A Yankee Flier with the R.A.F. Read online

  CHAPTER VI

  THE SEA DOGS GROWL

  Stan stepped out of the barracks and stood for a moment watching thescene on the field before the hangars. A row of Defiants had been rolledout. Men worked around them or scurried to and from the hangars. Therewas an uneasy feel about the scene. Stan scented action and a feeling ofirritation filled him. Red Flight was on barge patrol when it shouldhave been on combat. It was fools like Garret who messed up battleplans.

  He was about to turn toward the mess division and had turned into thenarrow alley leading to the building, when he halted and stepped back,close to the wall. Garret was coming out of the doorway of the mess andbeside him walked a tall man. The man had a lean, weathered face with ascar across the right cheek. He wore a checked suit and a pearl-grayhat with a broad brim. The hat could have come from no place but thewestern part of the United States.

  Stan recognized him at once as Charles L. Milton. He didn't have toguess twice why Garret had him in hand and why he had taken him to thesquadron mess. Garret wanted Milton to see Stan. Quickly moving around acorner, Stan headed for a hangar. He was sure they had not seen him.

  As he strode swiftly along, Stan faced the ghost of his past. Milton wasan American aircraft engineer. He had designed at least two of thenewest models and knew everyone in the industry over in the UnitedStates. He knew Stan Wilson very well. As he entered the hangar Stanreflected bitterly that he should have known the British Isles would beswarming with American experts and engineers, now that a great effortwas being made to help the besieged English nation. He had about as muchchance of hiding in a Royal Air Force squadron as Joe Louis would havein not being recognized at Madison Square Garden.

  He might be able to dodge Milton for a while. If he could only shakeGarret he might do it for quite a while. Not that his conscience wasn'tclear. He had been framed. Framed by Nazi saboteurs, Fifth Columnoperators. That was the reason he was so eager to get in every lick hecould against the monster Hitler had built to swallow the world.

  He stood inside the shaded doorway to the hangar and watched Milton stepinto a car. When the car had rolled away he turned back towardheadquarters. Within an hour he had to be back where he could hear theblare of the intersquadron speaker, to be on call for duty. He wasmoving along, scowling at the busy scene upon the field. As he passedthe door of the O.C.'s office it opened and Wing Commander Farrellstepped out. Stan saluted and the commander returned the salute. Hehalted abruptly.

  "Well, well," he said. "Just the man I'm looking for. Come in,Lieutenant."

  Stan's heart dropped with a thud. This likely meant a lot of questionsto be answered, questions put into the O.C.'s head by Garret.

  "Yes, sir," he answered and followed the Commander inside.

  Farrell seated himself behind his desk. He motioned toward a chair. "Sitdown, Wilson."

  Stan sat down and waited. The Commander fished into his desk and tookout a cigar. He clipped the end off with a silver knife, then lightedthe weed and looked at Stan.

  "Allison tells me you have had a lot of experience with various types offast planes. Testing over in Canada. Most of the American ships havebeen going through trials up there. Did you have a chance at any ofthem?"

  Stan breathed more freely. "Yes, sir," he said.

  "We have a new type American plane here." The Commander fished throughsome papers, found a blue sheet and studied it for a minute. "They callthis one the Hendee Hawk. We have tested it and found it to be ratherfast but very tricky." The Commander frowned at the report, then lookedup at Stan.

  Stan could hardly hold back a grin and a whoop. Did he know the HendeeHawk? He knew the Hawk from her prop to her tail assembly. The WingCommander was being very conservative when he said the Hawk was ratherfast. Stan had squinted at her air-speed indicator when it was jigglingcrazily at 600 miles per hour. He waited for the Wing Commander to goon.

  "Ordinarily we would train enough special men to handle these ships, butwe are pressed for fighting ships at the moment."

  Stan's face did not reveal anything of what he was thinking. TheBritisher was talking calmly and appeared not to be worried. Stan knewthe need for Hendee Hawks was desperate, and he knew the ships woulddeliver.

  "Have you many of them, sir?" he asked.

  "No. This ship is a test job." The Wing Commander dropped the bluesheet. "Have you ever flown a Hendee Hawk?"

  "Yes, sir."

  The question Stan expected to follow did not come. Wing CommanderFarrell said nothing for more than a minute.

  "Would you like to take this one? Into action?"

  Stan restrained a smothering eagerness. He wanted to jump up and downand shout, to slap the Commander on the back. A lot of experts hadturned thumbs down on the Hawk. But the saboteur boys had known she wasthe super-plane and had done everything they could to get her junked,including a nice frame-up on himself. He knew they had just aboutsucceeded if there was only one ship here in Britain.

