no control left in the ship, so he unbuckled his belt and rammed back
+what was left of the hatch cover. He squirmed out of the cockpit and
+dived. As he slid away from the ship he felt himself caught and held.
+His chute bellied out and the shoulder straps wrenched at him. A second
+later he was ripped loose and whirled away from the crumpled wreck. As
+he leveled off he saw that he was about 3,000 feet from the water.
+
+It appeared also that Stan had the channel to himself. Overhead he could
+hear the faint drone of motors; otherwise there was no sound except the
+cries of a half-dozen excited gulls that swooped down about him
+curiously as the chute let him drift downward toward the gray sea.
+
+An inshore wind whipped at his clothing, twisting him dizzily as he
+dangled there in mid-air, and he had a brief, crazy hope that it might
+carry him in to land before he went down. But that wild hope died at
+once when he realized the shore was miles away.
+
+There was nothing for it but to take his wetting and hope the R.A.F.
+life jacket was as good as it was supposed to be. He stared downward at
+the choppy surface that seemed to sweep upward to meet him, gritting his
+teeth to drive fear away. This was a chance every channel flier took ...
+and sometimes they were rescued.
+
+He handled the chute controls skillfully, easing himself down with the
+wind while he fought to loosen the buckles that held the straps tightly
+about him. If he went into the water with that chute dragging him down
+there wouldn't be any chance of eventual rescue.
+
+As his numbed fingers tore at the buckles he wondered what it felt like
+to drown. The sea was close now. A bleak gray expanse of waves that
+reached hungry arms upward to receive another human sacrifice. One
+buckle came free, then another. He ripped himself out of the harness and
+plummeted down the last ten feet, his body driving deep into the icy
+cold water.
+
+He came to the surface sputtering and beating the water madly, then
+remembered the life jacket he wore, and let its buoyancy support him
+while he took stock of the situation.
+
+It looked hopeless. He was a single tiny speck floating on a vast
+expanse of sea where every surface craft was subject to attack and more
+intent on making port than searching for downed fliers. The sky overhead
+was clear of planes now. He wondered if anyone had seen him bailing out.
+He had reported he was short of gas. If either Allison or O'Malley made
+it back safely, he had a hunch they wouldn't rest until they returned to
+search the sea for him or the wreckage of his plane.
+
+That was his only hope. Any other rescue would be purely accidental. The
+icy fingers of the water were eating into his flesh. The heavy flying
+togs were becoming water-soaked, dragging him down. He didn't know how
+long he could hold out. He tried to swim toward the dimly distant shore
+line, but the waves battered him back and the numbing cold stole away
+his strength.
+
+He forced himself to relax, let the life jacket support him. It might be
+hours before rescue came. It looked hopeless, but a man never gave up
+hope while life remained in his body. If he could keep his head above
+water, keep from swallowing too much of the salt sea, he could last a
+few hours at least.
+
+And he clung to the belief that Allison or O'Malley would return to look
+for him. Though he didn't know just what either of them could do if they
+did spot him from the sky. If one of them could get hold of a seaplane
+he didn't doubt that they'd try to set it down on the rough surface to
+rescue him. He tried to recall whether he'd seen any seaplanes since
+arriving in England.
+
+Things were getting hazy in his mind. He gave up trying to move his
+limbs. The blood was congealing in his veins. He had a strange feeling
+that his flesh was becoming brittle with cold, that he would break into
+pieces if he tried to move an arm or leg.
+
+A delightful sensation of helpless lethargy crept over him. This was the
+sort of thing he had read happened to people when death was very close
+and inevitable. It was Nature's kind way of drugging the perceptions
+against the impact of death.
+
+He began to hear a buzzing in his ears, and he decided that was the
+beginning of the end. It didn't matter now. Nothing mattered. Not even
+the war.
+
+The buzzing grew louder and became a distinct annoyance. He tried to
+shut it away from his consciousness, but it persisted. He felt himself
+being dragged back from the coma into which he had sunk. The buzzing
+became a loud drone, then smashed at his ear drums with a shattering
+roar.
+
+He came to life again, and fought to blink his salt-encrusted eyelids
+open. He recognized that roar of a Spitfire motor. It was zooming over
+him, flattening out in a crazy reckless pancake dangerously close to the
+surface of the water.
+
+He got one eye open and caught a flashing glimpse of a grinning Irish
+face leaning over the side of the plane and shouting something to him.
+The plane lifted swiftly and swept away and Stan found himself waving a
+numbed hand after it.
+
+The ice in his veins was transformed into tongues of flame that licked
+through his body. O'Malley had come, just as he had known the Irishman
+would. He would bring a rescue ship back. All Stan had to do was stay
+alive a little longer.
+
+He grinned happily as he watched the Spitfire become a dim speck in the
+sky and then disappear. He began beating the water with his arms and
+legs, and he jeered good-naturedly at the sea that had sought to engulf
+him.
+
+The plane was coming back, circling high overhead to spot the floating
+pilot for a fishing boat that was putting out from shore. As the small
+craft drew near Stan saw two men in oilskins waving to him. He waved
+back, and then a strange thing happened. It was as though someone had
+struck him on the head with a sledge hammer. He was unconscious when the
+boat reached him, and he stayed unconscious for a full twenty-four
+hours.
+
+He woke up in a strange new world that was utterly different from
+anything he had known before. A clean, white, antiseptic world with
+narrow beds and pretty girls in white uniforms. He was tucked in one of
+those beds, and one of the pretty girls in a white uniform was bending
+over him solicitously.
+
+"Where am I?" he demanded.
+
+"This is a hospital. You are very sick," the nurse said soothingly.
+
+"Hospital!" Stan sputtered. "I'm not staying in any hospital. I was
+never in a hospital in my life!" He got to his feet as orderlies and a
+head nurse came running.
+
+"Lie down or I will report you," the head nurse said severely. "You are
+sick."
+
+"How long do you think it takes me to get over a bath?" Stan shot at the
+nurse.
+
+"You'll be here two weeks," the head nurse informed him.
+
+Stan had visions of Allison sending out for another man to fill the trio
+on Red Flight. He wrapped the blanket tighter around him.
+
+"Get my clothes," he ordered.
+
+"Get an officer," the head nurse snapped to an orderly.
+
+Stan knew it was time for action. He swept the blanket ends off the
+floor and dived down the hall with the nurses running after him. A
+doctor came out of a room, looked at Stan, then ducked back quickly.
+Stan bounded down a wide stairway and out through a pair of open doors.
+People stared at him as he rushed up the street in his bare feet looking
+for a cab.
+
+On a corner he bumped into two bobbies. They closed in on both sides of
+him.
+
+"Easy, my man," one of them said. "Easy, now. We'll see you safe back to
+your bed."
+
+"Fine," Stan answered. "Get me over to Merry Flying Field as quick as
+you can."
+
+The bobbies looked at Stan then exchanged glances. He looked perfectly
+healthy and very powerful, though he was a bit pale and had a wild look
+in his eye. They nodded their heads.
+
+"I'm from Red Flight over at Merry Field. Get me there and the Flight
+Lieutenant will vouch for me," Stan urged as he looked down the street
+and saw an ambulance rocking around a corner.
+
+The bobbies were satisfied that this young giant was crazy and they had
+better humor him. They shoved him through the curious crowd that had
+formed on the corner. Within a few minutes he was seated in a cab
+bowling across the city.
+
+Allison was lounging at a table drinking tea with O'Malley when two
+bobbies and a disheveled man wrapped in a wool blanket marched into the
+mess. They both leaped to their feet and rushed across the room.
+
+"Stan, old chap!" Allison shouted.
+
+"By the scalp of St. Patrick!" O'Malley boomed. "An' I thought you would
+drown sure before the boat got to you."
+
+The bobbies nodded their heads and grinned broadly. They lifted their
+sticks and moved out, well satisfied with their work. Stan called after
+them:
+
+"If you meet an ambulance wandering about tell the driver to go back to
+the hospital and give my regards to the head nurse." He sank into a
+chair and grinned up at his friends. "How about some clothes?"
+
+"Coming right up. You can borrow my dress uniform," Allison said.
+"O'Malley insisted we hold off replacements for another day. The
+hospital said you'd be laid up for weeks, but O'Malley had a hunch you
+wouldn't let them keep you."
+
+Stan told what had happened. When he had finished O'Malley beat a bony
+fist on the table.
+
+"Faith, an' I think the gas business is a trick of that rotter, Garret.
+What he's after needin' is a good taste of me fist," he bellowed.
+
+"We have no proof. If one of you fellows beat him up we'd all be
+grounded, you know," Allison cut in.
+
+"If Garret was on the crew that handled the fueling that's enough for
+me," Stan said grimly.
+
+"He was put in charge of our hangar by the O.C. But you can bet he
+covered his dirty work carefully. We'll just have to trap him." Allison
+spoke grimly.
+
+"And in the meantime we better check our ships before we go out each
+time," Stan said. "If I'd done that this time I'd have brought my
+Spitfire back whole and wouldn't have had to take a bath in the
+channel."
+
+"I'll bet the spalpeen will get a scare when you walk into that hangar,"
+O'Malley said with a grin.
+
+Stan got to his feet. "I'm going out there just as soon as I get some
+clothes. I warn you, O'Malley, this is my fight. You stay out of it."
+
+O'Malley's eyes glittered. "I niver could stay out of a good scrap, but
+if you wade into him I'm thinkin' there won't be anything left for me to
+do but pick up the pieces."
+
+"You better keep a tight hand on your temper, old chap," Allison warned.
+
+"I will. I'll have the low-down before I sock him," Stan promised.
+
+A half-hour later, dressed in one of Allison's uniforms, and looking
+little worse for his ducking, Stan strolled into the hangar. Garret was
+not about so he went to the crew that had handled his ship. They were
+really glad to see him, he was sure of that. He looked them over and had
+a feeling none of them had had any part in the plot.
+
+"Who gassed my Spitfire before she went out on the last raid?" His eyes
+moved from man to man.
+
+A corporal stepped forward. "I did, sir."
+
+"Was the tank full when you rolled her out?"
+
+"Yes, sir. I rechecked. She was full up." The corporal was positive.
+
+"Did you gas her up immediately before the flight?"
+
+"No, we always gas up as soon as the Spits come in, so they'll be ready
+without delay. Sometimes they go right back up."
+
+Stan nodded. He had known that. "Was the squad out for breakfast?"
+
+A sergeant spoke up. "Yes, sir. Lieutenant Garret sent us all out
+together. Squad Four was on duty down the line and could keep an eye on
+things and shove out for us if a call came."
+
+"He went with you?"
+
+"Yes, he walked as far as his mess with us."
+
+Stan smiled. "Thanks," he said. "My gas turned out a bit short and I got
+a ducking in the channel."
+
+He saw the men begin eying each other when he said that. He turned and
+walked away. Garret had fixed himself a slick alibi. Stan was sure he
+would have little luck cracking it. As he neared the door Arch Garret
+entered.
+
+"Hello, Garret," Stan said and grinned.
+
+Garret stared at him for a minute, then his dark face flushed and his
+eyes gleamed with smouldering anger. He stepped closer to Stan.
+
+"You think you can railroad me clean out of this man's army, but you'll
+get yours, and I'll be back in the air again."
+
+"If any other funny things happen to my ship I'm going to take a poke at
+that pretty face of yours," Stan said.
+
+Garret quickly backed away and hurried into the hangar. Stan walked
+across the square to his mess. Garret was a dangerous fellow, there was
+no mistake about that, and he hated Stan Wilson. Stan had a feeling,
+too, that Garret was going to make good on his threat.
+
+He wasn't sure how Garret intended to do it, or how much the fellow
+knew, but there was no doubt he was a dangerous antagonist. And Stan had
+an uncomfortable feeling that Garret knew or at least suspected the
+truth about a certain phase of Stan Wilson's past that Stan had hoped he
+could leave behind him when he came across the sea to fight the Nazi war
+machine.
+
+But that, he grimly told himself, was too much to hope for. No man can
+ever wholly escape his past. Fate has a way of stepping in and smashing
+the best-laid plans of humans. And Stan had a premonition that Fate had
+selected Arch Garret as its instrument to ruin his careful plans.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+NEW QUARTERS
+
+
+O'Malley sat at a table with a whole pie before him. He sliced it neatly
+across, then turned it half around and sliced it across again. Allison
+snorted his contempt while Stan watched, a grin on his face.
+
+"Niver be it said an O'Malley is hoggish. Will ye have a wee slab o'
+pie, Mister Wilson or Mister Allison?"
+
+"Thanks, no," Stan answered. "I'm carrying all the ballast I can handle
+right now."
+
+"I say, old chap, could that be the second or is it the third pie you've
+had this afternoon?" Allison cocked an eye at O'Malley whose big mouth
+was open to receive almost half of one piece of pie.
+
+O'Malley munched the pie. "'Tis but the third, Commander, and niggardly
+pies they make, too. Take the pies Mrs. O'Malley makes, now they are
+pies." He grinned as he slid his hand under another quarter of pie.
+
+At that moment an orderly appeared and handed Allison a slip of paper.
+Allison read it and scribbled a notation on it, handing it back to the
+orderly.
+
+"Nothin' iver happens in this here spot," O'Malley was complaining as he
+fell upon the third quarter of pie. "And this mess has no idea of a
+proper pie. They have nothing but berry pie, which is little in the way
+of pie."
+
+"We'll be back on night flights up the glory trail by tomorrow night,
+O'Malley," Allison said. "But right now the O.C. wants to talk to the
+three of us in his office."
+
+O'Malley gathered up the rest of the pie. Allison scowled.
+
+"I say, Irisher, you can't go in on the O.C. with a platter of pie in
+your hand."
+
+"Sure, and that's a fact," O'Malley agreed. "Hold onto yerselves, boys,
+and I'll fix it according to regulations." He shoved half the piece of
+pie into his mouth.
+
+Allison and Stan waited until he had finished. Then the three of them
+headed for the O.C.'s office. Their rap at the door was answered by a
+gruff voice and they entered.
+
+The O.C. was a grizzled veteran of World War I. He looked at them with
+grim satisfaction. They were three of the best men he had, flying fools,
+ready to tackle any assignment.
+
+"Sit down, gentlemen," he said gruffly.
+
+They sat down, O'Malley slumping into his chair with his head thrust
+forward. He looked lank and hungry as he sat there and anyone except
+Stan and Allison would have said he hadn't had a square meal in a week.
+
+The O.C. picked up a sheet of paper and stared at it, then he glowered
+at the three fliers. He cleared his throat and tapped the sheet of
+paper. His eyes were upon O'Malley. Suddenly he put the paper down.
+
+"Something reminds me I have not had a bite to eat so far today," he
+said. "Do you boys mind if I have something sent in while I'm talking
+with you? I won't be able to get away later."
+
+"Certainly not, sir," Allison said.
+
+The O.C. was still looking at O'Malley. "Will you boys join me? A spot
+of tea or something?"
+
+Before Allison or Stan could politely refuse, O'Malley answered, "Well,
+sir, I'm not partial to tea, but I could manage with a wee slab o' pie."
+
+Allison glared at him while Stan struggled to smother a grin. The O.C.
+looked at them. "Would you boys have some pie?"
+
+"No, thanks," both spoke in unison.
+
+The O.C. rang and an orderly appeared. He took the Commander's order and
+hurried away. When the door closed the O.C. turned to Allison.
+
+"I always get the bad part of every deal. Before me I have an order
+transferring you three men to Croydon Field. As soon as I get a few
+satisfactory men around me they are taken away." He looked sourly at
+O'Malley as though blaming him. "Take this wild man, O'Malley. He has
+begun to attract notice."
+
+"It's been so quiet no man could attract notice," O'Malley said
+gloomily.
+
+The O.C. smiled and fished another paper out of a tray. "Twenty-four
+hours in the air," he read. "Three Dornier bombers and two Messerschmitt
+fighters shot down by Lieutenant O'Malley." He slid the report into a
+file. "So this is quiet, eh?" He actually smiled as he said it.
+
+The orderly returned with a tray which O'Malley eyed hopefully. The O.C.
+lifted a cloth from his luncheon. The orderly carried a plate to
+O'Malley and handed him a fork. O'Malley waved the fork aside and
+scooped the pie off the plate. Sadly, he inspected it. It was blueberry,
+the same as his mess was supplying. Out of the side of his mouth he
+said:
+
+"Ah well, it will do, but I thought it might be the O.C. ate at a
+different mess."
+
+"You boys will report to headquarters at Croydon at once." He looked at
+O'Malley and a startled expression came over his face. The Irisher's pie
+had disappeared.
+
+"Yes, sir," Allison said and got to his feet.
+
+The O.C. got to his feet and his wintry face cracked into a thin smile
+as he shook hands with each of the boys.
+
+"This is quite a war and we have to hit as hard as we can and all pull
+together. They need you more at Croydon than I do here. Good luck to
+you."
+
+The three snapped salutes and faced about. They hurried out of the
+building and across the square. Within a half-hour they were packed and
+ready for the car that was to take them to their new home.
+
+"I'm not sorry saying good-by to those bloated balloons," Allison said
+as he looked up toward the south.
+
+"I'm glad I'm leaving. It will save me punching a fellow officer in the
+jaw," Stan said grimly.
+
+"There won't be anything excitin' goin' on over there," O'Malley said
+sourly.
+
+"They may have some other kind of pie." Allison grinned.
+
+An eager light came into O'Malley's eye. "Sure, and that's a thought
+worth rememberin'," he muttered.
+
+The mess at Croydon was a large room and had a phonograph as well as a
+console radio. There was a nice assortment of old but comfortable chairs
+and lounges, and there was a counter where food and drinks were served.
+The three members of Red Flight arrived at the mess about the same time.
+
+O'Malley saw the counter at once and his eyes lighted eagerly. Back of
+the counter were shelves and on one of the shelves sat a half-dozen
+pies. A Wing Commander and a Squadron Leader were leaning against the
+center of the counter. Allison was for barging on past without
+disturbing the superior officers, but O'Malley had his eyes on the pie
+shelf.
+
+"Shove in, me hearties, the treat's on Mrs. O'Malley's son."
+
+O'Malley shoved in beside the Wing Commander with Stan and Allison
+facing him.
+
+"Tea," Allison ordered.
+
+"Coffee, black," Stan said.
+
+"Pie." O'Malley said it hungerly.
+
+The corporal behind the pie counter fixed Allison's pot of tea and
+poured Stan's coffee, then he turned to O'Malley.
+
+"What kind of pie, sir?"
+
+For a moment O'Malley was struck dumb over his great good luck. This
+mess had a choice of pie.
+
+"Apple," he said hopefully.
+
+The corporal set a brown crusted pie on the counter and poised a knife
+over it. O'Malley reached over and took the knife. He proceeded to cut
+the pie four ways.
+
+"But I say, sir, we don't cut pies that way. It's against regulations,
+sir." The corporal was plainly flustered.
+
+"Indaid?" O'Malley said. "An' could ye put down the whole pie in me chit
+book?"
+
+"Of course, sir, but really if you let me cut it, sir, it wouldn't be
+ruined and you'll pay for only the portion you eat."
+
+"Ah," O'Malley said and slid a quarter of the pie out of the tin and
+into his big hand. The corporal watched with fascination as the slab
+disappeared.
