They went to the operations room and located Captain Marks who regarded them with unbelieving eyes.

"You mean to say you gave up a vacation trip to Alexandria to take this ferry job with that wild Irishman, O'Malley?"

"Sure," Stan said with a grin. "We like ferrying. It's the sort of life for any ambitious officer."

Captain Marks regarded them intently. "I have your a.s.signments here, but I haven't seen anything of O'Malley."

"Suppose you shove them at him the last thing before the flight takes off. We'd like to surprise him, having been a pal of his for a long time."

The captain grinned. "It will be a surprise," he said. "I know about you three and I'm looking for trouble. O'Malley never looks at a.s.signment or flight orders. And there will be only the three of you." His grin faded and he scowled at the two pilots. "We'll only lose three ships and I guess we can afford that."

"Thanks, Captain," Stan said. "Mum's the word. We'll see you before dawn tomorrow morning."

They moved out and did not go to Mess Three. They headed out to locate a spot where they could hide out until flight time.

CHAPTER IV

BEACH-HEAD

O'Malley grabbed his flight orders. He scowled at Captain Marks. For once the captain did not insist that he read his orders. O'Malley turned upon his heel and strode out of the briefing room. He was met in the darkness outside the office by an officer.

"You will fly a course over Tunis and approach Malta from due south, Lieutenant. Colonel Benson's orders. You are to make as many flights as possible today. There will be heavy action in the straits and you are to avoid that area." The officer saluted and moved on into the briefing room.

"Sure, an' I'll do me own settin' o' the course," O'Malley bellowed.

He was met at his plane by his master mechanic. "You have two new men today, sir. I have given them a few details of your course."

"An' I'll be givin' them some more," O'Malley growled as he climbed into the c.o.c.kpit.

He settled down and listened for a few minutes to the excited orders jamming the air. Flights were heading out, bomber squadrons were calling in or taking orders. O'Malley set his phones on the beam and bent forward.

"Get ready, you birds of Ferry Flight," he called in.

"All set," came back a reply in m.u.f.fled tones.

O'Malley wondered who the unlucky fliers were. Some poor saps who had gotten in bad with Benson, he guessed. He bent down and shouted to the sergeant.

"How much ammunition have we?"

"From now on the ferry ships will be fully loaded. You may run into trouble, sir."

O'Malley pulled in his head and kicked on the power. He snapped a release to his mates and waited for them to get off. He had not taken the trouble to get their names, so he could not order them off one at a time. They did not seem to need any instruction. One Lightning wheeled around and roared away, followed closely by the other. O'Malley grunted his approval. The two relief men could fly.

Opening up his engines, O'Malley roared after his flight. He tried to cut across above them but had all he could do to catch up with them. In the gray dawn he saw that the two new men understood how to get speed out of a Lockheed P-38. Finally his two men eased over and let him slide in between them. They closed in, snuggling dangerously close.

"I'd thank ye for a bit more air," O'Malley growled.

"Are we crowding you, Commander?" a high-pitched voice asked.

"'Tis not crowdin' me, but I don't trust yer flyin' ability," O'Malley shot back.

"You're a bit off course," an unusually gruff voice broke in.

"Sure, an' I'm flyin' this outfit," O'Malley snapped.

They were swinging east by north, which headed them for Sicily. O'Malley scanned the skies as light began to break. Below him the strait was alive with barges and transports. A British monitor wallowed on its way, rolling and plunging. Flight after flight of medium bombers fanned out at low level. High above, the fighter patrols were roaring toward Sicily. O'Malley scowled as he scanned the scene hopefully. Not a German or an Italian plane in sight. It appeared that the best O'Malley would get for setting his own course was a good view of the invasion fleet and the opening wedge of the air forces.

Suddenly the sh.o.r.es of Sicily appeared below, and almost at once O'Malley was jerked out of his sour mood by a shout from one of his pilots.

"Me 110's coming down at four o'clock!"

"Protect yerselves!" O'Malley shouted eagerly. "Run fer it!"

"Shall we follow your example?" came in a mocking voice.

O'Malley started and his mouth popped open. He knew that voice! Then in came the voice of his other pilot.

"We'll do as you do, Commander. Lead on!"

"You spalpeens!" O'Malley bellowed. Then he broke out in a loud laugh.

"Sure, an' the Auld Man made monkeys out of you two."

There was no more time for happy reunion. Seven Messerschmitts were coming down after the bombers. They were not interested in the three Lightnings and hoped that the Yanks flying them had not noticed any Jerries near by. In this they were very much disappointed.

Stan peeled off and banked steeply. Laying over he rolled into position and cut out an Me. As the Jerry flashed past his sights, he opened up and his Brownings sawed a wing off the fighter. He was over and the Jerry was gone before he was able to see what had happened to the enemy ship. As he came up he saw that O'Malley was celebrating. He was doing mad loops and dives that threatened to drive the six Me's out of the sky before Allison could tangle with one of them. Allison's voice came in, crisp and exasperated.

"I say, you Irisher. Lay off and let me have a chance!"

"Come on in!" O'Malley yelled back and he stalled and dived after an Me.

The three ferry pilots were finishing off the Jerries when a flight of six Lightnings and three Airacobras slid down from upstairs and joined in. There was only one luckless Me left. Three had been shot down and two had fled. The outnumbered Jerry dived and headed for home.

Allison and Stan closed in beside O'Malley. Their leader called over to them.

"There's a big fight on down there on that beach. Looks like the boys needed some help to keep the Stukas away."

"We're under your orders, Commander," Stan answered.

"Sure, an' you birds stand trial right alongside o' me when we get back," O'Malley shouted back. He dived and his pals went with him.

Down they went over the invasion beach-head where sky battles raged as German and Italian fighter bombers tried to strafe or bomb Yank and British landing craft.

Stan leaned over and looked down. The scene below was a stirring one.

Three battlewagons of the cruiser cla.s.s lay offsh.o.r.e. In closer, a line of destroyers was blazing fire and smoke as they blasted the sh.o.r.e batteries of the enemy. A group of torpedo boats darted in and out, tormenting an enemy ship. Toward the sh.o.r.e and moving from four big transports came the landing barges: the personnel barges, the tank carriers, the mechanized armament barges. In swarms they were pouring toward the sh.o.r.e. In the air above, Yank and R.A.F. fighter pilots struggled to keep the dive bombers and the torpedo planes from getting at the ships. This was the zero hour for the boys in the barges. Either they established a beach-head or they failed at terrible cost.