  "I'll fly her, sir," he said and added eagerly, "she is the greatestcombination of fighter and strafing plane ever built. She packs enoughbombs to do real damage, as well."

  The Wing Commander smiled. "We shall see," he said.

  The way he said it convinced Stan it was up to him to show both theBritish and the Jerries just what the Hendee Hawk could do. If this shipfailed, there would be no more of the machines he had worked so hard tohelp perfect.

  "She carries two men," Stan said.

  "I have been considering that." Suddenly the Wing Commander laughedoutright. "Do you suppose your friend, the pie-eating Irishman, wouldcare to work with you? I should like to have Allison become familiarwith the ship, too. In that way we would have three men able toinstruct others if we order more of these fighters."

  "I don't know," Stan said honestly.

  "I could assign them to you, but I prefer to let you ask them," Farrellsaid. Then he got to his feet. "You will report to 7-B at once."

  Stan grinned broadly. It would take him away from Garret, at least untilthe snooping Lieutenant was able to locate him again. He saluted andhurried out of the office.

  Stan actually sneaked into the mess. He couldn't afford to have thischance smashed by a cluck like Garret. The coast was clear. Only a fewfliers were lounging about, with Allison and O'Malley among them. Stancrossed the room and sat down between his pals. He did not notice, inhis excitement, that they seemed to be expecting him. The clock over thecounter showed that in one minute Allison and O'Malley would go on duty.He wondered who would fill in for him in Red Flight.

  "Sure, an' you've been shunnin' us," O'Malley greeted him.

  Stan came to the point at once. "How would you like to copilot a realship, an American ship?" he asked, looking from one to the other.

  "I'd prefer a glider," Allison said with a wicked leer.

  "How about you, Irisher?"

  "I wouldn't mind if me pal didn't hog the controls all the blessedtime." O'Malley grinned.

  "She's a stinger. You'll see something you never thought was in the bag.She's tricky as a Navaho Indian."

  "Is that a Canadian tribe of wild men?" Allison drawled.

  "Sure," Stan came back. "Hudson's Bay."

  Allison snorted.

  "I'm with you," O'Malley cut in. "Anything to get off this deadhead beatthe muckle heads have us on. Mrs. O'Malley's boy came down to London tosee some action."

  "Good. I'll get in touch with the O.C. at once." Stan got to his feet.

  "Really, old chap, you're not going to rush off without my final answer.I'm in on this if I have to fly a kite," Allison said with a widesmile.

  Stan put on a cold expression. Allison hadn't fooled him. He had knownthe lank Britisher would come in. Allison had that look in his eye healways got when something was up.

  "Thanks, Allison."

  "You should thank me. I'm giving up a flight lieutenant's job."

  "You'll still be leader and we'll demand the Red Flight label. We'llhave three of the meanest brutes that ever rolled out on a
line to makethe other boys jealous." Stan slapped Allison on the back. "Let's go."

  They reported to the Wing Commander, then shifted their things to B-7.Later they went over to the hangar to have a look at the Hawk. Allisonsaid very little, but O'Malley was as tickled as a kid with a new top.He went over everything and the only thing he crabbed about was thecramped quarters furnished for the copilot, who handled the bomb releaseand the extra guns.

  They checked in at their new mess and Stan felt better. He looked in atthe briefing room and found it presided over by a fat young man with abroad smile. In the mess he met no one he knew. Everything looked fineand he settled down to watch O'Malley devour a pie.

  O'Malley finished his pie and looked hungerly across the room at thecounter in the corner. He shook his head sadly.

  "If I eat one more me lunch will be spoilt sure."

  Stan grinned as he glanced at his wrist watch. It lacked a half-houruntil official eating time.

  After lunch they made further arrangements for their new job. Allisonwas to fly with them in a Spitfire. O'Malley went along with Stan as agunner and student, with care of the bomb racks in his hands. Witheverything set and ready to go, the revised and rehashed Red Flightprepared to take a little outing. Being on test work gave them plenty offreedom to choose their own jobs.

  They slipped away without much notice being taken of the new ship.Everyone was busy with his own job and paid no attention to the bigfighter sliding out on its tricycle landing gear with a Spitfire nosingright after it.

  Stan settled back to have some fun with Allison. Out of the corner ofhis eyes he watched the vertical speed indicator and a wide grin spreadover his face. The Hendee Hawk was going up at a terrific pace. Alreadythe Spitfire was far behind. Stan knew Allison would fly the wings offthe Spitfire to keep him from getting away. He laughed softly.