+
+The Wing Commander was talking and the three junior officers could not
+avoid overhearing him.
+
+"The Messerschmitt One-Tens coming over lately have a new gun. We'd like
+to get our hands on one of them, but so far we haven't salvaged
+anything."
+
+"How about Intelligence in France? They ought to be able to get us
+something," said the Squadron Leader.
+
+"No, if we get one it will be by pure accident," the Wing Commander
+answered sourly.
+
+O'Malley was starting on his third piece of pie. He had it in his hand
+and halfway to his open mouth. He lowered it and swung around to face
+the Wing Commander.
+
+"The aisiest thing in the world, gettin' one of them guns," he said.
+
+The Wing Commander turned toward O'Malley and looked from his face to
+the big slab of pie and then back again. His manner dripped frost.
+Allison got a glimpse of his insignia and kicked O'Malley on the shin.
+O'Malley grinned at the Wing Commander, then took a big bite of pie. The
+Wing Commander stiffened and snorted like a Merlin backfiring on a
+sub-zero morning.
+
+"Did you speak, sir?" he asked.
+
+O'Malley was unabashed, even when the Wing Commander bent a frigid look
+upon the wreck of the apple pie on the plate at his elbow.
+
+"I said it would be aisy, gettin' one of them new guns," O'Malley
+repeated.
+
+"Perhaps you can bring one to my office not later than tomorrow night,"
+the Wing Commander snapped.
+
+"And may I ask who I'll deliver it to?" O'Malley opened his mouth and
+the rest of the pie disappeared into it.
+
+Signs of apoplexy began to show on the Wing Commander's face, but his
+voice was steady.
+
+"Just deliver it to Wing Commander Farrell."
+
+"Sure, an' I'll hand it to ye personal," O'Malley promised.
+
+The Wing Commander bowed stiffly and turned away. The Squadron Leader
+wiped a smile off his lips and stared stonily at O'Malley. They marched
+off together.
+
+"Now you've done it, you Irisher," Allison growled. "That's the man we
+have to fly under and I have to report to him within a half-hour."
+
+"'Tis a lot too many brass hats this man's army has around and I don't
+like them, but I'll do this Wing Commander a favor, bein' as he seemed a
+bit worked up over that new Jerry gun." O'Malley looked at the pie
+counter but shook his head. Five pies in one afternoon might spoil his
+dinner and he planned to enjoy a real feed.
+
+Allison shoved off to report to the O.C. while Stan and O'Malley went
+over to the phonograph and turned it on. O'Malley lay on a divan with
+his feet well above his head. Stan sat back in a deep chair. Before
+dozing off he wanted to ask the Irisher a question.
+
+"Whatever made you pull that crack to the Wing Commander?"
+
+"Sure, an' I was just offerin' to do me bit of winnin' the war,"
+O'Malley said and closed his eyes.
+
+Stan stared at him. It suddenly dawned upon him that O'Malley hadn't
+been fooling, he meant to deliver a Messerschmitt One-Ten to Wing
+Commander Farrell. He began to laugh. O'Malley opened his eyes and a
+grieved expression came over his face.
+
+"You laughin' at me?" he demanded and there was a dangerous glint in his
+dark eyes.
+
+"No," Stan said slowly. "I was thinking about how Wing Commander Farrell
+will look when you plump that gun down on his desk."
+
+O'Malley grinned and closed his eyes again. "I'll let you go along with
+me," he said.
+
+Stan studied the wild Irishman. He knew enough about O'Malley to expect
+anything from him. There could be no doubt but that Red Flight was in
+for some real circus stuff the next day. He hoped they contacted a
+flight of Messerschmitt One-Tens over the channel. He had no relish for
+the idea of trailing O'Malley into Germany and covering him while he
+filched a gun from one of Hitler's arsenals, but he was anxious to find
+out what scheme the Irisher had up his sleeve.
+
+Allison came back and plumped into a chair. "I was lucky. The Wing
+Commander never suspected that I was with this wild Irishman. He thinks
+our hungry friend here is a ground man escaped from a nut-house."
+
+O'Malley made no comeback. He was sound asleep, his Adam's apple riding
+up and down gently, his lips moving as he snored deeply. Stan said in a
+low voice:
+
+"He meant it when he offered to get a gun for the O.C."
+
+"Now, now, you Yanks are gullible, everyone knows that, old man, but you
+shouldn't be taken in so easy."
+
+"You wait and see," Stan said. "We'll have to stick with him no matter
+what fool stunt he pulls."
+
+"Sure, old chap," Allison agreed, but the sardonic twist of his mouth
+showed he thought Stan as crazy as O'Malley. He got to his feet. "Don't
+let him miss dinner or we'll have trouble. We aren't on the call list
+until tomorrow morning. I have a bid to a bit of a dinner outside
+tonight."
+
+"Gal?" Stan asked.
+
+"Gal," Allison agreed.
+
+"I'll wake the Irisher up," Stan promised.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The next morning Allison came barging into the breakfast room glowering
+savagely. He dropped into a chair across from Stan and O'Malley and
+snapped his order at the corporal. O'Malley gave him a brief look, then
+returned to his job of spreading jam on a huge stack of hot cakes which
+were flanked by a double order of sausages. The lank Irisher was not in
+a talkative mood. Stan grinned at Allison.
+
+"What's eating on you? Did some civilian steal your gal?"
+
+Allison glared at him. "We have friends over here at Croydon. The way
+they run a war! You'd think somebody would wake up to a few things!"
+
+"What sort of an assignment did we get?" Stan was sure Allison was riled
+over the assignment they had been given.
+
+"Nursing a flock of coal barges through the channel. Just big, lumbering
+boats not worth as much as the coal inside them. The Jerries won't waste
+a pound of T.N.T. on any of them. The only chance we'll have will be if
+they try to dive bomb a destroyer tagging along." Allison jerked a plate
+of bacon and eggs to him and shot a hard look at the corporal. "Black
+coffee," he snapped.
+
+"We rate better than that," Stan said.
+
+"My dear fellow," Allison spoke with elaborate politeness. "We have a
+friend over in the flight office. He got himself transferred yesterday
+so as to be helpful to us."
+
+"He couldn't be anyone I know," Stan said.
+
+"But of course he is. He is a dear friend of yours. In fact you offered
+to punch his nose for him once."
+
+"Not Garret?" Stan stared at Allison.
+
+"Lieutenant Arch Garret."
+
+"How did he do it with a blackball against him?" Stan demanded.
+
+"Pull, my dear fellow, as the Americans say. A drag somewhere. Now he's
+sitting where he can retire Red Flight to a peaceful life, and if we do
+bag a bandit, we'll have to have an affidavit from the King to get
+credit for it."
+
+"How about a transfer?"
+
+"No go, he'd have a finger in that too. In fact, my dear fellow, I
+applied for a transfer and got turned down, all before breakfast."
+
+Stan looked across at O'Malley who was on his last hot cake. He was
+beaming pleasantly, his eyes looking out across the room. He had paid no
+attention at all to the bad news.
+
+"You seem to like it, O'Malley," Allison growled.
+
+"Huh?" the Irisher said with a start. Then he grinned. "'Tis a poor spot
+in the channel that has no Messerschmitt One-Tens poking about in the
+clouds."
+
+"And we'll sit around warming a chair waiting for a chance at a single
+or a double," Allison snapped.
+
+"Sure, an' I can't be worried this mornin'," O'Malley said and got to
+his feet.
+
+"What's got into him?" Allison asked sourly.
+
+"You wouldn't believe it if I told you," Stan said with a wide grin.
+
+Allison glared at him, and muttered, "You two make me tired."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+O'MALLEY BAGS A JERRY GUN
+
+
+No call came for Red Flight until late afternoon. Other flights roared
+away to strafe the French coast, or to meet incoming bomber formations,
+or to do scout duty; but Allison and his crew just sat around and
+groused. O'Malley's good humor finally broke down and he began prowling
+around hurling choice Irish words at the mess crew.
+
+When the call did come, he was out of the room like a wild bushman. By
+the time Allison and Stan reached the cab rank, he was jerking his hatch
+cover into place and feeling out his Merlin.
+
+"You'd think the boy was off to raid Berlin," Allison said sourly. "All
+we have is a call from a few barges of coal."
+
+Red Flight roared out and up, heading toward the channel. Stan had
+checked his instruments carefully. Everything seemed to be in working
+order, though he could not be sure of his wing guns until he opened them
+up.
+
+"Keep in close," Allison's voice droned.
+
+They were up now and heading for the channel where a few big clouds hung
+over the sea. So far as Stan could see they were kings of the air and
+there might have been no war on at all. Not a wing was in sight except
+their own.
+
+"Red Flight, level off."
+
+They leveled off and headed for a big cloud. That seemed the most likely
+hunting ground. The three Spitfires were not up high because the clouds
+were hanging over the sea. Below, Stan saw the cause of their call.
+Seven of the foulest old tubs he had ever laid an eye on were churning
+and wallowing in the choppy sea. Their propellers thrashed the water
+into tawny foam. Their plates were scarred and patched with daubs of
+vermillion. Red, rusty streams of water trickled down their sides. Seven
+piles of rust, grime and junk belching smoke like so many volcanoes.
+Coasters and not one of them over twelve hundred tons.
+
+The boats rode high and Stan decided they were making the run from
+Portsmouth to London under ballast to pick up coal. Running what was
+supposed to be a death channel the old tubs would slide under the big
+coastal guns of the Germans. In a few days they would plough back loaded
+with coal. Their audacity made Stan grin. The British were certainly a
+stubborn race of people and when they had a sea course marked out they
+stayed with it. A sleek gray destroyer nosed the string of ancient boats
+along like a nervous hound herding a flock of fat pigs.
+
+"Two bandits coming out of a cloud, quarter right," Allison's drawl
+announced.
+
+Stan spotted the two Heinkel bombers as soon as Allison spoke. They were
+slim-bodied, snaky-looking killers with long wings and widespread tail
+structures. Their pilots hadn't seen the three Spitfires as yet, being
+busy spotting the sleek destroyer.
+
+When they did see the danger they zoomed up and laid over, plunging back
+into the cloud. Stan drove straight after them because he was in the
+best position. O'Malley swept around one side of the cloud and Allison
+went around the other.
+
+Stan had a chance to test his guns as his upward zoom rode him up on a
+ghostly form ahead in the mist. The eight Brownings drilled furiously,
+in perfect timing. The Heinkel nosed down and vanished into the wall of
+fog. Stan went down to see if he had done any damage.
+
+Breaking into the clear he saw blossoms of white silk dotting the green
+of the sea. The bombers were gone but Stan knew from the number of
+chutes floating down to the water that both Heinkels had been bagged.
+
+Below them two motor launches were slicing across the channel getting
+set to pick up the Jerries and make them prisoners. Then he heard
+O'Malley's voice.
+
+"Sure, an' I'm thinkin' I see four Messers off the port wing."
+
+"Coming up with you," Allison called back. "Take them, Irisher."
+
+"Wilson coming up," Stan shouted into his flap mike.
+
+He went up and over a cloud and down on the other side. He saw O'Malley
+drilling away to the south like an irate bumblebee. Close behind him
+streaked Allison. Stan headed after them. Then Allison's voice came in
+very softly:
+
+"I think you're seeing things, Irisher."
+
+Stan grinned as he shoved the nose of the Spitfire down a little.
+O'Malley was duck hunting. He didn't aim to go back without some more
+action if he could help it.
+
+"Red Flight, come in. Red Flight, come in," droned a voice from the
+field.
+
+"Red Flight in contact with bandits!" O'Malley roared back.
+
+"Red Flight, come in. Red Flight, come in," headquarters insisted.
+
+"Red Flight going into defense," Allison cut in.
+
+Stan's grin widened. Allison was going to see that O'Malley got his duck
+hunt. They roared on, swinging in a wide circle, beating upward again.
+O'Malley would have his way now. Allison couldn't argue with
+headquarters listening in.
+
+Stan began to think they were stymied when all Hades broke loose from
+above. Out of nowhere five Messerschmitts came roaring down on them,
+three One-Nines and two One-Tens.
+
+"Prepare for attack. Peel off and take some altitude," Allison drawled.
+
+"Start peelin', darlin'," O'Malley shouted.
+
+They zoomed upward, spreading to let the attack slide past. The enemy
+scattered out and swooped to meet them. Stan saw O'Malley drive straight
+over a One-Nine almost ramming the Jerry, and missing him clean with a
+burst of fire. That was not like O'Malley.
+
+The Jerry banked and flipped over, thinking only of getting away before
+O'Malley cut back across him and sawed him in two parts; but O'Malley
+kept straight on. Stan picked up the One-Nine, scissoring off a wing tip
+and sending him wavering away toward the east.
+
+Stan watched O'Malley as the wild Irishman zoomed up over a One-Ten. The
+Messerschmitt banked and tried to escape, but O'Malley was on him in a
+reckless roaring dive. Stan shot over the two and saw the Jerry spray
+O'Malley's ship with lead. Pieces of his hatch cover showered away like
+feathers from a potted duck. Again O'Malley missed a perfect burst and
+came up under the Jerry. He returned the compliment paid him by slicing
+the top off the Messerschmitt's hatch cover. Stan knew the miss had been
+deliberate. O'Malley never let one get away when he had a spot shot like
+that.
+
+Then light dawned upon Stan. O'Malley was after the Jerry's gun. Allison
+was very busy himself and doing such a savage job that he was about to
+clear the air without Stan's help. Stan dived down to make the game one
+against one for Allison. When he came up, O'Malley was on the tail of
+the Messerschmitt and bawling at Allison:
+
+"By the shades of St. Patrick, you keep out of this!"
+
+The Jerry was hurt, but not badly, and O'Malley had him on the run. When
+the Jerry dived O'Malley was on his tail. He didn't shoot him down. When
+he dropped off on one wing, peeling away under full throttle, O'Malley
+had him covered. Then Stan heard the Irisher yelling at the Jerry pilot.
+
+"Leave that gun like she is, you spalpeen, or I'll send you to the
+fishes!"
+
+Apparently the Jerry did not understand what O'Malley said, possibly his
+radio wasn't set to pick up the transmitter of the Spitfire, but he did
+understand the short bursts of fire that clipped pieces out of various
+parts of his ship. He headed the way the lank Irishman pointed and drove
+ahead.
+
+Allison and Stan dropped in behind, letting O'Malley have his prize.
+Stan called to Allison:
+
+"Somebody ought to tip off the Ack-Ack boys or O'Malley may get a warm
+reception."
+
+"Let him show his stuff," Allison drawled and Stan thought he heard the
+Flight Lieutenant chuckle.
+
+The Messerschmitt ducked over the coast and down with O'Malley steering
+him expertly to the field. Bursts of gunfire began to blossom below and
+puffs of white smoke broke around the Jerry and his pursuer.
+
+"They think O'Malley's Spitfire is a captured plane with a Jerry in it,"
+Stan muttered.
+
+O'Malley sent his catch down through the shellfire, twisting and
+turning. The Nazi pilot was an expert and wiggled through until they got
+close in, then the fire got so hot he and O'Malley had to hit for the
+ceiling. They circled and were high up when Stan and Allison slid down
+the field.
+
+Undaunted, O'Malley came in again and this time he sent his prize
+through the rain of exploding shells. The Messerschmitt rolled to a stop
+with O'Malley close behind him. In a moment the flustered Jerry was
+climbing out of his shattered hatch with his hands elevated above his
+head.
+
+Ground men closed in around him, shouting and doing a war dance.
+O'Malley climbed out after removing part of the hatch cover from around
+his neck. He strode to the Messerschmitt and bellowed at the ground men.
+
+"Git ye a hump on yerselves an' pull out that fore gun!"
+
+Four mechanics raced away to get tools while O'Malley stood guard over
+his prize. He refused to let anyone touch the ship. A senior ground
+officer came hurrying up and O'Malley gave him a sloppy salute. The
+officer snapped:
+
+"I'll take charge here now."
+
+"Ye'll do nothing of the sort," O'Malley shouted. "And as I live and
+breathe them's Wing Commander Farrell's very orders!"
+
+The officer looked at the wild-eyed O'Malley and decided it would be
+best to wait for reinforcements, possibly a Group Captain or an Air
+Commodore.
+
+"It's my job, you know, old man," he said but his tone had changed.
+
+"'Tis my job, me hearty," O'Malley assured him.
+
+The mechanics arrived and in a few minutes the fore gun was on the
+ground at O'Malley's feet. It was so heavy he could not handle it. He
+turned to the grinning Stan who was standing beside Allison.
+
+"Lend a hand so we can deliver this gadget before sundown."
+
+Stan and Allison stepped forward.
+
+"This is positively against regulations," the senior officer sputtered.
+
+"An' who, may I ask, bagged this here gun?" O'Malley demanded. "I may be
+bold, but I suggest ye give some attention to that Jerry waitin' over
+there to be captured accordin' to regulations."
+
+The Jerry was standing with his arms still elevated. He was alone and
+unguarded.
+
+"And be lettin' O'Malley of Red Flight be knowin' where you put the bye.
+I aim to see that he has cigarettes and a few of the common comforts."
+O'Malley grinned at the Jerry. The youngster grinned back at him and
+saluted stiffly.
+
+Dragging the gun between them, the three members of Red Flight stamped
+across the field and barged past a startled sentry who was walking post
+outside headquarters.
+
+Wing Commander Farrell was just finishing a flight report. His gray eyes
+were hard and his mouth was drawn into a tight line. Coral Raid had
+dropped two bombers and three fighters. The credit side showed only one
+fighter and a Junkers. Farrell looked up and his eyes rested upon a lank
+and hungry-looking Irish youth. He stared at O'Malley for a long minute,
+then remembered him and his pie.
+
+"What do you want, Lieutenant?" he snapped. "I suppose you have that new
+enemy gun in your pocket."
+
+His sarcasm was lost upon O'Malley. He grinned wolfishly as he stepped
+aside.
+
+"Indaid, an' I hope it's the latest model. I put a very good Jerry
+flier to a lot of trouble to be after fetchin' it to you."
+
+The Wing Commander's eyes popped out as he stared at the machine Allison
+and Stan had dropped upon the floor. Suddenly he leaped out of his chair
+and charged around the desk. Getting down on his knees, he bent over the
+gun and examined it. When he straightened he was smiling.
+
+"So you are the wild Irishman we have been hearing about," he said. "It
+would seem some rumors are correct in this war."
+
+"An' now, sor, I'll be running along," O'Malley said. "I'm feelin' a bit
+o' the pinch of hunger."
+
+"Have two pies on my chit book," the Wing Commander said and smiled
+broadly.
+
+"Indaid, that I will," O'Malley answered gravely.
+
+The three coal barge nurses returned to the briefing room and checked
+their chutes which had been discarded on the field. They found
+Lieutenant Garret waiting for them. He drew his mouth into a triumphant
+frown. Beside his desk lay the three chutes, neatly piled there by the
+field crew.
+
+"See those chutes?" he snapped.
+
+"Sure, an' one of them gadgets is a personal friend o' mine," O'Malley
+said and grinned broadly.
+
+"I'm putting it down against you. You discarded them on the field
+without properly caring for them. That is a violation of general
+orders." Garret scowled at the Irish flier.
+
+O'Malley leaned his elbows on the desk and regarded the officer
+thoughtfully.
