CHAPTER IX
SPECIAL MISSION
Stan was further mystified the next day when Garret came to him in themess. He was smiling and very friendly.
"I have been a rotter, Wilson," he said and held out his hand. "Afterall, this is pretty serious business and there isn't much place forpersonal grudges and gripes."
Stan hid his surprise. He could find no words to answer Garret. He shookhands 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 hecould think of several things he might have said. Allison came up andthere 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 newshilling to hear what that Irishman tells him."
It happened they were near enough, because O'Malley bawled out what hehad to say so loudly it could have been heard out on the field. Garrethad halted and was smilingly giving O'Malley the glad hand. He steppedback 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 hangone 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 nothear what he said, but the officers near the pair were openly grinning.O'Malley loosed one more blast and his words brought chill, brittlesilence to the room.
"I'm a thinkin' you'd best head the Moon Flight in the right directionwhen the spalpeens come over again."
The clicking of Garret's heels was the only sound in the room. Hemarched out without a word. Everyone looked about uneasily. Such talk toa Squadron Leader was unheard of. Any other commander would have hadO'Malley's hide off in a minute and draped all over the place. The veryfact that the Irishman had gotten away with it had a depressing effectupon the fliers. Allison broke the spell. He barged over to O'Malley andshoved out his hand.
"Shake, Irisher," he said.
Judd, McCumber, and Kelley, all men who had belonged to the first spreadStan had been with, strolled over and a little group formed aroundO'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. Ijust went into a funk when he soaped me."
O'Malley squinted down at Judd. "'Tis with me own eyes I saw you cut thefire of three Messers, me bye. Don't you be blatherin' me aboutcourage."
Judd flushed. He was all right when he was up there by himself, but hewas 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 inMoon Flight loves him."
Kelley had not spoken nor had he laughed with the others. "He'd betterstay out of my circle. I have folks living out beyond KensingtonGardens."
No one said anything more about the raids. They all knew Kelley's homehad 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'sno 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 wipedthe 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 howGarret had gotten the job. They felt helpless because they had alwaysdepended upon the men at headquarters. Finally the group broke upwithout anyone offering a workable plan.
Just after noon the next day the O.C. sent for Stan. He was alone in hisoffice and in very good spirits. Stan sat down beside his desk andwaited.
"We have a few Hendee Hawks coming in," Farrell beamed happily. "You arethe 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 thosesuperfighters badly. Headquarters would like to do a little daylightbombing. Do you think a flight of Hawks could take a squadron ofLiberators through?"
"They could," Stan assured him. "Give me nine Hawks and my pick ofpilots and well ride right in over Berlin."
"You won't get nine for a while, but we have three coming in." The WingCommander 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 severalweeks to get them lined out and set for action."
"We need train only one man. Allison can learn quickly." Stan smiledbroadly. "O'Malley learned in a couple of flights."
The O.C. smiled, too. "Yes, your pie-eating friend will handle one, ifwe can drill some sense into his head."
"O'Malley's crazy but it's the sort of lunacy we need," Stan answereddryly.
Farrell nodded. He was already thinking about other things. "The RoyalAir Force considered this shipment so important they routed thefreighter north to avoid submarines and Stukas. It seems Nazi agentsfound 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 youhave them set up and ready to fly, I'll send Allison and O'Malley upthere 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'retoo 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 agrin.
"Sorry," Stan grunted and was off.
As he strode across the field he got to wondering if Garret had beenlistening at the door. It didn't seem possible. Eavesdropping in anofficer of Garret's standing would have laughed him out of the serviceif he had been caught. He dismissed it from his mind.
He told Allison and O'Malley about his plans and warned them not tomention his trip to anyone. Allison grinned lazily. O'Malley wasexcited.
"Sure, an' the war's about over," he boasted. "With me coaxing one ofthem sweet colleens through the skies there won't be a Jerry left in aweek."
"You lugs come a-rattling when I send in the call," Stan said as hestrode toward his quarters.
A half-hour later he was kicking his Spitfire into line. He was into theair swiftly and laid his course across the serene green countryside topick 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 awar-torn nation. There were no evidences of destruction below, and theblue sky was clear of enemy planes. The steady throbbing roar of theSpitfire's motor was a pleasantly lulling sound, and he settled backcomfortably with his mind at ease, checking over the structural detailsof the Hendee Hawks in his mind for use in putting the dismantled shipstogether as fast as possible when he landed at the naval base where theyawaited him.
It was pleasant to be out of danger for this brief period. It gave him achance to examine his thoughts, do a little readjusting of his personalconcepts to the grim realities of war. He found he had been under suchterrific tension every instant since reporting to the Red Flight thatthis was the first chance he had found to look back over what hadhappened and realize how supremely lucky he had been thus far to escapedeath.
