"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 pa.s.s 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-c.o.c.ked," 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 n.a.z.is 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. .h.i.t 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 sh.e.l.ls and the searchlights knifing back and forth through the ma.s.s 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 ma.s.s 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.