+
+"Very remarkable, indaid," he said softly.
+
+"Red Flight reports two Dorniers and three Messerschmitts down and one
+captured," Allison said and his eyes locked with those of the briefing
+officer.
+
+"Red Flight gets credit for two Dorniers. The Royal Navy reported them.
+And one Messerschmitt brought in." Garret's eyes gleamed triumphantly.
+
+"Sure, an' are ye certain ye can give us one Messer?" O'Malley asked.
+"Perhaps the poor bye got himself lost an' mistook this berg for
+Berlin."
+
+"There is no independent check on the other fighters," Garret snapped.
+
+Stan said nothing. He could not trust himself to speak. What he wanted
+to do was to lay a right on Garret's jaw.
+
+"You fellows better walk pretty straight from now on. And keep yourself
+looking like officers," Garret barked.
+
+Without bothering to fill in a report, O'Malley shoved off to the mess
+room. Allison filled out his report and Stan made his out. They reported
+the exact action and the results. They left Garret scowling at their
+cards.
+
+"Wilson!" Garret called sharply as Stan started to walk away at
+Allison's side. "I want a word with you, alone."
+
+Stan turned back and stood at the desk. His gaze locked with Garret's.
+
+"Have you ever flown stunts or test jobs in the United States?" He
+leaned forward and his small eyes searched Stan's face.
+
+Stan returned his stare. "You have my card where you can dig it out.
+Suppose you take a look at it?" Stan turned on his heel and walked away.
+
+Garret let him go without asking any more questions, but he was shaking
+his head and frowning as though trying to remember something or
+somebody that had slipped his mind.
+
+"He's about got my number," Stan muttered to himself as he went into the
+mess.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE SEA DOGS GROWL
+
+
+Stan stepped out of the barracks and stood for a moment watching the
+scene on the field before the hangars. A row of Defiants had been rolled
+out. Men worked around them or scurried to and from the hangars. There
+was an uneasy feel about the scene. Stan scented action and a feeling of
+irritation filled him. Red Flight was on barge patrol when it should
+have been on combat. It was fools like Garret who messed up battle
+plans.
+
+He was about to turn toward the mess division and had turned into the
+narrow alley leading to the building, when he halted and stepped back,
+close to the wall. Garret was coming out of the doorway of the mess and
+beside him walked a tall man. The man had a lean, weathered face with a
+scar across the right cheek. He wore a checked suit and a pearl-gray
+hat with a broad brim. The hat could have come from no place but the
+western part of the United States.
+
+Stan recognized him at once as Charles L. Milton. He didn't have to
+guess twice why Garret had him in hand and why he had taken him to the
+squadron mess. Garret wanted Milton to see Stan. Quickly moving around a
+corner, Stan headed for a hangar. He was sure they had not seen him.
+
+As he strode swiftly along, Stan faced the ghost of his past. Milton was
+an American aircraft engineer. He had designed at least two of the
+newest models and knew everyone in the industry over in the United
+States. He knew Stan Wilson very well. As he entered the hangar Stan
+reflected bitterly that he should have known the British Isles would be
+swarming with American experts and engineers, now that a great effort
+was being made to help the besieged English nation. He had about as much
+chance of hiding in a Royal Air Force squadron as Joe Louis would have
+in not being recognized at Madison Square Garden.
+
+He might be able to dodge Milton for a while. If he could only shake
+Garret he might do it for quite a while. Not that his conscience wasn't
+clear. He had been framed. Framed by Nazi saboteurs, Fifth Column
+operators. That was the reason he was so eager to get in every lick he
+could against the monster Hitler had built to swallow the world.
+
+He stood inside the shaded doorway to the hangar and watched Milton step
+into a car. When the car had rolled away he turned back toward
+headquarters. Within an hour he had to be back where he could hear the
+blare of the intersquadron speaker, to be on call for duty. He was
+moving along, scowling at the busy scene upon the field. As he passed
+the door of the O.C.'s office it opened and Wing Commander Farrell
+stepped out. Stan saluted and the commander returned the salute. He
+halted abruptly.
+
+"Well, well," he said. "Just the man I'm looking for. Come in,
+Lieutenant."
+
+Stan's heart dropped with a thud. This likely meant a lot of questions
+to be answered, questions put into the O.C.'s head by Garret.
+
+"Yes, sir," he answered and followed the Commander inside.
+
+Farrell seated himself behind his desk. He motioned toward a chair. "Sit
+down, Wilson."
+
+Stan sat down and waited. The Commander fished into his desk and took
+out a cigar. He clipped the end off with a silver knife, then lighted
+the weed and looked at Stan.
+
+"Allison tells me you have had a lot of experience with various types of
+fast planes. Testing over in Canada. Most of the American ships have
+been going through trials up there. Did you have a chance at any of
+them?"
+
+Stan breathed more freely. "Yes, sir," he said.
+
+"We have a new type American plane here." The Commander fished through
+some papers, found a blue sheet and studied it for a minute. "They call
+this one the Hendee Hawk. We have tested it and found it to be rather
+fast but very tricky." The Commander frowned at the report, then looked
+up at Stan.
+
+Stan could hardly hold back a grin and a whoop. Did he know the Hendee
+Hawk? He knew the Hawk from her prop to her tail assembly. The Wing
+Commander was being very conservative when he said the Hawk was rather
+fast. Stan had squinted at her air-speed indicator when it was jiggling
+crazily at 600 miles per hour. He waited for the Wing Commander to go
+on.
+
+"Ordinarily we would train enough special men to handle these ships, but
+we are pressed for fighting ships at the moment."
+
+Stan's face did not reveal anything of what he was thinking. The
+Britisher was talking calmly and appeared not to be worried. Stan knew
+the need for Hendee Hawks was desperate, and he knew the ships would
+deliver.
+
+"Have you many of them, sir?" he asked.
+
+"No. This ship is a test job." The Wing Commander dropped the blue
+sheet. "Have you ever flown a Hendee Hawk?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+The question Stan expected to follow did not come. Wing Commander
+Farrell said nothing for more than a minute.
+
+"Would you like to take this one? Into action?"
+
+Stan restrained a smothering eagerness. He wanted to jump up and down
+and shout, to slap the Commander on the back. A lot of experts had
+turned thumbs down on the Hawk. But the saboteur boys had known she was
+the super-plane and had done everything they could to get her junked,
+including a nice frame-up on himself. He knew they had just about
+succeeded if there was only one ship here in Britain.
+
+"I'll fly her, sir," he said and added eagerly, "she is the greatest
+combination of fighter and strafing plane ever built. She packs enough
+bombs to do real damage, as well."
+
+The Wing Commander smiled. "We shall see," he said.
+
+The way he said it convinced Stan it was up to him to show both the
+British and the Jerries just what the Hendee Hawk could do. If this ship
+failed, there would be no more of the machines he had worked so hard to
+help perfect.
+
+"She carries two men," Stan said.
+
+"I have been considering that." Suddenly the Wing Commander laughed
+outright. "Do you suppose your friend, the pie-eating Irishman, would
+care to work with you? I should like to have Allison become familiar
+with the ship, too. In that way we would have three men able to
+instruct others if we order more of these fighters."
+
+"I don't know," Stan said honestly.
+
+"I could assign them to you, but I prefer to let you ask them," Farrell
+said. Then he got to his feet. "You will report to 7-B at once."
+
+Stan grinned broadly. It would take him away from Garret, at least until
+the snooping Lieutenant was able to locate him again. He saluted and
+hurried out of the office.
+
+Stan actually sneaked into the mess. He couldn't afford to have this
+chance smashed by a cluck like Garret. The coast was clear. Only a few
+fliers were lounging about, with Allison and O'Malley among them. Stan
+crossed the room and sat down between his pals. He did not notice, in
+his excitement, that they seemed to be expecting him. The clock over the
+counter showed that in one minute Allison and O'Malley would go on duty.
+He wondered who would fill in for him in Red Flight.
+
+"Sure, an' you've been shunnin' us," O'Malley greeted him.
+
+Stan came to the point at once. "How would you like to copilot a real
+ship, an American ship?" he asked, looking from one to the other.
+
+"I'd prefer a glider," Allison said with a wicked leer.
+
+"How about you, Irisher?"
+
+"I wouldn't mind if me pal didn't hog the controls all the blessed
+time." O'Malley grinned.
+
+"She's a stinger. You'll see something you never thought was in the bag.
+She's tricky as a Navaho Indian."
+
+"Is that a Canadian tribe of wild men?" Allison drawled.
+
+"Sure," Stan came back. "Hudson's Bay."
+
+Allison snorted.
+
+"I'm with you," O'Malley cut in. "Anything to get off this deadhead beat
+the muckle heads have us on. Mrs. O'Malley's boy came down to London to
+see some action."
+
+"Good. I'll get in touch with the O.C. at once." Stan got to his feet.
+
+"Really, old chap, you're not going to rush off without my final answer.
+I'm in on this if I have to fly a kite," Allison said with a wide
+smile.
+
+Stan put on a cold expression. Allison hadn't fooled him. He had known
+the lank Britisher would come in. Allison had that look in his eye he
+always got when something was up.
+
+"Thanks, Allison."
+
+"You should thank me. I'm giving up a flight lieutenant's job."
+
+"You'll still be leader and we'll demand the Red Flight label. We'll
+have three of the meanest brutes that ever rolled out on a line to make
+the other boys jealous." Stan slapped Allison on the back. "Let's go."
+
+They reported to the Wing Commander, then shifted their things to B-7.
+Later they went over to the hangar to have a look at the Hawk. Allison
+said very little, but O'Malley was as tickled as a kid with a new top.
+He went over everything and the only thing he crabbed about was the
+cramped quarters furnished for the copilot, who handled the bomb release
+and the extra guns.
+
+They checked in at their new mess and Stan felt better. He looked in at
+the briefing room and found it presided over by a fat young man with a
+broad smile. In the mess he met no one he knew. Everything looked fine
+and he settled down to watch O'Malley devour a pie.
+
+O'Malley finished his pie and looked hungerly across the room at the
+counter in the corner. He shook his head sadly.
+
+"If I eat one more me lunch will be spoilt sure."
+
+Stan grinned as he glanced at his wrist watch. It lacked a half-hour
+until official eating time.
+
+After lunch they made further arrangements for their new job. Allison
+was to fly with them in a Spitfire. O'Malley went along with Stan as a
+gunner and student, with care of the bomb racks in his hands. With
+everything set and ready to go, the revised and rehashed Red Flight
+prepared to take a little outing. Being on test work gave them plenty of
+freedom to choose their own jobs.
+
+They slipped away without much notice being taken of the new ship.
+Everyone was busy with his own job and paid no attention to the big
+fighter sliding out on its tricycle landing gear with a Spitfire nosing
+right after it.
+
+Stan settled back to have some fun with Allison. Out of the corner of
+his eyes he watched the vertical speed indicator and a wide grin spread
+over his face. The Hendee Hawk was going up at a terrific pace. Already
+the Spitfire was far behind. Stan knew Allison would fly the wings off
+the Spitfire to keep him from getting away. He laughed softly.
+
+He kicked her over and into a tight bank and she zoomed around, boring
+away. He kicked her back and looped in a dizzy blur of speed. Allison
+shot in below him and Stan came around to knife past his pal. He glanced
+back and there was a happy, vacant grin on O'Malley's homely face, as he
+absorbed the drone of the 2,000-horsepower, two-row, radial motor.
+
+Allison dipped his wings as Stan went boring past him. It was really a
+salute and it meant a lot, coming from Allison with his dislike of
+radial motors.
+
+They roared out over the channel at 15,000 feet. As the French coast
+line began to show through a thin mist, Stan laid over and started to
+climb again. Very soon they were nipping at their oxygen, flying at
+26,000 feet. They saw no planes at all and the excursion seemed doomed
+to be no more than a spring frolic.
+
+O'Malley growled into his intercommunication phone. "The Jerries must o'
+heard we were comin' out for a spin."
+
+"There's a cloud or two down and to the east," Stan answered. "We'll
+drop down and pick up Allison, then go have a look."
+
+"That's where the bushwhackin' spalpeens will be lurking," O'Malley
+agreed.
+
+They knifed over on one wing, peeled off, and roared down. The
+gyro-horizon did a lot of strange maneuvers and the altimeter was
+unrolling like ticker tape off a Wall Street machine. They picked up
+Allison and Stan decided to give the Irishman a lesson. He set the air
+flaps, and before the startled O'Malley could save himself, he had lost
+a couple of inches of skin off both shins. The Hendee Hawk seemed to
+have decided to stop in mid-air. She was pointing her nose straight at
+the ground, but she had slowed to a steady 350 miles per hour.
+
+"Mother o' pearl!" O'Malley shouted. "What a nice day for dive bombing.
+Show me how you do it."
+
+"Just watch." Stan pulled the Hawk out of her dive and then sent her in
+again with O'Malley watching him closely.
+
+Then Allison's voice cut in. "You fellows better cut out the
+grandstanding and have a look west."
+
+Stan looked and saw that Allison was streaking away toward a formation
+of nine Junkers Ju 87's. The Stukas were bent upon business and were
+moving toward the English coast, undoubtedly bent upon intercepting a
+ship they had received a spotter's report upon.
+
+"Me bye, you may now show Mrs. O'Malley's son a few things," O'Malley
+bellowed. Stan sent the Hawk sizzling away after the Stukas. The Jerries
+had now sighted the two fighters, but they were keeping on their course,
+which meant that up in the big clouds above lurked a fighter patrol of
+Messerschmitts. The Junkers were slow and low-powered, not being able to
+exceed 170 miles per hour. Stan zoomed up and passed Allison who was
+also going up with the cloud ambush in mind.
+
+Suddenly the Stukas broke formation and scattered, each diving for cover
+and cutting loose their sticks of bombs. Stan banked and selected a
+bomber as his victim. Through his windscreen he caught a glimpse of
+Allison and his hand stiffened on the control. A cloud of Jerry fighters
+had dropped out of the blue upon the Spitfire. Allison had gone wild as
+he always did. His Spitfire was a whirling, twisting demon, its eight
+wing guns flaming. But Allison hadn't a chance against that swarm of
+Jerries.
+
+Stan shot upward to get into the play. He cut loose the bombs from his
+racks and gave the Hawk all she had. He had a wide space of blue to cut
+through and as he bored in he saw Allison's ship lay over in a wabbly,
+sickening lurch and then nose down.
+
+"Guns out, motor stuttering. Have to go in," Allison's drawl came over
+the radio.
+
+The Hendee Hawk roared into the whirling mass of Jerry fighters and its
+banks of guns roared. The Jerries slid away after they had tasted the
+terrible gun power of this new ship.
+
+Stan nosed down and plummeted after Allison who had two Messerschmitts
+on his tail, but when the Hawk overtook them in one terrific spurt they
+swerved aside, each sending a final spray of lead over Allison's ship.
+Stan picked the one on the right and laid over to cut across the Messer
+with all his Brownings drilling. A wing sheared away from the Messer and
+shot up and out of sight. The Messerschmitt went rolling down.
+
+Stan dived after Allison. He didn't like the way the Spitfire was
+wobbling and turning. He had once seen a ship come in that way and when
+the boys got to it the pilot was dead. All he could do was trail Allison
+who failed to answer his frantic calls.
+
+The Spitfire kept going until she was almost to the field. As she slid
+out over the turf she wavered and her nose went down. She dived a few
+hundred feet, straightened, then slid off on one wing. Again she
+straightened and leveled out, close to the ground now. Suddenly she put
+her nose down and plunged to earth, landing with a smash that made her
+ground loop and pile up close to a hangar door.
+
+Stan set the Hawk down and slid over to the wrecked Spitfire. He and
+O'Malley leaped out and ran to the ship. The ground men had dragged
+Allison out. He was slumped between two of them, his face bloodless,
+his lips tight with pain. The old, mocking flicker was in his eyes as he
+shoved aside the arms of the men and smiled at Stan.
+
+"I take back everything I've said about Yank planes," he said, then he
+slid gently into Stan's arms, a limp rag of a man.
+
+Stan gathered him up and carried him toward a field ambulance which was
+roaring toward them with its siren screaming, while O'Malley trudged
+along behind muttering savagely to himself.
+
+A white-coated ambulance surgeon leaped out to meet them as the
+ambulance slithered to a stop. Stan laid his burden down gently and
+stepped back out of the way, dragging O'Malley with him. The surgeon
+knelt beside the unconscious man and made a swift examination, then
+turned and snapped to a couple of internes hovering behind him:
+
+"Get a stretcher down here. This man is badly wounded."
+
+Stan surged forward and clutched his arm. "How badly?" he queried
+through bloodless lips. "Not...?"
+
+The surgeon smiled and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "No,"
+he replied simply. "I promise you he won't die. England needs all her
+fliers, and we'll pull him through to go into the air again. I can't
+tell how soon," he ended briskly. "Not until I get him to the hospital
+and make a complete examination." He turned away and leaped into the
+ambulance behind the stretcher, and it sped away with its unconscious
+burden.
+
+"Glory be to God," breathed O'Malley fervently. "Come along with you
+now, we'd best make our reports."
+
+In the briefing room the flight officer met them with more eagerness
+than was usual with such an official. Nodding toward the chutes, neatly
+piled on the floor, he said:
+
+"You usually take care of those things, don't you know."
+
+Stan nodded grimly. He was thinking about Allison. O'Malley just grunted
+and planked his bony elbows on the high desk. Thrusting his chin out, he
+remarked:
+
+"What you limeys need is more fire wagons like I just slid meself out
+of. I want one for my own use."
+
+"I heard the new ship was a bit of all right," the flight officer said.
+"I'll take your report. The Wing Commander wants it rushed right over."
+
+"We'll be after blushin' to give you the actual facts of what happened,"
+O'Malley said slowly.
+
+"One Messerschmitt to us and three to Allison," Stan answered.
+
+The officer nodded and began scribbling. "Fill out one for me right
+away." He shoved a blank across the desk.
+
+"How about the varmint I dissected with me guns?" O'Malley asked.
+
+"Did you hit one of those Stukas?" Stan asked.
+
+"Sure, an' I did that," O'Malley said.
+
+"One Stuka badly damaged," Stan added.
+
+They went into the mess and for once O'Malley did not order a pie. He
+sat down and stared at the ceiling, his big mouth clamped shut, his
+Adam's apple sliding up and down. Finally he said:
+
+"Next time I get to take her, I can fly her like she was me own wings."
+
+"You might as well. This job is half yours," Stan said. "Until we find
+out about Allison this flight will have only two men and one ship."
+
+"Allison's going to be right back with us. The bye wouldn't kick off
+until he had had a chance to wind up this new colleen we got." O'Malley
+said it grimly, as though trying to make himself believe.
+
+"Here comes Wing Commander Farrell and I think he's looking for us,"
+Stan said.
+
+"Sure, an' 'tis the big man himself and no other. An' comin' to see us
+instead of us tramping over there. Me bye, the first thing we know, the
+King will be dropping in to have a spot of tea with us two intrepid
+fliers." O'Malley's big mouth was spread in a wide grin.
+
+"Don't get up, men," the Wing Commander said as he came up. He seated
+himself and started in briskly. "I hear the Hawk is better than anyone
+thought."
+
+"Not better than I thought," Stan said.
