A Yankee Flier with the R.A.F.

by Rutherford G. Montgomery

  CHAPTER XI

  PLENTY OF TROUBLE

  Stan Wilson followed by O'Malley and Allison barged into Wing CommanderFarrell's office. Before them marched Arch Garret with a Luger shovedinto the small of his back. The O.C. leaped to his feet. He had beennodding in his chair and thought he must be dreaming. He quickly changedhis mind.

  Stan told his story in brief, clipped sentences. Farrell did notinterrupt. When he had finished Garret broke in before the O.C. couldsay anything. He was not the defiant and arrogant lieutenant he hadbeen. 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 saidsternly. "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 aconcentration camp. I had to do what they ordered." Sweat was standingout in big drops on Garret's forehead. "I was straight and did my jobuntil they got to me."

  "That's why you got where you are and why you were not released afteryour first bad report. Your past record was fine." The O.C. dropped backinto his chair. He jerked a phone from its cradle. He was lookingintently at Garret as he clicked the receiver. "Go on, talk. I'll dowhat I can for you."

  "The radioman is at 30 Elm Inn," Garret babbled. "He is to wait therefor word from Herr Naggel. When Naggel gives the word, all will be clearfor the attack."

  "Naggel won't send any messages," Stan said grimly, remembering theterrible 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 onputting through calls and talking to Stan and Allison and O'Malley atthe 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 readyfor action."

  Stan watched the O.C. with admiration. He was a demon for getting thingsdone in a speedy and effective manner. Stan handed his Luger toO'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 whathe thought of him.

  "We can get a crack at them before daylight, if headquarters will let uspull an immediate raid." The O.C. held the receiver jammed to his earwith one hand while he fished into a drawer with the other. He found acigar 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 callto action he was sure was coming. He had warned all of the boys againstloose 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 begrounded and waiting, saving their gas and getting ragged nerves whilethey wait."

  "Ragged nerves?" The O.C. had his man on the phone and began barking athim, arguing furiously. He waved his cigar and pounded the desk andbellowed. Five minutes later he clamped the receiver into place andswung 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 hisfrayed cigar. Getting to his feet, he added. "We're off for those basesand this time I fly myself. I have been wanting to see how this showstacks up with the last one, and now I'm going to find out."

  Stan followed him out into the night. After that things happened withlightning speed. Stan lost track of all the things they did and theplaces they went.

  First of all, the radioman was caught with all of his equipment. Thehunchback cracked when faced with the grim prospect of facing a firingsquad within a half-hour. His code book revealed a complicated mass ofinformation which was deciphered at once, with some assistance from him.Exact locations were charted and objectives laid out. All of it was doneon the run.

  Before the officers were through with the radioman, a message was sentout to the Nazis holding up the attack until further instructions weregiven. The message was in code and properly sent so that it would bereceived by the enemy as an order from their key man in London. HerrNaggel's secret code number was signed to it.

  Then there was a cold and clearheaded gathering around the big map inthe central control room. Four flights would go out. Not just fourordinary flights, but four all-out invasion formations with all thepunch the Royal Air Force could put behind them.

  Red Flight, with its three deadly Hawks, was assigned to go with thelong-range Consolidateds over France to the base from which the biggestof the Jerry bombers would take off. This would be the first wave sentover, because it had the longest route. It would be protected by theHawks and by Defiants equipped for long-range flying. At last Stan gotaway from the O.C. and dashed to the mess.

  He had secured three capable gunners to take along because he expectedan opportunity to do some ground strafing. The early morning sky wascloudy with high fog and black clouds. If the weather held all the wayover, they would be able to stage a real surprise.

  In the mess he found Judd and McCumber and Kelley talking with Allisonand O'Malley. Other men were gathered in small groups. The tension washigh in the room.

  "When do we get the signal?" Judd asked. His detail was to a field inBelgium.

  "Any minute now," Stan said. He looked over Judd's head and saw thatO'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 lotof 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 mensaid.

  "Fine. Come along and I'll give you a one minute lesson on the gunsyou'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 makeit so hot for you, you won't need a fur suit."

  Stan grinned in response to Allison's casual manner. Both knew thiswould be the most important action they had yet been engaged in, that itwould be one of the most terrific and devastating raids staged duringthe entire war, yet it was best to kid about it. That was the only wayto relieve the tension all of them were under, keep them cool andcollected until the shooting actually started.

