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diff --git a/32420.txt b/32420.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..70b452a --- /dev/null +++ b/32420.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5272 @@ +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!_ + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Yankee Flier with the R.A.F., by +Rutherford G. Montgomery + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A YANKEE FLIER WITH THE R.A.F. *** + +***** This file should be named 32420.txt or 32420.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/4/2/32420/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Roger L. 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