+
+"Well, better than the inspectors and test men thought. They said she
+wasn't reliable."
+
+"She is sensitive and temperamental," Stan agreed.
+
+"She chops up a Messerschmitt and spits out the pieces like me auld
+granddaddy used to whack up a box for kindlin'," O'Malley broke in.
+
+"Fine." The Wing Commander smiled broadly. "I just dropped by to ask
+you boys to stay very close to quarters. We have reports of activity at
+sea and there may be quite a bit of action. I'd like to find out if this
+ship is really a dive bomber."
+
+O'Malley grinned happily and saluted the Wing Commander. He had not
+taken the trouble to get to his feet. Farrell returned the salute
+without so much as the twitch of a facial muscle.
+
+"We'll be ready, sir." Stan stood at attention.
+
+The Wing Commander walked away and Stan scowled down at his pal. "A fine
+officer you are."
+
+"Naval action, and my turn comin' up," O'Malley gloated.
+
+An orderly called Stan to the telephone. When he returned he was
+smiling.
+
+"Allison will make it. He won't be laid up very long."
+
+"Hooray!" O'Malley shouted and leaped into the air. He headed straight
+across the room toward the counter. The corporal saw him coming and slid
+an apple pie off the shelf.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+SALT WATER SPRAY
+
+
+The Wing Commander seemed bent upon saving the Hendee Hawk for some
+special show. For two days no call came for Stan and O'Malley. They
+lounged about, with O'Malley getting as restless as a panther and twice
+as grouchy. They went over to see Allison and found him sitting up. He
+would be out in a very short time.
+
+Stan took the opportunity to give O'Malley a course of lessons dealing
+with the fine points of the Hawk.
+
+"She carries two sticks of bombs when she's out hunting. That's
+something new. They put those sticks on just to pep you up. The other
+day, when we were zipping through Messerschmitt bullets, I gave them a
+thought or two. If a cannon ball or a bullet lands just right, off goes
+the stick of bombs and out you go." Stan grinned at O'Malley as he
+spoke.
+
+"Sure, an' O'Malley will fix that," the Irishman said. "We pick a nice
+spot and drop them firecrackers."
+
+"I'm glad you suggested it. It would have been against regulations for
+me to say anything about it."
+
+"Sure, we might find a Jerry to pop them down on, but no matter, they
+are no fit things to be kapin' tucked under your wings whilst you're sky
+scrappin'." O'Malley shook his head.
+
+"We'll try them out. This is the best dive bomber that was ever built.
+You nose her straight down and pull the flaps. She settles herself to a
+350 mile per hour pace and when you get your sights set you cut loose.
+It's a dead cinch to pot a target that way."
+
+"Sure," O'Malley agreed. "Only we aren't bomber boys."
+
+They left O'Malley's room and went to the mess. Stan read the pictorial
+while O'Malley took a nap. The blaring of the intersquadron speaker
+roused them. The Irishman's feet hit the floor and he was awake at once.
+
+"That's us," he mumbled.
+
+"It's everybody else, but it's not us," Stan growled.
+
+It seemed the Group Captain and his men gathered around the map in
+headquarters had forgotten all about the Hendee Hawk.
+
+"That's the trouble in being a one-ship flight," O'Malley muttered. "If
+we had three Spitfires we'd be up there now."
+
+An orderly entered and ran across to Stan. "Wing Commander Farrell's
+instructions for Lieutenant Wilson," he said as he handed Stan the
+paper.
+
+Stan unfolded the paper and, with O'Malley reading the order out loud
+over his shoulder, he scanned the paper. They were to join a flight of
+Hurricanes and Spitfires setting out to contact enemy planes over the
+channel. Orders would be broadcast later, but the action was in
+connection with a naval attack. Their radio call would be Red Flight.
+
+"Sure, an' we're still Red Flight," O'Malley said as he whirled and made
+off.
+
+They walked back to O'Malley's room. Over a battered desk hung a piece
+of the tail of a Dornier showing a swastika and on the desk lay a heavy
+German pistol, a grim memento of some duel with death he had won.
+
+Surveying these enemy souvenirs, Stan grinned broadly and remarked, "If
+this war keeps up you'll be able to furnish a museum."
+
+O'Malley shook his head disconsolately. "'Tis little enough," he
+complained. "This air fighting is bad for picking up such things. Every
+time I down a plane it's me bad luck that it smashes to bits and leaves
+nothing behind for me to remember it by."
+
+"The ones that smash up feel worse about it than you do," Stan reminded
+him.
+
+The Irishman turned serious for one of the few times since Stan had
+known him. "Faith, an' I think of them poor devils sometimes," he
+muttered. "'Tis hard for them with nothing to believe in. Fighting
+because they're told to fight. Crashing to flaming death because one man
+orders them to. 'Tis a bad state of affairs this world is in, so help
+me."
+
+Stan nodded soberly. "The best we can do is to finish the whole show up
+as fast as we can. And we'd better be getting back to the mess to be
+ready for a call."
+
+O'Malley yawned and nodded agreement. "Though it's not likely they'll be
+sending us up again soon," he muttered pessimistically. "Always coddlin'
+us, that's what they do."
+
+A few minutes later they were waddling out on the field. The blast of
+steel propellers sawed through the air as a Spitfire flight warmed up on
+the cab rank. Cantilever wings vibrated and hummed and figures in
+coveralls swarmed over and around the planes. Flight sergeants tested
+throttle knobs and officers dashed about.
+
+"Looks like an extra big show," Stan said as they moved toward the newly
+daubed hawk. She looked freakish in her many-colored coat of sky paint.
+Her motor was idling smoothly.
+
+"Sure, an' she's a dainty colleen," O'Malley purred as he waited for the
+sergeant to swing down.
+
+"Remember this ship has to come back, so don't go wild," Stan warned.
+"And let me have her when we get ready to unload those sticks of T.N.T.
+If we crack her up and no record comes in, we won't get any more Hawks.
+The brass hats over here aren't sold on her yet."
+
+O'Malley was dreamily grinning at the big fighter and didn't seem to
+hear him.
+
+The Sergeant swung down and flipped a salute. "That motor is a bit of
+all right, sir," he said.
+
+"She is that," Stan agreed.
+
+They climbed in and got set in their cramped quarters. Seated very close
+together, with Stan a bit lower than O'Malley, who was at the controls,
+they pulled up their belts. O'Malley jerked his hatch cover shut and
+Stan closed his. The Irishman revved up, pinched one brake and gave the
+throttle a kick. The Hawk spun around with a roar. Stan noted the look
+of surprise on the Irishman's face. He hoped O'Malley didn't ground loop
+her before they got off.
+
+O'Malley didn't. He was a born flier and a lover of engines. Before they
+got the starter's signal, he had the feel of the big Double-Wasp motor.
+He took her off with a rush and a zoom, falling easily into place
+between a flight of Spitfires and Hurricanes. Later a spread of Defiants
+joined them and still later they overtook a squadron of Hampdens moving
+steadily out toward the channel. The bombers were loaded heavily and
+making no attempt to climb up.
+
+"Don't ye forget we're pickin' a target and unloading the bombs."
+O'Malley was speaking through the "intercom" telephone.
+
+"Wait until we spot a good target. I want to see what we can do with our
+sticks of bombs," Stan answered.
+
+O'Malley began to hum a snatch of an Irish melody. He wasn't in the
+least disturbed. For that matter the whole flight was slipping along as
+smoothly as though on parade.
+
+Then everything changed in a flash. "Naval battle! Naval battle!"
+O'Malley was bellowing into his mike.
+
+The Hampdens were moving into formation for action against something
+below and the fighters were peeling off and going down to see them
+through. Up ahead shells were bursting in the sky and the thunder of big
+guns rolled up to them.
+
+"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
+
+The big fellows weren't tossing their shells aloft. They were lobbing
+them at targets below. Stan shouted to O'Malley:
+
+"Follow the Hampdens down so we can unload!"
+
+"Sure, an' the quicker the better," O'Malley bellowed back. He depressed
+the nose of the Hawk and they went screaming down the chute. In a moment
+they had a good look at the sea below.
+
+Four cruisers and a string of light destroyers were fighting a running
+battle with several pocket battleships and a fleet of coastal torpedo
+boats. An aircraft carrier wallowed alongside the formation of cruisers.
+
+The scene below was a wild mixture of foaming water, smoke and flame
+from belching guns, and the roll of thunder as the turret batteries
+fired. The British Navy dogs were trying to get at the pocket
+battleships. The carrier held her course well west of the line of
+destroyers. The cruisers were pouring broadsides across the lashed
+water, and the destroyers, like bull pups, were pounding away, holding
+station splendidly, trying to reach the enemy. One got a hit squarely on
+its foredeck and rolled half around, wallowing in the trough. A sheet
+of flame spurted from a gun turret and rolled over the deck. For a
+moment the little ship staggered on, then exploded.
+
+"The poor fellers," grated O'Malley.
+
+Stan said nothing but he felt cold all over. He looked down at the
+carrier and saw torpedo bombers sliding off her deck like little
+swallows. O'Malley's voice chopped off his thoughts.
+
+"'Tis a pocket battle wagon we get, no less," he almost crooned.
+
+"Thick weather down there," Stan warned.
+
+The muck of anti-aircraft fire made the stratum above the sea look as
+though it was on fire. The smoke was stabbed by blossoming shells
+hurling ragged pieces of iron in every direction. There was a swarm of
+Messerschmitts and Stukas and Heinkels all messed up with a crisscross
+of darting, thrusting Hurricanes, Spitfires and Defiants. The Hampdens
+were not having any better luck in getting through to their objectives
+than were the Stukas.
+
+"We better set the firecrackers off or we'll miss one foin scrap,"
+O'Malley called.
+
+He nosed the Hawk down and sent her into a screaming dive. The little
+boats that Stan knew were pocket battleships began to grow in size, and
+the muck swarmed up closer to them with Hades breaking loose around
+their ears. None of the Messerschmitts tried to stop them. The Jerries
+thought the odd plane was just another crazy fighter who didn't know
+where he was going. The cockpit shuddered and the instruments on the
+board seemed to dance.
+
+"Set your wing flaps!" Stan screamed. "Set your flaps!"
+
+The Hawk began to steady as O'Malley remembered the flaps and applied
+them. Holding a plumb line at 350 miles per hour, she dropped upon the
+battle wagon below. Stan could see the deck of the ship coming up toward
+them as though a mighty hand were lifting it.
+
+The wind screamed above the din of exploding shells. The gunners on
+board the battleship were taking notice and frantically trying to swing
+guns to bear upon the plummeting Hawk. Stan caught his breath and held
+it. This was exhilarating, almost glorious. He didn't think about the
+danger of meeting a bursting shell, all he thought about was the drop
+and the mighty surge of power. The plane swayed and shuddered as big
+shells burst close to her.
+
+Then the field of blossoming shells was above them and the deck below
+was big. They could see men scrambling about, their faces white blobs as
+they looked upward.
+
+"Left a point," Stan shouted as he set the bomb sight. "Now right a bit
+... left more."
+
+"Ready!" O'Malley bellowed.
+
+"Ready! Hold her steady!"
+
+O'Malley released the bomb selection levers, both of them.
+
+All Stan had to do was to press the button and the sticks of bombs were
+off. He pressed it hard and almost instantly the ship zoomed upward as
+though tossed into the sky by a mortar. As they wound upward with the
+Wasp engine roaring Stan looked back.
+
+Where the deck of the battleship had been there was now a great burst of
+smoke and flame.
+
+"That card will make 'em watch their course, me bye!" O'Malley crowed.
+
+Stan could not tell whether they had put the pocket battleship out or
+not. She shifted her course and moved more slowly, but she kept going.
+Now the Messerschmitts decided the crazy ship was a bomber and not a
+fighter. They swarmed upon her, which was exactly what the wild Irishman
+wanted.
+
+Stan went to work with his guns, but he kept track of the doings of his
+crazy pilot. O'Malley seemed to have gone stark mad. He plunged up into
+the path of the oncoming fighters and his banks of Brownings opened up.
+Lead spattered all over the Hawk and a lot of it came through. But two
+Messerschmitt One-Tens went down before the flock discovered that this
+new ship had more wicked fire power than a Spitfire. They zoomed and
+dived and circled like angry hornets.
+
+"They need a bit of educatin'," O'Malley shouted. "An if they'll be
+swarmin' around I'll give it to them."
+
+Stan didn't answer because at that moment his hatch cover splintered
+into a million tiny cracks and a maze of ragged holes, the line of
+bullets moving across not six inches above his head.
+
+O'Malley decided the only thing was to select a Messerschmitt and run
+him down. He picked one and roared after it. The ME, confident that he
+had superior speed, darted away. But he soon discovered this strange
+ship had plenty more engine than his One-Ten. He banked and shot down.
+O'Malley dived and was on his tail, slicing away great chunks of the
+Jerry's ship.
+
+When they came up they were well inside the enemy lines and no Royal Air
+Force ships were in sight, though the air was full of assorted Jerries.
+
+"Get back on our side of the fence!" Stan shouted.
+
+"Sure, an' it's nicer over here," O'Malley called back.
+
+But a minute later he took Stan's advice. A Messerschmitt came up from
+below and a Heinkel dived from above with another ME closing in from the
+rear. The three fighters raked the Hawk as they closed upon her. Her
+Double-Wasp coughed and sputtered. She kept on running but her zip was
+gone and oil and air came sucking back inside her. Stan knew it was the
+sea for him again.
+
+"Mind getting wet?" O'Malley called back cheerfully as he sent the Hawk
+down and away from the enemy.
+
+"No, you wild man, but I do mind losing this ship," Stan shouted back.
+
+"She isn't lost," O'Malley called back.
+
+They were sliding down and away from the big fight. Even with a crippled
+motor the Hawk could show her tail to a Messerschmitt. They saw the
+Spitfires and the Hurricanes now, battling the Jerries up above, keeping
+them from opening a path for the Stukas. The cruisers and the destroyers
+were throwing shells into the sky recklessly and at the same time
+pounding to pieces two floundering Nazi battleships.
+
+"Sure, an' it's a fine show," O'Malley crowed.
+
+He had hardly finished speaking, when the Wasp backfired savagely, shook
+herself, then died completely.
+
+"Now, you wild Irishman, slide her home if you can," Stan rasped.
+
+"An' what do ye suppose they have carriers for?" O'Malley called back.
+
+"This bus won't set down on a carrier!" Stan snapped.
+
+He looked down and saw the carrier, her deck looking about the size of a
+banana peeling. Stan figured the chances of landing on the carrier were
+about one thousand to one, but he realized that would seem like
+attractive odds to O'Malley.
+
+The Irishman was circling down upon the carrier in a very businesslike
+manner. So much so that the crew was running about like wild men. The
+superstructure panel flashed signals neither Stan nor O'Malley could
+understand. The little men on the deck fired warning rockets and a
+couple of flares, and then potted at the Hawk with a pom-pom which
+splattered the side of the ship.
+
+"A nice welcome to be givin' the King's two best recruits," O'Malley
+growled.
+
+As Stan looked down, the things that could happen to them ticked through
+his mind. They could run over the side and be chewed up by the screws,
+coming up in the wake of the carrier as foam and grease spots. They
+could top the bow and be smashed under by the monster plowing ahead at
+thirty knots. They could slap up against the superstructure island and
+burn there like a huge flare. Stan upped the chances. They were one in
+a million, not one in a thousand.
+
+He didn't kick or order O'Malley to bail out, which was the sane thing
+to do. He didn't even think about his own chute.
+
+The sailors were signaling again and there didn't seem to be any welcome
+letters in the signals. But the deck was clear as O'Malley swung the
+Hawk into line and set her for the crazy attempt. The panel flipped
+black and white warnings frantically as they zipped in.
+
+"The wing flaps!" Stan shouted as the idea struck him.
+
+"Sure, an' I'm dumb," O'Malley came back.
+
+He set the flaps and they nosed over dangerously, but they slowed a lot.
+The carrier was rolling about, trying to take her proper position, which
+she had deserted when she started fooling with this strange Royal Air
+Force plane. She was now paying no attention to the Hawk at all.
+
+Shells from the pocket battleship sent up huge columns of water
+alongside. Stan squinted through a bullet hole in his hatch cover. The
+forward plane lift was down, leaving a neat but restricted patch of
+deck.
+
+Four long, pen-shaped bombs whistled down from the sky. The sea
+swallowed them and a second later belched an eruption of water.
+
+The Hawk was settling fast now and it seemed the carrier would get away
+from her. O'Malley cut the incidence. The Hawk lifted a bit, lunged
+forward and slid over the edge. Then it squashed down, hit and plunged.
+Stan could see the flying bridge and many staring, white faces.
+
+O'Malley was showing a rare amount of knowledge of carrier landings. He
+stalled the Hawk as the deck opened under her, then clamped her down
+furiously. There was a thud, dull but solid. The Hawk wrenched around,
+screamed complainingly, then set herself at landing position.
+
+Stan tossed his arm over his face and set himself for the crash that
+would tear him apart. The blow did not come. He slid his arm down, and
+all around the ship a ring of red-faced sailors peered at him, some of
+them grinning broadly. Then a cheer broke out.
+
+O'Malley was first out of the ship. He plumped down on the deck and
+faced an officer who came charging from somewhere. He saluted solemnly.
+Standing there, with his flying suit hanging on his bony frame, his hawk
+face peering at the officer, he looked more like a scarecrow than one of
+His Majesty's crack pilots.
+
+"Where did this come from and what is it?" the officer demanded.
+
+"'Tis a dive bomber, the very colleen that smacked that pocket
+battleship not so far back. An' 'tis a valuable specimen as must be
+delivered to His Majesty's air forces," O'Malley said gravely.
+
+"Go up on the bridge and report at once," the officer said and his voice
+was not so harsh. He had seen the Hawk make a direct hit on the deck of
+the Nazi battleship.
+
+They clumped up to the bridge, Stan edging in ahead of O'Malley. There
+ought to be a bit of diplomacy used and he was afraid O'Malley might not
+use the proper approach to the skipper. The flag officer, who had
+piloted them to the bridge, saluted smartly and retired. Stan faced a
+grizzled man of about sixty. Steel-blue eyes regarded him frostily. Then
+the commander smiled.
+
+"My compliments, gentlemen," he said. "A mighty fine effort though a
+bit risky."
+
+"Thank you, sir," Stan answered. "This plane is a test job and we felt
+she was so valuable she ought to be salvaged."
+
+"I see, so you set that superdemon down on my deck." He gave Stan a
+searching look. "Your navy training is good. How does it come that you
+are not with the sea forces?"
+
+"My friend, Lieutenant O'Malley, made the landing, sir," Stan said.
+
+O'Malley grinned broadly at the commander. "Sure, an' it was pure luck,
+the luck o' the Irish," he said.
+
+"You will be cared for and your specimen plane will be landed," the
+commander promised. "In fact, I watched you dive bomb that battleship
+and I believe the navy could use some of this type of ship. I will make
+a memorandum to that effect."
+
+As they walked down from the bridge, Stan looked at O'Malley. "I never
+asked you where you learned to fly," he said. "Could it have been the
+Royal Navy?"
+
+"It could have been," O'Malley answered and closed his big mouth tight.