Flying at 4,000 feet, he appeared to be merely creeping across the greenblanket of England beneath him. Ahead, he could faintly see a silverline of mist marking the shore of the sea. Though the Spitfire wastunneling through the blue at 350 miles an hour, he suddenly found hewas impatient for even more speed. Behind him men were even now fightingand dying. He wanted to get back into it, start doing his part again.
An alien sound obtruded suddenly into the throbbing of his Spitfire. Heheard it almost without consciousness of what it portended, then wasabruptly aware that a stream of bullets was ripping through hisfuselage.
A Heinkel had slid up behind him from nowhere and its smoking guns werestreaming hot, leaden death at him. For a moment he was too amazed toproperly meet this unexpected danger. He had a curious feeling that itwas after _him_. That it wasn't merely a stray enemy plane making chancecontact. It was an absurd thought, but it gripped him strongly and hecouldn't shake it off.
Another burst of lead hosed from the Heinkel. Stan rolled the Spitfireto the left, then pulled it up tight and hard. The Heinkel shot underhim, went into a loop, then faked a turnover. Stan smiled grimly.
"That won't fool me, son," he muttered. He leveled off fast and easedover 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 stingerszipping through his fuselage. A blue flame began playing up and downover a hole in his fuel tank.
"Well," Stan muttered sourly. "I'll have to put a stop to this, orelse----"
He sent the Spitfire off to the right like a streak. The Heinkel zoomedpast, building altitude for a death thrust. Stan cracked the throttlewide open and kicked in the emergency booster. The Merlin answeredsplendidly.
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-overroll, holding his ship upside down until he was behind the Heinkel andabove it. Then he dropped the Spitfire as though she were crippled. Thisplaced him under the Heinkel and he went up. The Jerry was now trying tomake a run for it. Stan saw a spread of fuselage and a wing through hiswindscreen and he pressed the gun button. The Brownings spat fire andlead. The Jerry was trapped and knew it. He swayed and rocked andtwisted in an attempt to get away. The bullets drilled out again, afour-second burst.
Fire and smoke rolled out of the port motor. The flames licked in aroundthe stricken ship. A rancid whiff came to Stan and reminded him thathis own fuel tank was on fire. It would be only a matter of secondsuntil he would be in a flaming coffin himself.
The Merlin was still hitting beautifully. Stan squirmed about and jerkedloose a fire extinguisher. He turned the handle and pumped frantically.The liquid spray feathered out and blanketed the fire. Stan sucked in adeep breath and looked down at the plummeting Heinkel. The Jerry wastrying to bail out, but he wasn't making much headway. Stan nosed downand watched the struggle.
He was sorry for the pilot but it was not pity that made him circlelower and check the field toward which the Heinkel was spinning. Stanwanted to ask that Jerry a few questions, and the Jerry had to berescued from his firetrap or he couldn't do it.
The Heinkel turned over, flattened and eased up, then plunged into atangle of bushes beside a road. Stan gauged the rolling field whichspread beside the road. He could have set a Hurricane down on that fieldeasily, but a Spitfire was different. Her landing gear was high andnarrow. He side-slipped and leveled off, then skimmed over the grassand bumped down, jerking and swaying. The Spitfire rolled up to within asafe distance from the burning plane and Stan leaped out.
The Jerry had almost made it out of the plane. He was draped over theside with his parachute harness caught in the smashed hatch cover.Risking an explosion which would have finished them both, Stan jerkedthe pilot loose and dragged him a safe distance from his ship. They wereless than fifty feet from the Heinkel, when her tank cut loose andbillows 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 hisface worked. If it had not been for the Royal Air Force pilot bendingover him, he would at that moment be frying to a crisp. He shuddered andlicked his lips.
Stan gave his attention to the fellow's wounds. He was badly hit in theshoulder and bleeding freely. His face was white.
"Who tipped you off that I'd be flying solo along this route?" Standemanded.
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 clippedEnglish.
"I suppose you think I followed regulations and war rules in duckingdown into this pile of rocks to drag you out of your crate?" Stan's eyeswere cold and hard.
The Jerry coughed and smiled weakly. "I am indebted to you," he saidslowly.
"If I don't get you to a doctor, you'll be as bad off as if you werestill 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 gunfrom him. The Nazi had been too weak to make fast use of it.
"I suppose you are right." The officer coughed again and his handslipped to his breast where his tunic was fast becoming soaked withblood.
"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--" TheJerry paused and coughed.
"Yes?" Stan bent and steadied him. He was afraid the Nazi would pass outbefore 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 intoa tight line and his eyes were blazing. Then he remembered his promiseto the unconscious Nazi. Picking the man up he carried him to the stonefence which separated the field from the road.
An old car had halted and a man and a woman sat staring at the smokingNazi plane and the trim Spitfire. When Stan appeared they started to getthe old car into action.
"Wait!" Stan shouted.
The man recognized Stan's uniform and a broad smile came to his lips. Hehalted the car and waited while Stan carried the wounded man to theroadside.
"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 aNazi prisoner. You should get a handsome reward for such a prize. He isa pilot and pilots are valuable."