  CHAPTER XII

  LUFTWAFFE IN REVERSE

  The night was cloudy but there was little low fog. In a dozen scatteredflight centers men were busy. Coveralled ground squads swarmed aroundfighter planes, medium bombers and long-range giants whose lettering B Y3, painted there by Yank builders, had been smeared over with Britishlacquer. Exhausts flamed, bomb trucks trundled in and out, while pilotsand gunners checked rigging and outfits. The big show was on, thebiggest the Royal Air Force had ever planned.

  Stan and O'Malley and Allison waited with their gunners near them. Theyhad checked the Hendee Hawks so many times they could see every detailof the ships if they closed their eyes. O'Malley had come near beingrecommended for court-martial when he battled the O.C. over an order tocarry 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 clippedorders. Every man was on his feet instantly. The moment had come forthem to take off. Number 30 swarmed out on the field. Allison was incommand again, Stan had insi
sted upon that arrangement. Allison was coldand calculating, Stan Wilson was a fighter and wanted action. Anyway,Allison had earned that right to lead. He was the original flightlieutenant of Red Flight.

  Stan grinned eagerly as he swung himself into the cockpit and glancedback 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 padand adjusted his belt.

  Strange how a fellow can always take up another notch in his belt, Stanthought. Then he jerked the throttle open and the Hawk roared andstrained on the cab rank. He pinched one brake and swung around, headingdown 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 recordingofficer 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 wasmade on the shadow bar and the three Hawks nosed into the band of blackand waited, trembling, ready.

  The signal came from the recording officer's Aldis light and they wereoff. Screeching into the night, twisting up the glory trail with thehydrogen gorged balloons tugging at their cables, waiting like gloatingmonsters for their victims, out of the notch and up they went.

  "Tight formation," Allison droned. And Stan in the right-hand slotshoved 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 cruisersof the air sliding along below. The big fellows were cutting through thenight at a terrific pace considering their pay loads and their ownweight. Their 4,800 horsepower hurled them on at a pace that made theSpitfires and the Defiants hustle.

  Red Flight took its place high above the drifting Liberators. Belowwould be the Defiants and on each side the Spitfires and Hurricanes. Itwas a big show and would soon be on.

  "St. Omer with the field at Astree Blanche as the objective," Stanmuttered to himself. This was a change in plans made after a carefulstudy of the hunchback's little book. It would not be so bad as flyingdeep into Nazi country.

  "Heather Raid," Stan muttered and grinned. The High Command was sendinga great flight of bombers and fighters to blast enemy positions andthey called it Heather Raid.

  "Heather Raid--Heather Raid--rendezvous--zero hour." That was theSquadron Leader. Stan watched and listened. Nothing more came in andAllison kept flying straight ahead.

  They were drifting along above the clouds. There was a moon and plentyof stars. The pale light made the squadron look like a school of fishesswimming through a blue-black sea. The clouds would be fine for everyonebut the Jerries. Down below the Hurricanes would be slipping in and outof the clouds, watching, taking bearings, whispering up to the giantsabove, telling them what they couldn't see.

  "Red Flight, go down. Yellow Flight up." The Squadron Leader spoketersely as though he had sighted enemy planes coming up.

  Stan peeled off and went down, with Allison and O'Malley trailing intoformation. They hit the clouds, punched through and saw lights winkingbelow. They were solitary lights and revealed little. Perhaps they wereship's lights on the channel. Then they went back up through the cloudsand 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 toLiberator. It was a proper change, Stan thought.

  Suddenly a bank of cloud on the right and above was lighted with a redglow. A second later a Messerschmitt One-Ten came flaming down, tossingaway 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 hadbeen on thirty-six raids across the channel and knew what to expect.

  "And they pulled us down to let the Defiants have the fun," Stanmuttered.

  "Have a look, Red Flight," Allison's voice snapped.

  Down the Hawks went for a look at the ground. They saw a band of lightswing 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 growland roar. Positions were taken and the Hawks slid up to be above thebombers, out of their way and into the path of diving Messerschmitts andHeinkels. But the lone fighter seemed to be the only enemy ship in theair.

  As Stan watched the action he realized that bombing wasn't justreleasing a stick or two of bombs. Its complications were apparent. Farbelow them the earth had suddenly begun to erupt fire and flame. Theywere clear of the clouds and their objective was below, a circle insidea ring of flaming guns all pointed at the bombers. And the Liberatorswere going down with feathered propellers.

  Twelve thousand feet below lay their objective. The bombers were in abig hurry to catch the rows of black planes on the ground, to spot theoil reserves and to smash the surface of the runways. They slipped awayin screaming dives and left Red Flight to watch from above.