+
+Stan didn't ask any more questions. They went below and had a good
+meal. Later they received word from the commander that the carrier was
+headed across to the Norwegian coast, but they would be sent home by
+motor launch. The Hendee Hawk would have to wait until the naval patrol
+swung around their course and slipped into Portsmouth, or some other
+port.
+
+"How long will the swing take?" Stan asked.
+
+The young officer who had delivered the message shook his head. "One
+never knows."
+
+They had to be satisfied with that. No one could tell what the squadron
+would run into, or when their course would be changed. Nor, of course,
+whether the carrier would ever see port again. In the meantime all they
+could do was trust to luck that the Hawk would be delivered ashore
+somehow. They were fortunate that they were being sent back by a motor
+launch and wouldn't have to accompany the squadron across to the
+Norwegian coast.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+STAN'S PAST RISES
+
+
+O'Malley and Stan climbed out of a Bentley roadster and hurried across
+the street to the squadron gateway. The sentry let them pass after one
+look at their soiled uniforms and a brief word.
+
+"We'll be collectin' a bushel of medals in about a minute," O'Malley
+said.
+
+"We'll probably lose a strip of hide for not bringing the Hawk home,"
+Stan replied grimly.
+
+They entered the mess and found a large number of men about. The rousing
+welcome O'Malley had forecast was lacking. A number of the boys looked
+at them, then turned away. There was something in the air, a definite
+tightness caused by their entering that Stan didn't like at all. The
+Irishman barged cheerfully across the room and ordered a pie.
+
+Stan sank into a chair. Without appearing to be interested, except in
+the paper he had picked up, he watched the men in the room. They were
+looking at him and there was hostility in the glances they shot his way.
+
+Tossing aside the paper, he got to his feet. There was one quick way to
+find out. He'd collar one of the boys and put it up to him, demanding a
+straight answer. He was moving across the room, when an orderly spoke to
+him. Stan swung around. The orderly was nervous and kept his eyes roving
+everywhere but upon the Flight Lieutenant.
+
+"Wing Commander Farrell wishes to speak to you, sir," he reported.
+
+"Thanks, I'll be right over," Stan answered.
+
+Stan guessed what had happened. Garret had tracked him down. Possibly
+had seen him. Stan stepped over to O'Malley. The Irishman, his mouth
+full of pie, turned around. He glanced at Stan, then shoved aside the
+remainder of his pie.
+
+"Sure, an' you been seein' a ghost." Then his big mouth clamped shut
+tight. After a moment's thought, he added, "If they try givin' you a
+ride for the job I did, I'm in on it."
+
+"No, O'Malley." Stan shoved out his hand. "But if I don't see you again,
+here's luck."
+
+O'Malley looked at the hand, shook his red thatch and glared at Stan.
+"By the bomb rack of a Stuka," he snarled, "I'm standing by. Let's go
+get the spalpeen that's makin' the stink!"
+
+Stan grinned in spite of himself. At that moment O'Malley would have
+laid a bony fist on the jaw of an Air Marshal. He had never seen the
+Irishman so wrought-up; he was twice as mad as he ever got when he went
+into action.
+
+"This is something only Stan Wilson can handle." Then he added more
+softly, "It hasn't anything to do with the little show we put on. And
+you can't help me. Thanks, just the same."
+
+O'Malley stood glaring after him as he went out, then he faced the man
+in the mess and his eyes were snapping dangerously.
+
+Stan went straight to headquarters and an orderly let him into the Wing
+Commander's office without delay. The instant he stepped into the room
+Stan knew his whole world had blown up under him. Beside the O.C.'s
+desk sat Charles L. Milton and across from him was Garret, smiling
+triumphantly and smugly. He leaned forward as Stan hesitated at the
+door.
+
+"Come in, Wilson," Farrell said curtly.
+
+"How are you, Stan?" Milton said. He was clearly upset over what he had
+been listening to before Stan arrived.
+
+"I am fine, thanks."
+
+Garret said nothing. He just leaned back with a sneer on his lips.
+
+"You wished to speak to me, sir?"
+
+"Sit down, Wilson." Farrell straightened some papers on his desk,
+cleared his throat, then looked at the young flier. "Lieutenant Garret
+has laid your former record before me and Mr. Milton has confirmed it."
+The Wing Commander paused and his eyes followed the lines of the report.
+He looked up and his eyes bored into Stan. "You were charged with
+selling plans of the Hendee Hawk to Nazi agents." Stan knew he was
+supposed to answer.
+
+"I was tried and acquitted."
+
+"That is true, but no American firm would hire you and the Army refused
+to allow you to enlist. Is that correct?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+The Wing Commander cleared his throat. "Have you anything to say for
+yourself that would clear up this angle?"
+
+"I was the victim of Nazi agents who stole the plans. That was proved at
+the trial. Later, they cleverly planted rumors and suspicions about me
+so that no one wanted to have anything to do with me. In plain American,
+I was framed." Stan spoke slowly, putting all the conviction he could
+into his words. He didn't expect the O.C. to believe him any more than
+the American firms or the army officers to whom he had applied for entry
+into the service.
+
+"You have done a splendid job here, for which the British people and His
+Majesty's Government thank you; but, in these times of great danger, we
+cannot take chances with anyone whose past record is in doubt. I am
+sorry, Wilson, but I have orders to release you and send you back to the
+United States."
+
+Stan sat looking at the Wing Commander. Suddenly anger boiled up inside
+him, a savage, cold anger.
+
+"If you can show no more appreciation than this, I do not care to stay.
+My record with the Royal Air Force should be proof that the charges
+against me were phony."
+
+The O.C. reddened. He looked at Garret. Scowling blackly, he said, "I
+took that attitude, personally, but my superior officers have ordered
+your release."
+
+"Before you release him I suggest that you consider another angle,"
+Garret said. "I have just learned that, though he and an Irish recruit
+returned safely, the new plane did not return. The fighters of all
+groups have been questioned and they did not see the Hawk in action
+against the enemy at all. I think the plane was delivered to Nazi agents
+on the coast." Garret's voice was little better than a snarl when he
+finished.
+
+Stan's gaze locked with that of the lieutenant. "The Hendee Hawk will be
+delivered here at the field in a few days. Lieutenant O'Malley set her
+down on a carrier in the channel after she was put out of action."
+
+Garret laughed harshly. "That is a fine story, Wilson, but one that only
+a fool would believe."
+
+"It is an impossible story," the O.C. agreed.
+
+"He should be locked up," Garret insisted.
+
+"I hardly think that will be necessary," a voice from the doorway said.
+The men turned and saw Allison standing just inside the room, supported
+by the strong arm of O'Malley.
+
+"Sure, an' did I hear someone say I didn't set that Hawk down on a
+carrier?" O'Malley growled. His glare traveled from Farrell to Garrett
+and fastened there. Garret shrank back in his chair.
+
+The pair moved into the room. Allison's face was white and thin but his
+eyes were snapping. The Wing Commander frowned.
+
+"This is an intrusion. Remember, gentlemen, you are junior officers."
+Farrell fixed O'Malley with a cold glare as the Irishman pulled forward
+a chair for Allison.
+
+"We felt it of great importance, sir," Allison said as he sank into the
+chair. "I am sure you will agree when I explain." He took a thick
+envelope from his pocket and laid it on the desk before the O.C. "These
+papers will be of interest to you, sir, I am sure."
+
+The Wing Commander opened the envelope and spread a sheaf of papers on
+his desk. He bent over them, reading deliberately.
+
+After laying aside the last report he looked up. His eyes were on
+Garret.
+
+"It seems, Lieutenant, that you have made a jackass out of yourself and
+out of me. These reports are from the American Federal Bureau of
+Investigation, and from the British Intelligence. Both departments give
+Lieutenant Wilson a clean slate. Both report he was, as he says,
+'framed.'" He turned to Stan.
+
+"With these reports you could join the United States Army Air Corps any
+time you wished. After the treatment you have received here I feel it my
+duty to offer you a release so that you may do so."
+
+The sudden turn of affairs had Stan groggy; however, the realization
+that he was at last freed of the smear that had blackened his name
+started a surge of warmth and elation through him. He turned to Allison.
+
+"You knew it all the time," he accused.
+
+Allison grinned. "Yes, that report came in with your credentials. I took
+it out of the file to have a bit of sport with you. It was dumb of me to
+forget to replace it. But you were so stubborn over the whole matter I
+didn't feel you needed to know."
+
+Garret got to his feet. His face was white and his voice was not very
+steady. "I merely did my duty as I saw it, sir. I had no way of knowing
+what was in the report Allison has laid before you. I ask leave to
+retire."
+
+"Stay where you are. I want to talk to you," the O.C. snapped.
+
+Stan got to his feet. Milton was thumping him on the back and O'Malley
+was grinning like a wolf. Milton rumbled in his deep voice:
+
+"I said it all smelled fishy to me." He turned to the O.C. "Wilson is
+the best test pilot that ever stepped into a plane."
+
+"Allison's comin' back in a couple days an' Red Flight goes out in
+Spitfires," O'Malley broke in eagerly. "Sure, an' there's no war on over
+in America. 'Tis right here you'll be staying or I'll give you a fine
+dusting when we get outside."
+
+"I'm staying until the war is over. In a way I figure it's our fight,
+too, sir. If you don't mind, I'll stay in Red Flight."
+
+"Mind! I'll recommend you for top honors." The O.C. was beaming.
+
+An orderly stepped into the room and laid a report on Farrell's desk. He
+glanced at it, then picked it up. A minute later he pounded the desk
+with his fist and began to laugh.
+
+"This report says His Majesty's carrier, _Staunch_, has on board a new
+type of dive bomber which put a pocket battleship out of action and
+later landed upon the deck of the carrier. The commander considers the
+plane so valuable he is putting in to deliver it."
+
+"Until we can get three of those Hawks for you boys, you will fly
+Spitfires as Red Flight," the O.C. said. "After that you will likely win
+the war without any help."
+
+"Sure, an' we'll do just that, sor, as a special favor to you," O'Malley
+answered.
+
+The O.C. looked at him and frowned. He wasn't sure whether O'Malley was
+spoofing or meant it. Allison and Stan were sure O'Malley was in dead
+earnest.
+
+"Thank you, sir," Stan said. "We'll run along now."
+
+When they were outside the office, Allison said in his slow drawl:
+
+"That ought to be the last of Garret."
+
+"Sure, an' he'll be brewin' trouble if he stays around, you can bank on
+that," O'Malley said.
+
+Stan had the same feeling. There was something about Garret he could not
+understand. He had a feeling there was more than just a grudge against
+him in Garret's acts. The lieutenant had certain connections that seemed
+to reach very high up into official circles. Stan planned to do some
+quiet checking, now that he didn't have to be so careful.
+
+During the next three days Stan poked about asking a lot of questions.
+He was very careful not to arouse suspicion. He learned very little.
+Garret came in as a ferry pilot and later was given a chance in the air.
+He was a Canadian who had lived most of his life in the United States.
+Why he was not released from the Air Arm after Allison reported his
+action in deserting Red Flight was not clear. And no one seemed to know
+how he had managed to get himself placed in a responsible position close
+to the O.C.
+
+One thing looked good to Stan. Garret had left the squadron and no one
+knew where he had been sent. He was out of the way, yet Stan had a
+feeling he had not seen the last of him.
+
+The day Allison returned to duty an order was posted creating a night
+defense group of fighters. It consisted of twelve Spitfires and Red
+Flight was included. O'Malley was so excited over the order that he
+walked away from a half pie, forgetting it entirely.
+
+"Sure, an' this is me dish," he crowed.
+
+"Swatting Stukas in the dark?" Allison asked grimly. "Dodging balloon
+cables and ducking through Ack-Ack muck?"
+
+"This Moon Flight is the toughest job in the service," Stan admitted.
+"But we should be swelled up. Look at the list of boys posted."
+
+"Oh, yes," Allison admitted. "All aces." He laughed shortly.
+
+"You've recovered all right," Stan said with a grin.
+
+There was reason enough for setting aside twelve of the toughest, most
+reckless, Spitfire pilots for night service. London had been smashed and
+battered and set on fire night after night. The ground guns and the
+balloons got a few of the bandits, but too many slipped through and sent
+their cargoes of death down upon the city. It was up to the boys with
+the eight-gun death in their wind edges to stop the invaders.
+
+The first action came at eleven o'clock that evening. The call for the
+new formation blasted into the mess while the men were gathered around
+speculating on who would draw the job of being Squadron Leader. They
+rushed out into the night after hurrying into their togs. On the cab
+rank an even dozen Spitfires breathed flame from idling motors,
+trembling like things alive, straining to be up and into the blackness
+after the skulking killers.
+
+Allison stumbled out after O'Malley, and Stan came behind the Britisher.
+They got their flight orders, tested their throttles, then pinched wheel
+brakes and slipped around and down upon the line. They would go up in
+threes. Red Flight was third out and O'Malley fumed into his flap mike
+over the delay.
+
+The Recording Officer, looking massive in his greatcoat, backed away. A
+mobile floodlight slid over the field and took position, its long, wide
+beam slapping down the runway.
+
+"Steady, Moon Flight, check your temperatures," ordered the Squadron
+Leader.
+
+Stan stiffened as the voice came in over his headset. He knew that
+voice. It was the voice of Arch Garret!
+
+Affirmative replies clicked in. Stan managed to answer, but his mind was
+in a hard knot. This was all cockeyed. Garret leading a flight that
+called for the toughest of flying. Stan groaned. This would be a lucky
+night for the Jerries, and a tough break for the folks crouching in the
+darkened streets. He heard the banshee wail of the alarm sirens as he
+slid his hatch cover into place.
+
+"East. Contact bandits at 8,000 feet. Moon Flight east," Garret's voice
+gritted into Stan's ears.
+
+The Spitfires roared up and away to the east. Every pilot was straining
+to catch a glimpse of the incoming raiders. They spread out and bored
+into the darkness, swooping and diving, but they made no contacts.
+Behind them the searchlights stabbed and crisscrossed and wavered. Then
+the ground guns began to blast, and tracer bullets arched upward like
+rockets in a celebration. The muck over lower London was thick and the
+searchlights began to pick out black shapes. Then came the bombs. They
+smashed into roofs and went splintering on to blow houses to bits. They
+rent and ripped mortar and stone and brick. People were buried under the
+debris.
+
+Stan banked steeply and shouted into his flap mike. "They've slipped in
+behind us. Come on, Red Flight!"
+
+"Sure, an' I'm way ahead of ye," came the voice of O'Malley.
+
+Moon Flight wheeled and went thundering back. They could not stop the
+raging fires below or do anything about the shattered buildings, but
+they could make sure that few of the raiders ever made a return trip.
+
+In the dull glow from the fires below Stan saw O'Malley's ship dive
+down, like a streak of dark shadow, straight upon a Junkers that was
+flying along in a manner that suggested it thought it was over
+unprotected territory. O'Malley's guns drilled fire and the Junkers'
+right wing flipped upward and faded into the night. Then the killer
+nosed over and went down like a flaming torch.
+
+Stan was into the battle before the wrecked Junkers had dropped 500
+feet. He laid over and raked a big death ship with his Brownings. It
+folded and slid off, spewing its crew into the night.
+
+Having made contact Moon Flight really went to work. Their first savage
+attack had broken up the spear-shaped Stuka formation. Now they gave
+their attention to individual combat. There was no need for commands
+from anyone. They swung about on invisible hairpins and screamed after
+the big fellows.
+
+It didn't take so very long. Stuka after Stuka went down. From the black
+pit above the Jerry fighters were diving down to see what had happened
+to their charges. The Messerschmitts twisted and ducked and dived,
+clearing their guns for action.
+
+Down at the 4,000-foot level the Spitfires were knocking down the last
+of the raiders. This done, they nosed upward to meet the Messerschmitts
+as eagerly as they had attacked the killers. They were overeager to
+contact the fighters and one of them caught a crossfire as he roared in.
+His ship went slithering off to the west, spinning madly. The Spits
+darted through the flame filled sky. They flipped over and spun and
+dived, always seeking targets to make their guns flame.
+
+Stan sent his Spitfire into a screaming reversement, tipped out of it
+with his guns hammering as he laid his sights on a leering swastika. It
+was over quickly. The Messerschmitts had no stomach for such a deadly
+game. After a gesture at rescuing their bombers, they fled into the
+night.
+
+"Moon Flight, come in. Moon Flight, come in."
+
+Then O'Malley's brogue burred. "Begorra, 'tis a very fine avening."
+
+Stan grinned. He was glad to hear the voice of the wild Irishman. After
+a battle in the sky the voice of a pal always sounds good. He bent
+forward.
+
+"The same to you, Irisher."
+
+"And to you, Yank," came Allison's voice.
+
+They slid in like mottled ghosts and Stan counted them. Nine Spitfires.
+There would be three new faces in Moon Flight tomorrow. Three new men
+for the raider shift. He toyed with the idea of slipping by and checking
+Garret's guns, but gave it up. Garret would be wise enough to fire a
+burst or two. And, of course, he might have misjudged the lieutenant.
+
+In the briefing room there was little talk. The boys were grim and sour.
+London had been bombed. They got little comfort out of the impressive
+score they had chalked up--ten Stukas and six Messerschmitts. They knew
+that if they had headed west they would have stopped the raid.
+
+No one challenged Garret when he claimed one Stuka and a Messerschmitt.
+Nobody spoke to him. They went on into the mess and flopped down to wait
+for the metallic voice of the intersquadron speaker.
+
+O'Malley lay on a bench with his feet up against the wall. Allison lay
+back, his eyes closed, his thin face colorless. Stan sat staring at the
+floor. He was trying to get a lot of things straight in his mind. He
+couldn't honestly say Garret had led them east purposely. The main
+control room must have sent them in the wrong direction, but it all
+bothered him, anyway. And he knew the other boys had the same feeling.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+SPECIAL MISSION
+
+
+Stan was further mystified the next day when Garret came to him in the
+mess. He was smiling and very friendly.
+
+"I have been a rotter, Wilson," he said and held out his hand. "After
+all, this is pretty serious business and there isn't much place for
+personal grudges and gripes."
+
+Stan hid his surprise. He could find no words to answer Garret. He shook
+hands with the Squadron Leader. Garret slapped him on the back.
+
+"I have the toughest gang of sky-busters in the whole Royal Air Force,"
+Garret said. "We'll see that no more bombs land on London."
+
+As he walked away Stan looked after him. Now that Garret had left him he
+could think of several things he might have said. Allison came up and
+there was a mocking leer on his face.
+
+"So you are teacher's pet from now on?"
+
+"Search me, but I still don't think he likes me," Stan said.
+
+"He's about to collar O'Malley." Allison chuckled. "I'd give a new
+shilling to hear what that Irishman tells him."
+
+It happened they were near enough, because O'Malley bawled out what he
+had to say so loudly it could have been heard out on the field. Garret
+had halted and was smilingly giving O'Malley the glad hand. He stepped
+back a pace and his face flushed as the Irisher cut loose.
+
+"Sure, an' ye can save yer blarney!" O'Malley roared. "I'd as soon hang
+one on that hooked beak of yours as to be after lookin' at ye!"
+
+Garret backed up a step and lifted one hand. Stan and Allison could not
+hear what he said, but the officers near the pair were openly grinning.
