combat school and were eager for action. Someone had given them the records of Stan and O'Malley. They were both eager to talk to the veterans. Splinters was a tall, thin youth with a little mustache. Bugs was short and fat with a round beaming face and a quick smile.

"We've heard a lot about you fellows," Bugs said.

"Never believe anything you hear in the army," Stan advised with a grin.

"Sure, an' ye've been taken in by me auld pal Goebbels," O'Malley added.

"I'm turning in. We'll get a call along about four in the morning," Stan said. "See you boys over at the rest room. That's where we shoot the breeze."

"See you at midnight when we get up to poke wood into that stove," O'Malley contradicted.

"We'll keep the fire going. We're not sleepy," Splinters said. They were both disappointed that the old heads did not want to go into a gabfest.

Stan and O'Malley turned in. They had learned to get as much sleep as possible. The two replacements kept the fire going as they had promised, and the boys did not waken until they were called at three-fifty the next morning. Bugs and Splinters had gotten a little sleep. They were up instantly and eager to trail along and see what was going to happen.

"Ye'll soon learn to sleep when ye get a chance," O'Malley said.

They sloshed across to the operations room and joined their flight. Maps were ready and Colonel Holt was standing with his fellow officers. The room was filled with a buzz of talk. Something was up and the boys knew it. Stan and O'Malley sat in the second row with Bugs and Splinters beside them. Stan turned to the boys.

"When you leave here you are not to talk to anyone about the operations planned, not even to other officers," he warned.

"There must be something up," Bugs said. "We'll keep mum."

"When we get back we'll give you the story," Stan promised.

Colonel Holt began speaking, and the talking stopped. "Men, we are going to try a different approach. Weather says we'll have clear going." His pointer moved along a red ribbon. "The bomber objective is a fighter station and a plant near Huls. Ordinarily we'd turn back just beyond Antwerp. Today we'll have a flight along which will carry enough extra gasoline to add two-hundred-twenty miles in range. I'll spot those ships for you and it will be the job of those carrying the regulation one-hundred-ninety gallons to protect the specials until they drop their extra tanks."

The pilots who were to be long-range fighters grinned happily; the others looked their disappointment. The colonel went on giving the details.

"The long-range ships will deploy and go in under the leadership of Lieutenant Wilson. He will have detailed evasion orders."

The boys listened to the rest of the briefing impatiently. Stan stayed after the others left. Colonel Holt went over the plan with him, then Stan hurried out to get his group together. Sim Jones met him as he entered the flight room. He gave Stan a cold look.

"Did you engineer this, Wilson?" he asked.

"I did not ask to be put in command, if that's what you mean," Stan answered.

"You act like you thought you had to take over here," Sim said and his eyes blazed.

"Wilson has forgotten more about flyin' than you'll ever know," O'Malley cut in. "And ye better remember that."

"Easy, now. This is a teamwork job," Stan said. "Your orders are to cover our long-range ships. They'll be heavy and gas logged. My planes have to get to use all of that extra gas, Sim. What we're doing is trying to break the jinx on the fighters."

"Yeah? It smells bad to me. I think you're trying to get yourself an extra bar on your shoulder."

Stan's lips pulled into a straight line. "I don't care what you think of me, personally, but you better cover my flight, and cover it right."

The other fliers were staring at the two officers. They had worked under Sim Jones a long time. Stan was a newcomer the same as Colonel Holt; both had seen much service in other theaters of war. Stan sensed that they were siding with Sim. He turned away and began getting into his outfit. O'Malley was beside him.

"That bird may try something," O'Malley said out of the side of his mouth.

"We sure slipped up when we didn't let him tell this plan to the colonel," Stan said sourly.

The boys sloshed out on the field. Stan looked over the dim outlines of the planes. He would have six ships in his penetration flight. His boys had been carefully instructed. They were to break away and appear to leave with the other fighters, then loop up and over and come in on the enemy from out of the sun when he dived down after the bombers.

One by one the Thunderbolts slipped into the raw morning darkness. Stan eased his ship off the ground and up into the sky. He dropped into place in Sim's flight along with O'Malley. They were separated by one ship. The Thunderbolts carrying extra weight were spotted so they could be covered by the others.

Soon they picked up the Forts and Libs and were headed across the channel toward Flushing. Day broke and they could see the bombers below them. The air was clear and cold but there were many scattered banks of clouds all around. Stan kept his eyes open. Today he was not watching the beauty of the bomber formation, he was checking on his own flight of fighters. Sim was holding his ships in perfect formation. They roared along with Stan and his boys using gasoline from their reserve tanks so that they could get rid of them as soon as possible.

Their first action came near the coast. A flight of Focke-Wulf 190's broke out of a big cloud and roared in on them.

"Break for action. Cover specials!" Sim called.

The formation of Thunderbolts broke up and the fight was on. As usual the Jerries were not aiming to close with the Yanks. They were willing to pick off a cripple or a plane cut out from the flight but not to make it a real battle. Their job was to delay and to pull the fighters away from the bombers.

Sim handled the situation well. The Thunderbolts did not break away, nor were they delayed. They met each thrust and stab, but they refused to be pulled into side shows. For once O'Malley was ignoring a Jerry fighter. He was well up in front heading straight for Germany. Stan was in the rear where he had been spotted. Sim was flying his cover, having dropped back for that purpose.

"I guess he's all right," Stan muttered. "He's making it his personal business to see that I get through."

At that moment two FW's dived down at the tail ships. Stan did not shift course.

All Sim had to do was to make a pass at the Jerries, loop over and shoo them away. Suddenly Stan realized Sim was not making a pass. He had stabbed at a Jerry coming in far to the side.

Kicking his rudder, Stan went into action. The Jerries, seeing their chance, had cut him off and now he would be sucked into a fight. The Thunderbolt responded awkwardly. Stan reached for the tank release, then his hand froze. If he kicked loose his tanks, the Jerries would be wise to the trick. They would radio the information to base. Grimly Stan dived and then zoomed.

The two Focke-Wulfs gleefully tore in upon him. Stan gave one of them a burst but missed. He was caught like a clumsy float plane and knew it. Up he went and over, using every evasive trick he knew. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Sim had banked sharply and was coming back to help him. He also spotted the cloud the Jerries had used to ambush the flight. As he laid over and made for it, one of the FW's knifed in and splattered him with lead. He felt the bullets pinging against his armor plate and ripping through his wings. Ducking, he went down under the cloud, just what the Jerry wanted.

Sim had cut out one of the FW's but two others had joined the hunt, bent on finishing the Thunderbolt they had cut off. Stan laid over and wobbled around just as though he was hit bad. The Jerry banked and went up a bit to get a better dive. He figured he had plenty of time because