  Tracer bullets trailed threads of fire upward and the muck of burstingshells 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 aLiberator smack into a bursting shell that exploded against herunderstructure. The Liberator slid off to the side and burst intoflames. Grimly Stan noted that no parachutes blossomed out below her asshe shot to earth. The other bombers were through the muck of fire anddown upon their targets.

  "Red Flight, strafe ground planes," ordered the voice of the SquadronLeader.

  That was why they had been pulled down. The Hendee Hawks with theirsixteen-wing guns would deal terrible destruction to ships on theground.

  "Sure, an' 'tis about time," O'Malley roared.

  Down went the three Hawks, straight at the muck of flame below. The windwhistled above the din of bursting shells. Stan took a deep breath. Itwas 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 certaindeath to dive any farther, but they kept on diving. The sea of flamesleaped up to smack them in the face. It roared around them, thenvanished lighting the sky above them. Stan saw rows of planes on theground. He saw them clearly. A hangar was blazing and a row of oil tankswas sending up a pillar of smoke and flame thousands of feet into theair.

  As Stan looked toward the flaming tanks he saw a circle of them lift andvanish into the air as a big bomb landed in their midst. Pulling thenose of his ship up he reached for the gun button, and swooped upon thelines of planes. On his left Allison and O'Malley were already rakingthose bombers. Stan's Brownings drilled a swath of lead across the fieldas he swept over.

  Up went the Hawks and over and back again. They saw the destructiontheir first dive had wrought and set about adding to it. The Liberatorshad circled and were down again, the roar of their dive shaking theearth and the air above it. The field where the rows of Junkers bombershad stood was heaving and rolling and exploding.

  "Up, Red Flight," came a command from Allison. "There's a real showgoing on up there."

  Up they went, nosing through the flaming muck. This time they had littletrouble in breaking through. Great holes and spaces in the barrageshowed where the bombers had spotted gun placements. O'Malley was onStan's left now and Stan was flying the center slot. There had been notime to take regulation position. Stan saw O'Malley's Hawk lift andshear 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. Itwas twisting and wobbling, but going on up.

  "Go in, O'Malley! Go in O'Malley," Allison was droning. "Get backacross. Get back across."

  Before Stan could do anything at all, he was up through the muck, andthen through the clouds, into a re
al battle. The sky was full oftwisting, diving planes, all spitting at each other in deadly fashion.He was so busy keeping Messerschmitts off his tail that he lost track ofAllison and O'Malley. He noted that there were only a few Spitfires andDefiants near him, though the air was literally filled with Jerries. Itdawned on him that they might wish to force down this new plane so asto have a look at it. And he wasn't able to get a single swastika insidehis 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 ofMesserschmitts ahead of him, opening his throttle wide and cutting inhis booster. As he bored into the formation it opened to let him gothrough. Only one ME failed to give way. It roared straight at him asthough bent upon ramming him. Stan's lips pulled into a tight line andhe 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 atthe back of his neck lifted as his understructure raked across the hatchcover of the Jerry. Lead streamed below him as he flashed past.

  Stan kicked off his booster and headed for home. The Messerschmitts gavechase but they slipped away from them as easily as a swallow wouldoutdistance 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 sergeantanswered. "Potted his rudder and you should see him do stunts."

  Stan had completely forgotten he carried a gunner. The man had beensilent all of the time. Now Stan knew he must have been giving anaccount 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 flyingfrom it. Number 30 would be lighted up for an hour at least, in spite ofraiders. 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 comein.

  "Tough, O'Malley missing that big fight after the raid," he finallysaid.

  Allison looked at him. A slow smile came to his lips. He pointed outacross the field. Stan looked and saw a mass of twisted wreckage. Whatcertainly was the tail assembly of a Hendee Hawk was sticking out of thetwisted mass.

  "He parked that mess there, then climbed out and walked into thebriefing room," Allison said. "We'll find him in there grousing becausethey 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 aman can't stay an' settle an argument like a gentleman, 'tis time toquit."

  The officer grinned at O'Malley. Stan slapped his pal on the back. "I'llbuy 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 ata side table. Allison had been over to headquarters and he had learneda 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 ofthe service and worked it so he was made a Squadron Leader. They plannedto 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 offthe trail. I asked him how he found out Stan was a Yank and he said theinformation was sent him from the Nazi secret service." Allison leanedback and smiled. "I have an idea our Intelligence will do a lot moresnooping 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 assoon as we were transferred," Allison said with a grin. "I now tender myapologies but, after the first spoofing I did, I clean forgot aboutthose reports. They didn't seem important. Stan is one of the bestpilots 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 anymore 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 theDover coast. Heavy fighter escort of Messerschmitt One-Tens."

  THE END

  _Watch for the next Air Combat story!_