+O'Malley loosed one more blast and his words brought chill, brittle
+silence to the room.
+
+"I'm a thinkin' you'd best head the Moon Flight in the right direction
+when the spalpeens come over again."
+
+The clicking of Garret's heels was the only sound in the room. He
+marched out without a word. Everyone looked about uneasily. Such talk to
+a Squadron Leader was unheard of. Any other commander would have had
+O'Malley's hide off in a minute and draped all over the place. The very
+fact that the Irishman had gotten away with it had a depressing effect
+upon the fliers. Allison broke the spell. He barged over to O'Malley and
+shoved out his hand.
+
+"Shake, Irisher," he said.
+
+Judd, McCumber, and Kelley, all men who had belonged to the first spread
+Stan had been with, strolled over and a little group formed around
+O'Malley. Judd squinted up at the lank Irishman. He was a short,
+chubby-faced youngster of nineteen. His face was beaming happily.
+
+"I'd never had the courage to talk like that to a Squadron Leader. I
+just went into a funk when he soaped me."
+
+O'Malley squinted down at Judd. "'Tis with me own eyes I saw you cut the
+fire of three Messers, me bye. Don't you be blatherin' me about
+courage."
+
+Judd flushed. He was all right when he was up there by himself, but he
+was bashful in a crowd. McCumber looked across at Allison.
+
+"Red Flight should get a break after this," he said meaningly.
+
+Allison grinned wolfishly. "Really, now, Mac, Garret knows every boy in
+Moon Flight loves him."
+
+Kelley had not spoken nor had he laughed with the others. "He'd better
+stay out of my circle. I have folks living out beyond Kensington
+Gardens."
+
+No one said anything more about the raids. They all knew Kelley's home
+had been smashed that night and that his father had been injured.
+Allison changed the subject.
+
+"We certainly should get rid of Garret for the good of the service. He's
+no fit leader and the squadron will go into a funk under him."
+
+"How will we do it?" Mac asked.
+
+"I don't know, but it has to be done. A decent leader would have wiped
+the floor with O'Malley and then grounded him for the rest of the war.
+A yellow streak has no place in this outfit."
+
+The men nodded their heads. What they could not understand was how
+Garret had gotten the job. They felt helpless because they had always
+depended upon the men at headquarters. Finally the group broke up
+without anyone offering a workable plan.
+
+Just after noon the next day the O.C. sent for Stan. He was alone in his
+office and in very good spirits. Stan sat down beside his desk and
+waited.
+
+"We have a few Hendee Hawks coming in," Farrell beamed happily. "You are
+the man to handle them and to show the boys their fine points. In fact,
+you're the only man we have who can do it quickly. We need those
+superfighters badly. Headquarters would like to do a little daylight
+bombing. Do you think a flight of Hawks could take a squadron of
+Liberators through?"
+
+"They could," Stan assured him. "Give me nine Hawks and my pick of
+pilots and well ride right in over Berlin."
+
+"You won't get nine for a while, but we have three coming in." The Wing
+Commander seemed interested in what Stan thought of that.
+
+"Three will take a small flight through," Stan said.
+
+"I have to depend on you, Wilson. Without you, it will take several
+weeks to get them lined out and set for action."
+
+"We need train only one man. Allison can learn quickly." Stan smiled
+broadly. "O'Malley learned in a couple of flights."
+
+The O.C. smiled, too. "Yes, your pie-eating friend will handle one, if
+we can drill some sense into his head."
+
+"O'Malley's crazy but it's the sort of lunacy we need," Stan answered
+dryly.
+
+Farrell nodded. He was already thinking about other things. "The Royal
+Air Force considered this shipment so important they routed the
+freighter north to avoid submarines and Stukas. It seems Nazi agents
+found out when she left. She had quite a trip and was chased far north,
+damaged by a sub and finally landed at our naval base in the Shetlands."
+
+"We pick them up up there?"
+
+"I'm sending you up there to service them and get them ready. When you
+have them set up and ready to fly, I'll send Allison and O'Malley up
+there to help you bring them back."
+
+Stan waited but the O.C. had nothing more to say, so he got to his feet.
+
+"When do I leave?"
+
+"As soon as you can get away."
+
+"Do I fly a Spitfire?"
+
+The O.C. considered this for a long minute. At last he nodded. "You're
+too valuable a man to be shot down by stray raiders."
+
+"I'll be on my way in an hour," Stan said as he snapped a salute.
+
+As Stan swung out of the office he almost collided with Garret.
+
+"Whoa there, you're in a big rush, aren't you?" Garret asked with a
+grin.
+
+"Sorry," Stan grunted and was off.
+
+As he strode across the field he got to wondering if Garret had been
+listening at the door. It didn't seem possible. Eavesdropping in an
+officer of Garret's standing would have laughed him out of the service
+if he had been caught. He dismissed it from his mind.
+
+He told Allison and O'Malley about his plans and warned them not to
+mention his trip to anyone. Allison grinned lazily. O'Malley was
+excited.
+
+"Sure, an' the war's about over," he boasted. "With me coaxing one of
+them sweet colleens through the skies there won't be a Jerry left in a
+week."
+
+"You lugs come a-rattling when I send in the call," Stan said as he
+strode toward his quarters.
+
+A half-hour later he was kicking his Spitfire into line. He was into the
+air swiftly and laid his course across the serene green countryside to
+pick up the shore of the North Sea at the nearest point.
+
+At that height it was difficult to realize he was in the sky above a
+war-torn nation. There were no evidences of destruction below, and the
+blue sky was clear of enemy planes. The steady throbbing roar of the
+Spitfire's motor was a pleasantly lulling sound, and he settled back
+comfortably with his mind at ease, checking over the structural details
+of the Hendee Hawks in his mind for use in putting the dismantled ships
+together as fast as possible when he landed at the naval base where they
+awaited him.
+
+It was pleasant to be out of danger for this brief period. It gave him a
+chance to examine his thoughts, do a little readjusting of his personal
+concepts to the grim realities of war. He found he had been under such
+terrific tension every instant since reporting to the Red Flight that
+this was the first chance he had found to look back over what had
+happened and realize how supremely lucky he had been thus far to escape
+death.
+
+Flying at 4,000 feet, he appeared to be merely creeping across the green
+blanket of England beneath him. Ahead, he could faintly see a silver
+line of mist marking the shore of the sea. Though the Spitfire was
+tunneling through the blue at 350 miles an hour, he suddenly found he
+was impatient for even more speed. Behind him men were even now fighting
+and dying. He wanted to get back into it, start doing his part again.
+
+An alien sound obtruded suddenly into the throbbing of his Spitfire. He
+heard it almost without consciousness of what it portended, then was
+abruptly aware that a stream of bullets was ripping through his
+fuselage.
+
+A Heinkel had slid up behind him from nowhere and its smoking guns were
+streaming hot, leaden death at him. For a moment he was too amazed to
+properly meet this unexpected danger. He had a curious feeling that it
+was after _him_. That it wasn't merely a stray enemy plane making chance
+contact. It was an absurd thought, but it gripped him strongly and he
+couldn't shake it off.
+
+Another burst of lead hosed from the Heinkel. Stan rolled the Spitfire
+to the left, then pulled it up tight and hard. The Heinkel shot under
+him, went into a loop, then faked a turnover. Stan smiled grimly.
+
+"That won't fool me, son," he muttered. He leveled off fast and eased
+over into a three hundred yard safety zone. Setting the Spit on her ear,
+he faced the Heinkel, testing his Brownings as he slid into place.
+
+The Jerry was a crack flier. The Heinkel came in with a roaring thrust,
+her Madsen slugs drilling away at the Spitfire. Stan heard the stingers
+zipping through his fuselage. A blue flame began playing up and down
+over a hole in his fuel tank.
+
+"Well," Stan muttered sourly. "I'll have to put a stop to this, or
+else----"
+
+He sent the Spitfire off to the right like a streak. The Heinkel zoomed
+past, building altitude for a death thrust. Stan cracked the throttle
+wide open and kicked in the emergency booster. The Merlin answered
+splendidly.
+
+Glancing into his mirror he took in the setup, then faked a steep climb.
+Up he went, 500 feet, then sent the Spitfire into a screaming back-over
+roll, holding his ship upside down until he was behind the Heinkel and
+above it. Then he dropped the Spitfire as though she were crippled. This
+placed him under the Heinkel and he went up. The Jerry was now trying to
+make a run for it. Stan saw a spread of fuselage and a wing through his
+windscreen and he pressed the gun button. The Brownings spat fire and
+lead. The Jerry was trapped and knew it. He swayed and rocked and
+twisted in an attempt to get away. The bullets drilled out again, a
+four-second burst.
+
+Fire and smoke rolled out of the port motor. The flames licked in around
+the stricken ship. A rancid whiff came to Stan and reminded him that
+his own fuel tank was on fire. It would be only a matter of seconds
+until he would be in a flaming coffin himself.
+
+The Merlin was still hitting beautifully. Stan squirmed about and jerked
+loose a fire extinguisher. He turned the handle and pumped frantically.
+The liquid spray feathered out and blanketed the fire. Stan sucked in a
+deep breath and looked down at the plummeting Heinkel. The Jerry was
+trying to bail out, but he wasn't making much headway. Stan nosed down
+and watched the struggle.
+
+He was sorry for the pilot but it was not pity that made him circle
+lower and check the field toward which the Heinkel was spinning. Stan
+wanted to ask that Jerry a few questions, and the Jerry had to be
+rescued from his firetrap or he couldn't do it.
+
+The Heinkel turned over, flattened and eased up, then plunged into a
+tangle of bushes beside a road. Stan gauged the rolling field which
+spread beside the road. He could have set a Hurricane down on that field
+easily, but a Spitfire was different. Her landing gear was high and
+narrow. He side-slipped and leveled off, then skimmed over the grass
+and bumped down, jerking and swaying. The Spitfire rolled up to within a
+safe distance from the burning plane and Stan leaped out.
+
+The Jerry had almost made it out of the plane. He was draped over the
+side with his parachute harness caught in the smashed hatch cover.
+Risking an explosion which would have finished them both, Stan jerked
+the pilot loose and dragged him a safe distance from his ship. They were
+less than fifty feet from the Heinkel, when her tank cut loose and
+billows of smoke and flame rolled up, licking at the grass and brush.
+
+The Heinkel's pilot sat on the grass. He watched his ship vanish and his
+face worked. If it had not been for the Royal Air Force pilot bending
+over him, he would at that moment be frying to a crisp. He shuddered and
+licked his lips.
+
+Stan gave his attention to the fellow's wounds. He was badly hit in the
+shoulder and bleeding freely. His face was white.
+
+"Who tipped you off that I'd be flying solo along this route?" Stan
+demanded.
+
+The Nazi lifted blue eyes to Stan and shook his head grimly.
+
+"Better talk, son, you are bleeding plenty."
+
+"That would be revealing a military secret," the Nazi said in clipped
+English.
+
+"I suppose you think I followed regulations and war rules in ducking
+down into this pile of rocks to drag you out of your crate?" Stan's eyes
+were cold and hard.
+
+The Jerry coughed and smiled weakly. "I am indebted to you," he said
+slowly.
+
+"If I don't get you to a doctor, you'll be as bad off as if you were
+still in that bonfire," Stan snapped. "Talk and I'll see what I can do.
+And hand me that Luger." He reached down and jerked the officer's gun
+from him. The Nazi had been too weak to make fast use of it.
+
+"I suppose you are right." The officer coughed again and his hand
+slipped to his breast where his tunic was fast becoming soaked with
+blood.
+
+"I might as well talk." Fear was showing in his eyes.
+
+"Good. Who tipped you off?"
+
+"A man who has quite an inside position with you. His name is--" The
+Jerry paused and coughed.
+
+"Yes?" Stan bent and steadied him. He was afraid the Nazi would pass out
+before he spoke again.
+
+"Arch Garret," the Nazi said, then went limp in Stan's arms.
+
+Stan stared down in the gray face for a moment. His lips were drawn into
+a tight line and his eyes were blazing. Then he remembered his promise
+to the unconscious Nazi. Picking the man up he carried him to the stone
+fence which separated the field from the road.
+
+An old car had halted and a man and a woman sat staring at the smoking
+Nazi plane and the trim Spitfire. When Stan appeared they started to get
+the old car into action.
+
+"Wait!" Stan shouted.
+
+The man recognized Stan's uniform and a broad smile came to his lips. He
+halted the car and waited while Stan carried the wounded man to the
+roadside.
+
+"Can you get him to a doctor at once?" he asked.
+
+"Verra easy," the man said.
+
+"Take him to a doctor, then notify your authorities that you have a
+Nazi prisoner. You should get a handsome reward for such a prize. He is
+a pilot and pilots are valuable."
+
+The man and the woman began to talk at the same time. Stan loaded the
+wounded officer into the back seat and waved to the pair. Turning, he
+headed for his Spitfire.
+
+Stan plugged the hole in his gas tank and warmed the Spitfire a bit,
+then rolled her to the far end of the field. There was some question as
+to whether he could make off the rough field, but he was in a terrible
+hurry and did not care to wait for help.
+
+With a last careful survey of the grass runway he was off. The Spitfire
+rocked and dipped her wings and swayed drunkenly, but she lifted and
+cleared the stone fence. Now that he was in the air Stan had to decide
+what he should do about Arch Garret. As he circled for altitude, he
+tried to figure it out.
+
+He had a hunch Garret was just a cog in a bad machine. He was the
+logical man to shove into the middle of things and the British were
+eagerly picking up overseas pilots. The Royal Air Force was well filled
+with Australians, New Zealanders, Canadians, and others from the empire
+at large. Garret was a Canadian citizen, even though he had spent his
+last few years in the United States. Now it was very clear why Moon
+Flight had missed the bombers until they had done their work of
+destruction.
+
+The question was whether he should fly back and report--or whether he
+should call Wing Commander Farrell and have secret agents put on
+Garret's trail. Garret would undoubtedly have an airtight alibi. And he
+certainly had backing that went high up. Stan might just make a fool out
+of himself. After all, the whole thing sounded like a tall story.
+
+He finally decided to go on to the navy base and then send for Allison
+and O'Malley at once. They would believe him and help him. He would have
+a good crew of mechanics at the field to slap the Hawks together quickly
+and might be able to get them off in one day. Then there was one other
+thing that tipped the balance in favor of going on. This was pretty much
+a personal matter between himself and Arch Garret. This was the second
+time Garret had tried to wipe him out.
+
+Heading north he drove along and did not see any more Heinkels. He was
+hailed by a scouting squadron from the fleet arm.
+
+"Where to, Spitfire?" called a very English voice over the radio.
+
+"Navy base. Shetlands," Stan called back.
+
+"Good luck and cheerio, Yank," came back the English voice.
+
+Stan grinned broadly. His western accent sure marked him well. He bored
+ahead, his eyes seeing far into the distance, his mind working upon the
+crooked plotting of Arch Garret.
+
+He spotted the naval base and circled around to give the boys at the
+batteries a chance to see who he was, then set down and turned the
+Spitfire over to a ground crew. Taking his file of papers he headed for
+the commander's quarters.
+
+The commander was an affable man, ruddy-faced and square-jawed. He had
+heard about Stan and O'Malley's attack upon the pocket battleship.
+
+"I was so inquisitive about those ships I had them unloaded and
+uncovered. They are beauties, sir. But I can't see what you'll want
+with so much motor."
+
+"I'll show you," Stan promised. "Now I want to make a call back to
+London and then I want a squad of your best mechanics. I have to get
+these Hawks into action at once."
+
+"You will get all the help you can use," the commander promised.
+
+Stan got Wing Commander Farrell on the wire and talked to him. He did
+not report the brush with the Heinkel, though he would have to mention
+it in his written report. And he did not mention Arch Garret. When he
+asked that Allison and O'Malley be sent up at once, the O.C. hesitated.
+
+"We have been having poor luck keeping the bombers out," he said. "I'll
+have to replace you three and add six more Spitfires, if I can get
+them."
+
+"I need them at once. The sooner you get them up here, the sooner we'll
+be back to help you."
+
+"I have an old Defiant they can both pile into," the O.C. finally said.
+"I'll get them off tomorrow before daylight."
+
+Stan waited a few minutes, then put in a call for Allison. Presently
+the Britisher's drawl came in over the wire clearly:
+
+"What's the matter, Yank, grounded in some cow pasture?"
+
+"I landed in one but didn't like it," Stan said with a laugh. "I'm
+calling from the navy base."
+
+"What's up?"
+
+"Just this. I'm sending for you fellows and you will get orders to leave
+just before daylight. Look out for clouds. Fly that old Defiant low and
+watch for Heinkels. And tonight, if there's a raid, just you duck in the
+opposite direction from the way the Squadron Leader orders. I'll spin
+you a yarn when you get up here. Keep mum but pass the word to the boys
+to follow you if there's a raid."
+
+"Well, really, old man, you know O'Malley and I can keep still and we
+can get orders mixed up badly."
+
+"See you tomorrow." Stan hung up.
+
+That night Stan slept soundly. He was still snoring away when the bugler
+outside his window blew first call. The moment his eyes opened he tossed
+aside the blankets and jumped out of bed. He wolfed his breakfast and
+was out on the field and headed for the hangar where the three Hawks
+were taking flying shape.
+
+Allison and O'Malley came in before nine o'clock. Allison was flying the
+ship. He smiled thinly at Stan as he climbed out.
+
+"I brought her up here. When you mentioned Heinkels, O'Malley was for
+hunting in the clouds a bit."
+
+"I hated to waste a good trip," O'Malley complained.
+
+"The boys at the factory sent the Hawks out almost ready to fly. We'll
+be in London tonight," Stan said.
+
+O'Malley's eyes were on the three Hawks which had been rolled out into
+the sunshine in front of the hangar.
+
+"'Twill be swell flyin' a ship that hasn't been all daubed up and
+smeared with messy paint," he said.
+
+"We'll fly them in without camouflage," Stan agreed.
+
+Five minutes later O'Malley and Allison were helping with the Hawks.
+O'Malley was burning up to be off, but the fighters had to be carefully
+checked. As they worked Allison told Stan how they had been chased by
+three Messerschmitts.
+
+"If you hadn't warned us, and if we hadn't decided to change our time of
+departure, we might have had plenty of trouble," Allison said.
+
+Stan came around from behind one of the Hawks. "I might as well tell you
+the whole yarn while the boys are tuning up the motors," he said.
+
+They sat on a bench in the sun while Stan told what had happened to him
+on his trip over. When he came to the part about making the Jerry talk,
+and name Garret, O'Malley leaped to his feet.
+
+"Splinter me rudder!" he shouted. "I'm fer kitin' back this minnit. Wait
+till I get me hands on that spalpeen!"
+
+"No use to go off half-cocked," Stan warned. "We need to catch Garret
+red-handed. I figure we'll get a few real spies along with him. But we
+won't be on schedule. Garret has a way of finding out what's going on in
+the O.C.'s office. He will tip off the Nazis and they'll be waiting to
+gang up on us."
+
+"Sure, an' that's just what we want," O'Malley broke in. "They gang up
+an' we spatter the smithereens out of them."
+
+Stan shook his head, but he had to laugh, O'Malley looked so wild.
+"We'll be doing much better service trapping Garret and his rats."
+
+"Stan is right, old fellow," Allison said grimly.