The man and the woman began to talk at the same time. Stan loaded thewounded officer into the back seat and waved to the pair. Turning, heheaded 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 asto whether he could make off the rough field, but he was in a terriblehurry and did not care to wait for help.
With a last careful survey of the grass runway he was off. The Spitfirerocked and dipped her wings and swayed drunkenly, but she lifted andcleared the stone fence. Now that he was in the air Stan had to decidewhat he should do about Arch Garret. As he circled for altitude, hetried to figure it out.
He had a hunch Garret was just a cog in a bad machine. He was thelogical man to shove into the middle of things and the British wereeagerly picking up overseas pilots. The Royal Air Force was well filledwith Australians, New Zealanders, Canadians, and others from the empireat large. Garret was a Canadian citizen, even though he had spent hislast few years in the United States. Now it was very clear why MoonFlight had missed the bombers until they had done their work ofdestruction.
The question was whether he should fly back and report--or whether heshould call Wing Commander Farrell and have secret agents put onGarret's trail. Garret would undoubtedly have an airtight alibi. And hecertainly had backing that went
high up. Stan might just make a fool outof 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 Allisonand O'Malley at once. They would believe him and help him. He would havea good crew of mechanics at the field to slap the Hawks together quicklyand might be able to get them off in one day. Then there was one otherthing that tipped the balance in favor of going on. This was pretty mucha personal matter between himself and Arch Garret. This was the secondtime Garret had tried to wipe him out.
Heading north he drove along and did not see any more Heinkels. He washailed 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 boredahead, his eyes seeing far into the distance, his mind working upon thecrooked plotting of Arch Garret.
He spotted the naval base and circled around to give the boys at thebatteries a chance to see who he was, then set down and turned theSpitfire over to a ground crew. Taking his file of papers he headed forthe commander's quarters.
The commander was an affable man, ruddy-faced and square-jawed. He hadheard about Stan and O'Malley's attack upon the pocket battleship.
"I was so inquisitive about those ships I had them unloaded anduncovered. They are beauties, sir. But I can't see what you'll wantwith so much motor."
"I'll show you," Stan promised. "Now I want to make a call back toLondon and then I want a squad of your best mechanics. I have to getthese 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 didnot report the brush with the Heinkel, though he would have to mentionit in his written report. And he did not mention Arch Garret. When heasked 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'llhave to replace you three and add six more Spitfires, if I can getthem."
"I need them at once. The sooner you get them up here, the sooner we'llbe 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. Presentlythe 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'mcalling from the navy base."
"What's up?"
"Just this. I'm sending for you fellows and you will get orders to leavejust before daylight. Look out for clouds. Fly that old Defiant low andwatch for Heinkels. And tonight, if there's a raid, just you duck in theopposite direction from the way the Squadron Leader orders. I'll spinyou a yarn when you get up here. Keep mum but pass the word to the boysto follow you if there's a raid."
"Well, really, old man, you know O'Malley and I can keep still and wecan get orders mixed up badly."
"See you tomorrow." Stan hung up.
That night Stan slept soundly. He was still snoring away when the bugleroutside his window blew first call. The moment his eyes opened he tossedaside the blankets and jumped out of bed. He wolfed his breakfast andwas out on the field and headed for the hangar where the three Hawkswere taking flying shape.
Allison and O'Malley came in before nine o'clock. Allison was flying theship. He smiled thinly at Stan as he climbed out.
"I brought her up here. When you mentioned Heinkels, O'Malley was forhunting 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'llbe in London tonight," Stan said.
O'Malley's eyes were on the three Hawks which had been rolled out intothe sunshine in front of the hangar.
"'Twill be swell flyin' a ship that hasn't been all daubed up andsmeared 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 carefullychecked. As they worked Allison told Stan how they had been chased bythree Messerschmitts.
"If you hadn't warned us, and if we hadn't decided to change our time ofdeparture, we might have had plenty of trouble," Allison said.
Stan came around from behind one of the Hawks. "I might as well tell youthe 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 himon 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. Waittill I get me hands on that spalpeen!"
"No use to go off half-cocked," Stan warned. "We need to catch Garretred-handed. I figure we'll get a few real spies along with him. But wewon't be on schedule. Garret has a way of finding out what's going on inthe O.C.'s office. He will tip off the Nazis and they'll be waiting togang up on us."
"Sure, an' that's just what we want," O'Malley broke in. "They gang upan' 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 amongourselves? We can keep Garret from sidetracking Moon Flight when a raidcomes over. And we can round up the snakes he's working with at the sametime."
"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 navalcommander not to report us out until midnight. That will throw Garretoff," 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'llshow you all you need to know about a Hawk to make her do things," hesaid to Allison.
Stan and Allison headed toward the nearest ship. O'Malley stretchedhimself out in the sun and closed his eyes. He figured he already knewmore about a Hawk than the Hendee aeronautical officials.
A Yankee Flier with the R.A.F. Page 9