  He kicked her over and into a tight bank and she zoomed around, boringaway. He kicked her back and looped in a dizzy blur of speed. Allisonshot in below him and Stan came around to knife past his pal. He glancedback and there was a happy, vacant grin on O'Malley's homely face, as heabsorbed the drone of the 2,000-horsepower, two-row, radial motor.

  Allison dipped his wings as Stan went boring past him. It was really asalute and it meant a lot, coming from Allison with his dislike ofradial motors.

  They roared out over the channel at 15,000 feet. As the French coastline began to show through a thin mist, Stan laid over and started toclimb again. Very soon they were nipping at their oxygen, flying at26,000 feet. They saw no planes at all and the excursion seemed doomedto be no more than a spring frolic.

  O'Malley growled into his intercommunication phone. "The Jerries must o'heard we were comin' out for a spin."

  "There's a cloud or two down and to the east," Stan answered. "We'lldrop down and pick up Allison, then go have a look."

  "That's where the bushwhackin' spalpeens will be lurking," O'Malleyagreed.

  They knifed over on one wing, peeled off, and roared down. Thegyro-horizon did a lot of strange maneuvers and the altimeter wasunrolling like ticker tape off a Wall Street machine. They picked upAllison and Stan decided to give the Irishman a lesson. He set the airflaps, and before the startled O'Malley could save himself, he had losta couple of inches of skin off both shins. The Hendee Hawk seemed tohave decided to stop in mid-air. She was pointing her nose straight atthe ground, but she had slowed to a steady 350 miles per hour.

  "Mother o' pearl!" O'Malley shouted. "What a nice day for dive bombing.Show me how you do it."

  "Just watch." Stan pulled the Hawk out of her dive and then sent her inagain with O'Malley watching him closely.

  Then Allison's voice cut in. "You fellows better cut out thegrandstanding and have a look west."

  Stan looked and saw that Allison was streaking away toward a formationof nine Junkers Ju 87's. The Stukas were bent upon business and weremoving toward the English coast, undoubtedly bent upon intercepting aship they had received a spotter's report upon.

  "Me bye, you may now show Mrs. O'Malley's son a few things," O'Malleybellowed. Stan sent the Hawk sizzling away after the Stukas. The Jerrieshad now sighted the two fighters, but they were keeping on their course,which meant that up in the big clouds above lurked a fighter patrol ofMesserschmitts. The Junkers were slow and low-powered, not being able toexceed 170 miles per hour. Stan zoomed up and passed Allison who wasalso going up with the cloud ambush in mind.

  Suddenly the Stukas broke formation and scattered, each diving for coverand cutting loose their sticks of bombs. Stan banked and selected abomber as his victim. Through his windscreen he caught a glimpse ofAllison and his hand stiffened on the control. A cloud of Jerry fightershad dropped out of the blue upon the Spitfire. Allison had gone wild ashe always did. His Spitfire was a whirling, twisting demon, its eightwing guns flaming. But Allison hadn't a chance against that swarm ofJerries.

  Stan shot upward to get into the play. He cut loose the bombs from hisracks and gave the Hawk all she had. He had a wide space of blue to cutthrough and as he bored in he saw Allison's ship lay over in a wabbly,sickening lurch and then nose down.

  "Guns out, motor stuttering. Have to go in," Allison's drawl came overthe radio.

  The Hendee Hawk roared into the whirling mass of Jerry fighters and itsbanks of guns roared. The Jerries slid away after they had tasted theterrible gun power of this new ship.

  Stan nosed down and plummeted after Allison who had two Messerschmittson his tail, but when the Hawk overtook them in one terrific spurt theyswerved aside, each sending a final spray of lead over Allison's ship.Stan picked the one on the right and laid over to cut across the Messerwith all his Brownings drilling. A wing sheared away from the Messer andshot up and out of sight. The Messerschmitt went rolling down.

  Stan dived after Allison. He didn't like the way the Spitfire waswobbling and turning. He had once seen a ship come in that way and whenthe boys got to it the pilot was dead. All he could do was trail Allisonwho failed to answer his frantic calls.

  The Spitfire kept going until she was almost to the field. As she slidout over the turf she wavered and her nose went down. She dived a fewhundred feet, straightened, then slid off on one wing. Again shestraightened and leveled out, close to the ground now. Suddenly she puther nose down and plunged to earth, landing with a smash that made herground loop and pile up close to a hangar door.