+
+"I want to know what you fellows think of our handling this just among
+ourselves? We can keep Garret from sidetracking Moon Flight when a raid
+comes over. And we can round up the snakes he's working with at the same
+time."
+
+"How about tonight? Suppose the Jerries hit tonight?" Allison asked.
+
+"We'll get off early and be there for any raid. I'll ask the naval
+commander not to report us out until midnight. That will throw Garret
+off," Stan said.
+
+"How soon can we hit the trail?" O'Malley asked.
+
+"Two or three hours will have them in shape. You come with me and I'll
+show you all you need to know about a Hawk to make her do things," he
+said to Allison.
+
+Stan and Allison headed toward the nearest ship. O'Malley stretched
+himself out in the sun and closed his eyes. He figured he already knew
+more about a Hawk than the Hendee aeronautical officials.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+GROUND SLEUTHING
+
+
+Three Hendee Hawks nosed out across the navy field and roared south.
+Stan's ship formed the spearhead of a sharp V. O'Malley refused to keep
+still. He sang and talked about everything he could think of, which was
+a wide range of subjects. Allison held the right hand slot and said
+nothing. Stan held the big motor up ahead of him at a pace that would
+have ripped the pistons out of any other ship. He felt at home with the
+engine up in front of him instead of at his back.
+
+The take-off had been later than he had planned, but with the terrific
+cruising speed the Hawks could maintain, they would reach London early.
+Dusk filled the earth below and the stars came out. Stan couldn't shake
+off the feeling that there was need for speed. He could not drive that
+uneasiness out of his mind or bury it under other thoughts. He was sure
+Allison was as worried as he. O'Malley didn't appear to have a worry at
+all.
+
+Hours later they sighted London. They sighted it because of the thick
+muck of flaming shells and the searchlights knifing back and forth
+through the mass of bursting steel. The Jerries were at it again and
+seemed to have slipped inside the balloons and the ring of Ack-Ack guns.
+
+"Looks like more of Garret's dirty work," Allison snarled.
+
+"That sneakin' spalpeen! Just let me cross his trail this night. He'll
+find out what sixteen Brownings can do," O'Malley rumbled.
+
+"Don't shoot him down," Stan ordered grimly. "And keep your mouth shut
+about him."
+
+The three Hendee Hawks came roaring down upon the nice party the Jerries
+had planned. The Spitfires were up, but they were off their contact.
+Though they were now roaring back to give battle, they were too late to
+save the city from a terrible beating, unless the Hawks succeeded in
+breaking up the formation. Stan imagined he could hear the Stuka
+leader's voice crackling in over the radio.
+
+"Left wheel, dive bombers 6, 8, 10 attack positions 27, 39, 49."
+
+He knew such a command had been given because a mass of Stukas, marked
+clearly by the searchlights and the fires below, were swooping down.
+They were very low over the city, far below the Hawks.
+
+"Peel off and go into action. Break the spearhead," Stan snapped into
+his flap mike.
+
+The Hawks peeled off and went down, O'Malley first, then Stan, and then
+Allison. The drone of their motors was terrific and their pilots were
+slapped back against their shock pads and held there. Down Stan went,
+straight for the leading Stuka. The bombers had not started peeling off
+so there was still time.
+
+The leading Stuka never knew where the lightning came from. With a
+swastika backed by a red field in his windscreen, Stan pressed the gun
+button and sliced through the middle of the killer, breaking it into
+almost two separate parts.
+
+The Hawk faded to the right and another Stuka rolled past him, unaware
+that death was dropping from the sky. Stan put her up 200 feet; and
+then, his motor screaming, he laid over and was upon the Stuka, his guns
+belching death. The bomber staggered and winged over, spilling men out
+of her hull like sacks out of a van.
+
+Savagely, Stan rolled and twisted seeking another target. O'Malley had
+gotten into the formation first and he was taking it apart with a
+display of aerial gymnastics that made the Jerries forget anything but
+escape. Allison was cutting away far to the left and the carefully
+planned blitz was already a fearful rout, with death as the lot of most
+of the killers. Scattered, they zoomed and dived, seeking only to
+escape. As they went twisting out of their formations, low over the
+city, the cables of death claimed many victims.
+
+Then the Spitfires of Moon Flight came roaring in from a wild chase to
+the east and the rout was complete. Within a few minutes the astonished
+gunners and the men at the lights below began to realize that somehow
+what had seemed certain to be a terrible _luftwaffe_ had been turned
+into a victory. The Ack-Ack boys laid off. Then Moon Flight plus Red
+Flight bored upward to see how many Messerschmitts Herr Goering had sent
+along as fighter planes. The ME's came cascading downward, eager to see
+their charges safely home. There was a flight of forty and another of
+fifty. They were met by three streaking silver planes that carried no
+dull paint and looked like commercial craft out for a spree. The three
+had out-climbed the Spitfires.
+
+Stan swerved to the right to give O'Malley room. He had outflown the
+Irishman and was grinning. O'Malley still had a few things to learn
+about a Hawk before he could get everything out of his big engine. He
+slashed into the formation with guns raking the descending ships. Past
+them he flashed and bored on into the darkness. When he got back into
+position again, the Spitfires had arrived and the Messerschmitts were
+scattering and ducking into the night.
+
+"Calling the Hawks. Calling the Hawks," Stan called.
+
+"Sure, an' it was a poor show," O'Malley's voice came in. "This colleen
+has the need of two big eyes to see where the spalpeens go when they
+run away."
+
+"This will be nice news for the Nazis to broadcast," Allison called.
+
+"Moon Flight, come in. Moon Flight, come in. Enemy dispersed." The call
+was from the field below.
+
+Then Garret's voice broke in. "Squadron Leader of Moon Flight reporting.
+Enemy dispersed with many casualties. Two of our fighters left
+formation."
+
+"Bah," Stan heard O'Malley growl.
+
+They went down with the Spitfires and rolled into the floodlights. The
+O.C. was there and very much excited. Before Stan could reach the door
+of the briefing room Farrell had him.
+
+"We watched the show, what we could see of it. Those Hawks were great.
+But how did you come to disregard my orders as to the hour of your
+leaving the naval base?"
+
+Stan smiled. "Don't you think it lucky we did, sir?"
+
+"It was more than lucky. Many lives would have been lost and much damage
+done. I'm afraid we would have come in for some stiff criticism." He
+shook his head. "Garret gets off slow, but this is the second time he
+has cleaned up."
+
+The O.C. hurried away, still shaking his head. Stan barged into the room
+and reported as a part of Moon Flight. The briefing officer hesitated
+about putting down the three Hawks.
+
+"We have no planes of that type or name," he complained.
+
+"Step yerself out to the field an' have a look," O'Malley suggested.
+
+Stan was watching Garret narrowly. The Squadron Leader was scowling
+bleakly as he moved up to the desk. He seemed in a great hurry. Stan
+kicked O'Malley on the shin and left without filling out a report.
+Allison stayed to make the regulation report in detail and to answer
+questions fired at him about the new ship. O'Malley failed to take
+Stan's hint and stayed to have his say about the Hawks.
+
+Stan hurried to his quarters and got out of his flying togs. He wasn't
+officially on duty and he had a few things he wanted to do. He headed
+along the hallway, keeping out of sight. Garret came in and he was
+almost running. He charged into his room and Stan heard him changing
+clothes. Suddenly there was no sound at all from the room and Stan
+slipped to the door. Garret was supposed to be on duty, ready to go up
+again in case another raid came over. He listened carefully, then tried
+the knob. The door was open and he looked into the room.
+
+What Stan saw made him shove inside at once. Garret had vanished, but in
+his haste he had left a trail. One window was open. Stan saw clothes
+tossed about showing the haste with which he had changed. He leaped to
+the window and slipped out, letting himself to the ground.
+
+As he pushed aside a thick bush near the wall he saw the street dimly.
+There was no one on it wearing a Royal Air Force uniform. The only
+person on the dark street was a man in civilian clothes. Stan stared
+hard for a moment, then sucked in his breath and started after the man,
+who was sauntering swiftly into the darkness.
+
+At the first shaded light Stan realized that the man he was trailing was
+Garret, and that the officer was in a big hurry. He strode along,
+pausing now and then to peer back and to listen. Stan used the tactics
+he had learned in Colorado while hunting mule deer. He moved when
+Garret moved and stopped when Garret stopped. Sliding along noiselessly
+he shifted from one patch of black shadow to another.
+
+Stan did not remember how many blocks they walked, but he knew where he
+was in a general way. When Garret ducked down a flight of narrow steps,
+Stan moved up and listened. The opening below was black dark. He heard a
+door open but saw no light. Then he heard a guttural voice challenging
+Garret. After that the door closed and there were no other sounds.
+
+Stan listened for a full minute. As he stood there unmoving, a part of
+the black shadow along the wall, he considered the situation. He had
+left his gun in his room. He was unarmed and those below would have
+guns. A burning desire glowed within him, a desire to have a look at the
+men Garret was meeting. Carefully he felt his way down the stairs and
+located the door.
+
+The knob turned soundlessly under pressure but the door was locked.
+Moving back up the stairs, Stan stood looking at the old house which
+rose above the basement where Garret had entered. The house was one of
+a row that had been hit by several demolition bombs. Most of the upper
+and the first story had been wrecked and the debris had not yet been
+cleared away. That was strange, because most of the other houses in the
+row had been damaged, too, but had been repaired.
+
+Stan moved up the front steps, picking his way through a litter of brick
+and broken timbers. He saw a doorway ahead, with a door sagging open
+upon smashed hinges. Moving slowly and carefully Stan entered the room.
+A pile of plaster and brick lay on the floor with some broken furniture
+stacked in a corner. He was about to turn away, knowing that anyone
+below would hear footsteps above, when he saw a beam of light coming up
+through the floor.
+
+Moving very slowly he crossed to the center of the room and bent down. A
+torn rug lay under a pile of bricks and the rug covered a broken board
+in the floor. Stan got down on his hands and knees. With great care he
+slid the rug back a little and more light shone through the hole in the
+floor. Stan lay down and put his eye to the hole.
+
+He could see very clearly everything in the basement below the wrecked
+house. There was a table directly under him and on it stood a portable
+short-wave radio sending and receiving set. A light, swung from the
+ceiling, flooded the table and the room.
+
+A little hunchbacked fellow sat before the radio with earphones clamped
+over a shiny bald head. Three men sat across the table from the radio
+operator. One of them held Stan's attention. He was a short,
+thick-shouldered man with a bullethead that was covered with bristling,
+cropped hair. His eyes bulged and his mouth was a grim slash across his
+face. On the table at his elbow lay an English fire warden's hat. He was
+tapping the table with a thick finger and talking to Garret.
+
+Garret sat beside the radioman, his face black and dour. It was plain
+the man had been giving Garret a tongue lashing. The other two men,
+seated beside the speaker, looked to Stan like London wharf rats.
+
+"Herr Kohle, you are a blundering fool. Seventeen bombers were lost
+tonight, and because you failed to do your duty. The _Kommandant_ will
+hear of this," the bullet-headed man snarled.
+
+"But, Herr Naggel, I followed instructions. The O.C. ordered the three
+to return in the morning and that order was sent to you by Mickle,"
+Garret whined.
+
+Stan made a note of the name Mickle. He had a hunch an orderly or a
+mechanic would be put on the spot once that name was traced to its
+owner.
+
+"Now that the great blitzkrieg is set for an hour before daylight we
+cannot afford to take chances. You must do your part as planned." Herr
+Naggel spread a map on the table. "Here we have the concentrations of
+planes in Belgium, in France and in Norway. One thousand planes will
+come over London. There will be no city left tomorrow night. We will
+walk out and join the refugees pouring out of London, and then make
+contact with the parachute troops and the men from the gliders." He
+smiled wolfishly and licked his lips. "Those gliders are ready. You
+should see them. Three for each pilot plane and each will have its
+squad of men. At 20,000 feet the pilot plane will cut them loose and
+they will glide down upon England without a sound." He laughed softly.
+
+"They say there will always be an England. Bah. England is done." He
+glared at Garret. "When the decoy bombers come over, you will lead your
+flight after them. Now that they have increased your squadron to twenty
+Spitfires, and the three American planes, they could do much damage.
+With early dawn light to fly by they might break up the whole plan."
+
+"I will take them on a chase that will lead them so far away they won't
+get back. Send a big flight of Messerschmitts in after my squadron
+contacts the decoy bombers and have them start a dogfight. They never
+quit as long as there is anything left to fight. But you better send
+plenty of fighters."
+
+"That is planned," Naggel said gruffly. "We cannot control the other
+flights that will go up, but yours is the key defense unit, the best
+they have, and it is most important in our plans."
+
+Stan bent forward and strained his eyes to see the markings on the map.
+He wanted to know where those three concentrations of invasion planes
+were. He was able to spot them because they were marked upon the map
+with red circles. He was pressing his face against the boards to see
+better when one foot slipped a little. His right boot scraped across the
+floor.
+
+Naggel did not stop talking and none of the others seemed to have heard.
+One of the men beside Naggel lighted a cigarette and leaned back. The
+radioman turned a dial and began talking softly into the portable mike.
+Stan could not hear what he said.
+
+Slowly Stan got to his feet. He had the information he wanted. The thing
+to do was to beat the Jerries to the punch. The Royal Air Force would
+blast every one of those air fields and get the enemy on the ground. But
+he had to get to headquarters at once, everything depended upon speed.
+Only a few hours remained for the job.
+
+Stan slipped through the wrecked door and paused for a moment. As he
+started to move down the steps a dark shadow loomed behind him. Before
+he could leap aside a hard object crashed down upon his head. Red and
+white lights danced before his eyes and stabbing pains racked him. Then
+he slid slowly forward and fell on his face.
+
+When Stan opened his eyes he was sitting in a chair with his head
+hanging on one side. He shook his head and groaned, then focused his
+gaze upon the leering face of Herr Naggel.
+
+"You would listen?" Herr Naggel said slowly.
+
+Stan said nothing. He expected no mercy from the men who had taken him
+prisoner. His head was splitting and he felt weak and sick. A thought
+stabbed through the pain. They had heard him when his foot slipped. The
+man at the radio had called to someone near by. His sky fighter training
+had been poor preparation for ground sleuthing, Stan decided.
+
+"We will be gone in a few minutes, and when we go, we will leave a
+little comrade with you." Herr Naggel motioned to a large grenade
+sitting on the table. As Stan fixed his gaze upon the grenade he
+realized that the radioman had gone, and had taken the portable set with
+him. Garret was gone, too, and he was alone with Naggel and his two
+rats.
+
+Stan made another discovery. He was not bound. Likely the spies had not
+had rope or wire to make him fast, or they were sure their heavy Luger
+pistols would keep him in his place. Herr Naggel tapped the iron case of
+the grenade.
+
+"The little one cannot be kept from exploding once the pin is removed. I
+will pull the pin and lock the door." He smiled and his mouth twisted at
+the corners.
+
+Stan rose to his feet. He was not so bad off as he had thought. Dizzy,
+but not out by any means. He staggered and swayed, putting on as good a
+show of grogginess as he could. Herr Naggel seemed to relish watching
+him struggle to remain on his feet.
+
+The thing that was pounding away inside Stan's head was the question:
+"How long was I out? How much time have I left?" He was not thinking
+about the almost certain death that stared him in the face. Naggel
+pulled out a big silver watch and looked at it.
+
+"Two o'clock," he muttered. "We must wait fifteen minutes."
+
+Stan almost showed his relief. There was still time! At that moment
+someone in the street above began shouting and screaming. Car brakes
+ground and there was a crashing noise. The blackout had claimed another
+victim of blind driving. Involuntarily the eyes of Herr Naggel and his
+men turned toward the door.
+
+Lightning thought brought lightning action to Stan Wilson. It was no
+planned or prepared action, just wild, whirlwind action that was
+launched in the flicker of an eye-brow.
+
+With one hand Stan clamped down upon Herr Naggel's Luger; he lunged in
+close to the squat Nazi. In the same movement he sent a right smashing
+across to the jaw of the spy. Herr Naggel let out a gusty grunt and
+rocked back on his heels, then went down in a limp pile on the floor.
+
+Jerking the Luger free, Stan swept it upon the two rats. "Down on your
+faces," he gritted. "Flat on the floor or I'll shoot!"
+
+Stark fear leaped into the eyes of the two men and they tumbled flat on
+the floor, sprawling there with faces covered. Then Stan saw Herr Naggel
+pulling himself slowly up to the table. A wild, crazy light flamed in
+the eyes of the spy. Stan made a lightning decision.
+
+It made his flesh creep to think of shooting these men, but he dared not
+leave them in the cellar, and there was nothing to bind and gag them
+with. If he left them, they might get away and send word through the
+vanished radioman to the Jerry squadrons awaiting the zero hour.
+
+He was saved from any solution of his own planning by Herr Naggel. The
+spy reached over, after getting to his feet, and grasped the grenade.
+Jerking out the pin he hurled the grenade at Stan's head. Stan ducked
+and the bomb struck the wall and bounded back. It spun around and came
+to rest a few feet from the door.
+
+"We all die. The plan shall not fail!" Herr Naggel screamed hoarsely.
+
+Stan leaped over the grenade and halted before the door. He jerked at it
+but it was locked. There was no time to get a key from the men. Behind
+him he heard Naggel's insane laugh. He brought the Luger down and
+blasted away at the lock. It shattered and the door opened.
+
+Stan dived into the blackness outside, kicking the door shut as he went
+out. He had stumbled only one step when the whole wall of the basement
+burst outward and he was hurled up the steps and sent sprawling out into
+the street.
+
+Stan swayed, sagged forward, then pitched on his face upon the hard
+street. A trickle of blood ran from the corners of his mouth. His eyes
+closed slowly, glassily. He lay still, a twisted, inert bundle of flesh.
+
+A few minutes later car brakes screeched and a black roadster with
+hooded lights came to a halt. Two police officers jumped out. The dim
+lights were fixed upon the body of a man lying face down in the street.
+They lifted Stan to his feet and revived him after a few minutes of
+work.
+
+Stan blinked his eyes and took one big gulp of air. He began talking in
+jerky sentences, repeating over and over.
+
+"Get me to M Section of the Royal Air Force."
+
+"That's as close as any first aid station," one of the officers said as
+he looked at Stan's uniform. "And I'm thinking he belongs there."
+
+They helped Stan into the car and sped away. Stan wiggled his arms and
+legs and decided he had been hit a hard jolt in the back which had
+knocked the breath out of him and shocked him badly, but otherwise he
+was all right.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+PLENTY OF TROUBLE
+
+
+Stan Wilson followed by O'Malley and Allison barged into Wing Commander
+Farrell's office. Before them marched Arch Garret with a Luger shoved
+into the small of his back. The O.C. leaped to his feet. He had been
+nodding in his chair and thought he must be dreaming. He quickly changed
+his mind.
+
+Stan told his story in brief, clipped sentences. Farrell did not
+interrupt. When he had finished Garret broke in before the O.C. could
+say anything. He was not the defiant and arrogant lieutenant he had
+been. Fear showed in his eyes and his voice was shaking.
+
+"I'll talk if it will save me from a firing squad," he begged.
+
+"I may try but I do not think any power will save you," Farrell said
+sternly. "But you had better talk for the sake of your own conscience."
