Allison answered. "Let's locate O'Malley. He should be over in the quarters reserved for flight commanders."

They barged into the quarters of the flight officers and looked around. O'Malley was not present but several men sat at a table playing chess. They moved over and stood beside the table.

"We're looking for Commander O'Malley," Stan said.

One of the boys looked up. He was wearing new and shiny insignia of a major. He grinned up at Stan and Allison, his eyes taking in their service stripes.

"I guess you mean Flight Leader O'Malley," he said. "You should be able to find him over at Mess Three."

"So, he's already gotten himself shifted to flight leader," Stan said, matching the major's grin. "How'd he manage it?"

"By eating a pie while Colonel Benson was delivering a lecture on how to capture Italy," the major chuckled.

"So he's back on the firing line. I say, that's just where he wanted to be," Allison said.

"No, he didn't rate that well," the major explained. "The Old Man chucked him into a job of ferrying planes to Malta so we'd have some reserves in close to Sicily. Less than an hour ago O'Malley told me it was a quiet and peaceful job, but one he didn't like."

Stan looked at Allison. "You were right, there was a mouse, a big, dead one." He nodded to the major. "Thanks, Major," he said.

They turned away and walked out of the room. Allison laid a hand on Stan's arm as they turned toward the door of Mess Three.

"Suppose we surprise O'Malley," he suggested.

"He'll be in no mood for surprises," Stan answered. "He'll be a wild man. With the whole Army and Navy getting set to force a beach-head and him on ferry duty, he'll be red-hot."

"We are to fill in on his flight. We might work it so that he wouldn't know until we take off. We could be a bit late in showing up." There was a twinkle in Allison's eyes.

Stan began to grin. "I like the idea," he said. "We're stuck the same as he is and might as well cheer him up."

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 assignments 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 assignment 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 cockpit.

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 muffled 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 shores 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.