  Stan set the Hawk down and slid over to the wrecked Spitfire. He andO'Malley leaped out and ran to the ship. The ground men had draggedAllison out. He was slumped between two of them, his face bloodless,his lips tight with pain. The old, mocking flicker was in his eyes as heshoved aside the arms of the men and smiled at Stan.

  "I take back everything I've said about Yank planes," he said, then heslid gently into Stan's arms, a limp rag of a man.

  Stan gathered him up and carried him toward a field ambulance which wasroaring toward them with its siren screaming, while O'Malley trudgedalong behind muttering savagely to himself.

  A white-coated ambulance surgeon leaped out to meet them as theambulance slithered to a stop. Stan laid his burden down gently andstepped back out of the way, dragging O'Malley with him. The surgeonknelt beside the unconscious man and made a swift examination, thenturned and snapped to a couple of internes hovering behind him:

  "Get a stretcher down here. This man is badly wounded."

  Stan surged forward and clutched his arm. "How badly?" he queriedthrough bloodless lips. "Not...?"

  The surgeon smiled and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "No,"he replied simply. "I promise you he won't die. England needs all herfliers, and we'll pull him through to go into the air again. I can'ttell how soon," he ended briskly. "Not until I get him to the hospitaland make a complete examination." He turned away and leaped into theambulance behind the stretcher, and it sped away with its unconsciousburden.

  "Glory be to God," breathed O'Malley fervently. "Come along with younow, we'd best make our reports."

  In the briefing r
oom the flight officer met them with more eagernessthan was usual with such an official. Nodding toward the chutes, neatlypiled on the floor, he said:

  "You usually take care of those things, don't you know."

  Stan nodded grimly. He was thinking about Allison. O'Malley just gruntedand planked his bony elbows on the high desk. Thrusting his chin out, heremarked:

  "What you limeys need is more fire wagons like I just slid meself outof. I want one for my own use."

  "I heard the new ship was a bit of all right," the flight officer said."I'll take your report. The Wing Commander wants it rushed right over."

  "We'll be after blushin' to give you the actual facts of what happened,"O'Malley said slowly.

  "One Messerschmitt to us and three to Allison," Stan answered.

  The officer nodded and began scribbling. "Fill out one for me rightaway." He shoved a blank across the desk.

  "How about the varmint I dissected with me guns?" O'Malley asked.

  "Did you hit one of those Stukas?" Stan asked.

  "Sure, an' I did that," O'Malley said.

  "One Stuka badly damaged," Stan added.

  They went into the mess and for once O'Malley did not order a pie. Hesat down and stared at the ceiling, his big mouth clamped shut, hisAdam's apple sliding up and down. Finally he said:

  "Next time I get to take her, I can fly her like she was me own wings."

  "You might as well. This job is half yours," Stan said. "Until we findout about Allison this flight will have only two men and one ship."

  "Allison's going to be right back with us. The bye wouldn't kick offuntil he had had a chance to wind up this new colleen we got." O'Malleysaid it grimly, as though trying to make himself believe.

  "Here comes Wing Commander Farrell and I think he's looking for us,"Stan said.

  "Sure, an' 'tis the big man himself and no other. An' comin' to see usinstead of us tramping over there. Me bye, the first thing we know, theKing will be dropping in to have a spot of tea with us two intrepidfliers." O'Malley's big mouth was spread in a wide grin.

  "Don't get up, men," the Wing Commander said as he came up. He seatedhimself and started in briskly. "I hear the Hawk is better than anyonethought."

  "Not better than I thought," Stan said.

  "Well, better than the inspectors and test men thought. They said shewasn't reliable."

  "She is sensitive and temperamental," Stan agreed.

  "She chops up a Messerschmitt and spits out the pieces like me auldgranddaddy used to whack up a box for kindlin'," O'Malley broke in.

  "Fine." The Wing Commander smiled broadly. "I just dropped by to askyou boys to stay very close to quarters. We have reports of activity atsea and there may be quite a bit of action. I'd like to find out if thisship is really a dive bomber."

  O'Malley grinned happily and saluted the Wing Commander. He had nottaken the trouble to get to his feet. Farrell returned the salutewithout so much as the twitch of a facial muscle.

  "We'll be ready, sir." Stan stood at attention.

  The Wing Commander walked away and Stan scowled down at his pal. "A fineofficer you are."

  "Naval action, and my turn comin' up," O'Malley gloated.

  An orderly called Stan to the telephone. When he returned he wassmiling.

  "Allison will make it. He won't be laid up very long."

  "Hooray!" O'Malley shouted and leaped into the air. He headed straightacross the room toward the counter. The corporal saw him coming and slidan apple pie off the shelf.