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.