+
+"They had me where they wanted me. My father was in Germany, in a
+concentration camp. I had to do what they ordered." Sweat was standing
+out in big drops on Garret's forehead. "I was straight and did my job
+until they got to me."
+
+"That's why you got where you are and why you were not released after
+your first bad report. Your past record was fine." The O.C. dropped back
+into his chair. He jerked a phone from its cradle. He was looking
+intently at Garret as he clicked the receiver. "Go on, talk. I'll do
+what I can for you."
+
+"The radioman is at 30 Elm Inn," Garret babbled. "He is to wait there
+for word from Herr Naggel. When Naggel gives the word, all will be clear
+for the attack."
+
+"Naggel won't send any messages," Stan said grimly, remembering the
+terrible explosion which had blown him clear out into the street.
+
+The O.C. had gotten his man and was barking into the phone. He kept on
+putting through calls and talking to Stan and Allison and O'Malley at
+the same time.
+
+"Get a guard, O'Malley, and turn Garret over to him. Wilson, stand by.
+Allison, get back to the mess and see that all of the men stand by ready
+for action."
+
+Stan watched the O.C. with admiration. He was a demon for getting things
+done in a speedy and effective manner. Stan handed his Luger to
+O'Malley. The Irishman prodded Garret with it.
+
+"Get a move on, ye skulkin' hyena," O'Malley growled.
+
+They moved out of the room with O'Malley telling the wilted Garret what
+he thought of him.
+
+"We can get a crack at them before daylight, if headquarters will let us
+pull an immediate raid." The O.C. held the receiver jammed to his ear
+with one hand while he fished into a drawer with the other. He found a
+cigar and bit the end off, then clamped the cigar between his teeth.
+Speaking out of the side of his mouth, he went on.
+
+"How did you come to bag Garret?"
+
+"I found him in the mess, sir. He was sitting there waiting for the call
+to action he was sure was coming. He had warned all of the boys against
+loose flying. They had strict orders to stick close to him," Stan said.
+
+"This is one raid they won't put over, thanks to you, Wilson."
+
+"We can blast them at their bases," Stan said eagerly. "They'll be
+grounded and waiting, saving their gas and getting ragged nerves while
+they wait."
+
+"Ragged nerves?" The O.C. had his man on the phone and began barking at
+him, arguing furiously. He waved his cigar and pounded the desk and
+bellowed. Five minutes later he clamped the receiver into place and
+swung around to face Stan. Wiping the sweat from his face, he said:
+
+"That was the Air Ministry."
+
+Stan grinned. "I take it you convinced them, sir."
+
+"Convinced them? I routed them!" Farrell found a match and lighted his
+frayed cigar. Getting to his feet, he added. "We're off for those bases
+and this time I fly myself. I have been wanting to see how this show
+stacks up with the last one, and now I'm going to find out."
+
+Stan followed him out into the night. After that things happened with
+lightning speed. Stan lost track of all the things they did and the
+places they went.
+
+First of all, the radioman was caught with all of his equipment. The
+hunchback cracked when faced with the grim prospect of facing a firing
+squad within a half-hour. His code book revealed a complicated mass of
+information which was deciphered at once, with some assistance from him.
+Exact locations were charted and objectives laid out. All of it was done
+on the run.
+
+Before the officers were through with the radioman, a message was sent
+out to the Nazis holding up the attack until further instructions were
+given. The message was in code and properly sent so that it would be
+received by the enemy as an order from their key man in London. Herr
+Naggel's secret code number was signed to it.
+
+Then there was a cold and clearheaded gathering around the big map in
+the central control room. Four flights would go out. Not just four
+ordinary flights, but four all-out invasion formations with all the
+punch the Royal Air Force could put behind them.
+
+Red Flight, with its three deadly Hawks, was assigned to go with the
+long-range Consolidateds over France to the base from which the biggest
+of the Jerry bombers would take off. This would be the first wave sent
+over, because it had the longest route. It would be protected by the
+Hawks and by Defiants equipped for long-range flying. At last Stan got
+away from the O.C. and dashed to the mess.
+
+He had secured three capable gunners to take along because he expected
+an opportunity to do some ground strafing. The early morning sky was
+cloudy with high fog and black clouds. If the weather held all the way
+over, they would be able to stage a real surprise.
+
+In the mess he found Judd and McCumber and Kelley talking with Allison
+and O'Malley. Other men were gathered in small groups. The tension was
+high in the room.
+
+"When do we get the signal?" Judd asked. His detail was to a field in
+Belgium.
+
+"Any minute now," Stan said. He looked over Judd's head and saw that
+O'Malley was munching a slab of apple pie.
+
+"Sure, an' we'll all get to go on a long vacation after this is over,"
+O'Malley said. "There won't be a Jerry left in the sky."
+
+Stan smiled but back of the smile there was a feeling of grimness. A lot
+of the eager youngsters gathered in that room would not come back.
+
+"I'll see that you get your vacation in a pie factory," he promised.
+
+Three sergeants came in and stood waiting. Stan went to them.
+
+"Kent, Ames, and Martin, sir, reporting as gunners," one of the men
+said.
+
+"Fine. Come along and I'll give you a one minute lesson on the guns
+you'll use, though you likely don't need it." He turned to Allison.
+"Pack out my togs, will you?"
+
+"I'll bring a helmet and a chute," Allison drawled. "The Nazis will make
+it so hot for you, you won't need a fur suit."
+
+Stan grinned in response to Allison's casual manner. Both knew this
+would be the most important action they had yet been engaged in, that it
+would be one of the most terrific and devastating raids staged during
+the entire war, yet it was best to kid about it. That was the only way
+to relieve the tension all of them were under, keep them cool and
+collected until the shooting actually started.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+LUFTWAFFE IN REVERSE
+
+
+The night was cloudy but there was little low fog. In a dozen scattered
+flight centers men were busy. Coveralled ground squads swarmed around
+fighter planes, medium bombers and long-range giants whose lettering B Y
+3, painted there by Yank builders, had been smeared over with British
+lacquer. Exhausts flamed, bomb trucks trundled in and out, while pilots
+and gunners checked rigging and outfits. The big show was on, the
+biggest the Royal Air Force had ever planned.
+
+Stan and O'Malley and Allison waited with their gunners near them. They
+had checked the Hendee Hawks so many times they could see every detail
+of the ships if they closed their eyes. O'Malley had come near being
+recommended for court-martial when he battled the O.C. over an order to
+carry extra gasoline instead of racks of bombs.
+
+"Didn't we blow up a pocket battleship?" he argued sourly.
+
+"After Jerry serves us up a welcome reception we'll talk," Allison said.
+"I'm expecting it to be hot."
+
+At that moment the intersquadron speaker began to rattle off clipped
+orders. Every man was on his feet instantly. The moment had come for
+them to take off. Number 30 swarmed out on the field. Allison was in
+command again, Stan had insisted upon that arrangement. Allison was cold
+and calculating, Stan Wilson was a fighter and wanted action. Anyway,
+Allison had earned that right to lead. He was the original flight
+lieutenant of Red Flight.
+
+Stan grinned eagerly as he swung himself into the cockpit and glanced
+back to see that his gunner got set. He called back over his shoulder.
+"Tight straps, Sergeant, we likely will be in a few tight spots."
+
+"Yes, sir," the gunner answered. He settled back against his shock pad
+and adjusted his belt.
+
+Strange how a fellow can always take up another notch in his belt, Stan
+thought. Then he jerked the throttle open and the Hawk roared and
+strained on the cab rank. He pinched one brake and swung around, heading
+down the field with a finger of light guiding them.
+
+"Red Flight, check your temperatures. Red Flight, are you set?"
+Allison's voice was crisp and metallic.
+
+Stan and O'Malley cleared and the Hawks swung around. The recording
+officer and the coveralled mechanics had slipped back into the darkness.
+A mobile floodlight thumped over the black field ahead, took position,
+and a yellow shaft of light slapped down the field. The adjustment was
+made on the shadow bar and the three Hawks nosed into the band of black
+and waited, trembling, ready.
+
+The signal came from the recording officer's Aldis light and they were
+off. Screeching into the night, twisting up the glory trail with the
+hydrogen gorged balloons tugging at their cables, waiting like gloating
+monsters for their victims, out of the notch and up they went.
+
+"Tight formation," Allison droned. And Stan in the right-hand slot
+shoved in closer to the roaring monster in the lead.
+
+"Contacting Liberators," Allison drawled.
+
+Stan looked out and saw the dull forms of the thirty ton battle cruisers
+of the air sliding along below. The big fellows were cutting through the
+night at a terrific pace considering their pay loads and their own
+weight. Their 4,800 horsepower hurled them on at a pace that made the
+Spitfires and the Defiants hustle.
+
+Red Flight took its place high above the drifting Liberators. Below
+would be the Defiants and on each side the Spitfires and Hurricanes. It
+was a big show and would soon be on.
+
+"St. Omer with the field at Astree Blanche as the objective," Stan
+muttered to himself. This was a change in plans made after a careful
+study of the hunchback's little book. It would not be so bad as flying
+deep into Nazi country.
+
+"Heather Raid," Stan muttered and grinned. The High Command was sending
+a great flight of bombers and fighters to blast enemy positions and
+they called it Heather Raid.
+
+"Heather Raid--Heather Raid--rendezvous--zero hour." That was the
+Squadron Leader. Stan watched and listened. Nothing more came in and
+Allison kept flying straight ahead.
+
+They were drifting along above the clouds. There was a moon and plenty
+of stars. The pale light made the squadron look like a school of fishes
+swimming through a blue-black sea. The clouds would be fine for everyone
+but the Jerries. Down below the Hurricanes would be slipping in and out
+of the clouds, watching, taking bearings, whispering up to the giants
+above, telling them what they couldn't see.
+
+"Red Flight, go down. Yellow Flight up." The Squadron Leader spoke
+tersely as though he had sighted enemy planes coming up.
+
+Stan peeled off and went down, with Allison and O'Malley trailing into
+formation. They hit the clouds, punched through and saw lights winking
+below. They were solitary lights and revealed little. Perhaps they were
+ship's lights on the channel. Then they went back up through the clouds
+and took a place below the Liberators. Stan glanced up at the big ships.
+The British had changed the name of those Consolidated B Y 3's to
+Liberator. It was a proper change, Stan thought.
+
+Suddenly a bank of cloud on the right and above was lighted with a red
+glow. A second later a Messerschmitt One-Ten came flaming down, tossing
+away parts as it spun. A broken Defiant followed it down in a wide,
+agonizing spiral.
+
+"What goes on up there?" Stan called back to his gunner.
+
+"Upper level defense units in contact, sir," the gunner answered. He had
+been on thirty-six raids across the channel and knew what to expect.
+
+"And they pulled us down to let the Defiants have the fun," Stan
+muttered.
+
+"Have a look, Red Flight," Allison's voice snapped.
+
+Down the Hawks went for a look at the ground. They saw a band of light
+swing across the ground, then steady.
+
+"Landing field lights located, port a few points," Allison droned.
+
+Almost at once the Liberators changed their tone. They began to growl
+and roar. Positions were taken and the Hawks slid up to be above the
+bombers, out of their way and into the path of diving Messerschmitts and
+Heinkels. But the lone fighter seemed to be the only enemy ship in the
+air.
+
+As Stan watched the action he realized that bombing wasn't just
+releasing a stick or two of bombs. Its complications were apparent. Far
+below them the earth had suddenly begun to erupt fire and flame. They
+were clear of the clouds and their objective was below, a circle inside
+a ring of flaming guns all pointed at the bombers. And the Liberators
+were going down with feathered propellers.
+
+Twelve thousand feet below lay their objective. The bombers were in a
+big hurry to catch the rows of black planes on the ground, to spot the
+oil reserves and to smash the surface of the runways. They slipped away
+in screaming dives and left Red Flight to watch from above.
+
+Tracer bullets trailed threads of fire upward and the muck of bursting
+shells was thick below. The Liberators were knifing straight into it.
+Red Flight went down to 8,000, there to stay on the alert. Stan saw a
+Liberator smack into a bursting shell that exploded against her
+understructure. The Liberator slid off to the side and burst into
+flames. Grimly Stan noted that no parachutes blossomed out below her as
+she shot to earth. The other bombers were through the muck of fire and
+down upon their targets.
+
+"Red Flight, strafe ground planes," ordered the voice of the Squadron
+Leader.
+
+That was why they had been pulled down. The Hendee Hawks with their
+sixteen-wing guns would deal terrible destruction to ships on the
+ground.
+
+"Sure, an' 'tis about time," O'Malley roared.
+
+Down went the three Hawks, straight at the muck of flame below. The wind
+whistled above the din of bursting shells. Stan took a deep breath. It
+was great, if you didn't meet one of those shells on its way up.
+
+The AA shells were bursting close under their noses. It seemed certain
+death to dive any farther, but they kept on diving. The sea of flames
+leaped up to smack them in the face. It roared around them, then
+vanished lighting the sky above them. Stan saw rows of planes on the
+ground. He saw them clearly. A hangar was blazing and a row of oil tanks
+was sending up a pillar of smoke and flame thousands of feet into the
+air.
+
+As Stan looked toward the flaming tanks he saw a circle of them lift and
+vanish into the air as a big bomb landed in their midst. Pulling the
+nose of his ship up he reached for the gun button, and swooped upon the
+lines of planes. On his left Allison and O'Malley were already raking
+those bombers. Stan's Brownings drilled a swath of lead across the field
+as he swept over.
+
+Up went the Hawks and over and back again. They saw the destruction
+their first dive had wrought and set about adding to it. The Liberators
+had circled and were down again, the roar of their dive shaking the
+earth and the air above it. The field where the rows of Junkers bombers
+had stood was heaving and rolling and exploding.
+
+"Up, Red Flight," came a command from Allison. "There's a real show
+going on up there."
+
+Up they went, nosing through the flaming muck. This time they had little
+trouble in breaking through. Great holes and spaces in the barrage
+showed where the bombers had spotted gun placements. O'Malley was on
+Stan's left now and Stan was flying the center slot. There had been no
+time to take regulation position. Stan saw O'Malley's Hawk lift and
+shear away from a blasting burst of steel as a shell exploded under her.
+An instant later he knew the Hawk had picked up a package of death. It
+was twisting and wobbling, but going on up.
+
+"Go in, O'Malley! Go in O'Malley," Allison was droning. "Get back
+across. Get back across."
+
+Before Stan could do anything at all, he was up through the muck, and
+then through the clouds, into a real battle. The sky was full of
+twisting, diving planes, all spitting at each other in deadly fashion.
+He was so busy keeping Messerschmitts off his tail that he lost track of
+Allison and O'Malley. He noted that there were only a few Spitfires and
+Defiants near him, though the air was literally filled with Jerries. It
+dawned on him that they might wish to force down this new plane so as
+to have a look at it. And he wasn't able to get a single swastika inside
+his sight circle. Suddenly he heard a familiar voice calling:
+
+"Heather Raid, come in. Objective successfully attacked. Heather Raid,
+come in."
+
+"Good idea," Stan agreed. He laid over and sliced into a mass of
+Messerschmitts ahead of him, opening his throttle wide and cutting in
+his booster. As he bored into the formation it opened to let him go
+through. Only one ME failed to give way. It roared straight at him as
+though bent upon ramming him. Stan's lips pulled into a tight line and
+he reached for his gun button.
+
+"Sorry, feller," he muttered. "But you don't ram me."
+
+He pressed the button but no burst answered. He was out of ammunition.
+With a yank he pulled the Hawk up, then twisted her over. The hair at
+the back of his neck lifted as his understructure raked across the hatch
+cover of the Jerry. Lead streamed below him as he flashed past.
+
+Stan kicked off his booster and headed for home. The Messerschmitts gave
+chase but they slipped away from them as easily as a swallow would
+outdistance a plover. Behind him he heard his gunner laughing.
+
+"What's up?" he called back.
+
+"I touched up that Jerry who tried to ram us, sir," the sergeant
+answered. "Potted his rudder and you should see him do stunts."
+
+Stan had completely forgotten he carried a gunner. The man had been
+silent all of the time. Now Stan knew he must have been giving an
+account of himself.
+
+"How did you make out?" he asked.
+
+"Fine, sir. I believe I made several hits."
+
+A short while later they circled above their home field and came in.
+Lights blazed on the field for the first time since Stan had been flying
+from it. Number 30 would be lighted up for an hour at least, in spite of
+raiders. This was by way of celebrating their victory.
+
+Stan climbed out of his plane. He saw Allison coming across the field.
+They met and Stan could think of nothing to say. O'Malley hadn't come
+in.
+
+"Tough, O'Malley missing that big fight after the raid," he finally
+said.
+
+Allison looked at him. A slow smile came to his lips. He pointed out
+across the field. Stan looked and saw a mass of twisted wreckage. What
+certainly was the tail assembly of a Hendee Hawk was sticking out of the
+twisted mass.
+
+"He parked that mess there, then climbed out and walked into the
+briefing room," Allison said. "We'll find him in there grousing because
+they called us in before we got all of those Messerschmitts."
+
+Stan's laugh rang out and he made for the briefing room. Sure enough,
+O'Malley was there and he was fuming.
+
+"'Tis time I quit this job," he shouted at the briefing officer. "When a
+man can't stay an' settle an argument like a gentleman, 'tis time to
+quit."
+
+The officer grinned at O'Malley. Stan slapped his pal on the back. "I'll
+buy you a pie, and darned if I don't eat one myself."
+
+O'Malley considered this for a moment, then said: "If a man can't fight,
+then the next best thing is to consider a bit of food."
+
+Arm in arm the three fliers of Red Flight walked into the mess.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The next morning Allison and O'Malley and Stan were eating breakfast at
+a side table. Allison had been over to headquarters and he had learned
+a few things. Over bacon and hot cakes he told them what he had heard.
+
+"Garret was the man on the spot, but they got a fellow who was way up,
+they wouldn't give his name. He kept Garret from getting tossed out of
+the service and worked it so he was made a Squadron Leader. They planned
+to get a man like Garret into every squadron if they could."
+
+"'Tis black, the likes of such a man is," O'Malley said with a scowl.
+
+"Garret admitted bleeding Stan's gas tank and leading Moon Flight off
+the trail. I asked him how he found out Stan was a Yank and he said the
+information was sent him from the Nazi secret service." Allison leaned
+back and smiled. "I have an idea our Intelligence will do a lot more
+snooping from now on."
+
+"Sure an' 'tis a nice tale, but one we already had figured out,"
+O'Malley said.
+
+"I got a real raking for not turning over Stan's record to Farrell as
+soon as we were transferred," Allison said with a grin. "I now tender my
+apologies but, after the first spoofing I did, I clean forgot about
+those reports. They didn't seem important. Stan is one of the best
+pilots in the Royal Air Force, and what we need is fighters."
+
+"It's all over now, and I accept your apology," Stan said.
+
+O'Malley scowled suddenly. "Do you gents think we'll ever get to see any
+more action? I bet we won't."
+
+He was answered by the intersquadron speaker. It began rasping:
+
+"Red Flight, all out. Red Flight, all out. Bandits sighted over the
+Dover coast. Heavy fighter escort of Messerschmitt One-Tens."
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+_Watch for the next Air Combat story!_
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+
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