we have a word with you, sir?" Stan asked as he snapped a salute.

"Certainly," General Miller said.

"We have decided to return to Bizerte and wondered if you could say a word for us if a westbound plane stops here. This delay will upset our plans and we might as well go back."

The general looked at Stan sharply. "What made you change your plans, besides this accident?"

Stan grinned. He did not dare admit that he had overheard the general talking.

"The farther we get from the base of action, the more jittery we get," he replied.

"You fellows have to be ordered to take leave," General Miller said and smiled. "Do your orders allow you such freedom of action?"

"We feel that they do," Stan said.

"I'm sorry I can't take you. I'm afraid I'd be called to account for helping you disobey orders." The general's smile had spread into a grin. "You will go on as you should."

"Thank you, sir," Stan said. They both saluted and walked away.

"Guess we're sunk," Allison said sourly. "O'Malley will certainly rub it in when he sees us again. He'll be right in the middle of the big fight."

Stan was looking at the NATS amphibian and smiling. "We might be able to thumb a ride with the Navy."

Allison looked down toward the sea. The Navy boys were getting the big freighter set to take off.

"Worth a try, let's go down there."

They hurried down to the beach. An ensign was handling the shifting of supplies from the flying boat to a truck. He greeted Stan and Allison in a friendly manner after glancing at their service stripes.

"You boys are a bit off your reservation, aren't you?" he asked.

"We sure are and we want to get back. How about a ride to Bizerte?"

"We're not hauling passengers, but if you piled in nobody would throw you off. We're supposed to cooperate with the Army in every way we can." The ensign laughed.

"Great stuff," Allison said. "I'm March Allison and he's Stan Wilson."

"I'm Bert Thomas," the ensign said. "If you have bags you better get them aboard. We're about to shove off."

"We're not taking any bags back," Stan said hurriedly. He did not want to risk having the general order them to go on into Alexandria. In fact, he did not want the general to know they were going out with the amphibian.

"O.K. Just get aboard and find a place to sit down."

Stan and Allison climbed aboard the freighter. The crew paid no attention to them but went on lashing cargo into place, cramming all sorts of odd repair parts into every corner.

Ensign Thomas came aboard and took his place beside his copilot. Stan and Allison sat on the only two vacant seats along the arching ribs of the ship. They were careful not to take the space reserved for the crew.

The freighter slid out into the bay and soon she was slapping the step of the lazy waves. A few seconds later she lifted and was off, rising slowly, roaring along like a gorged pelican. She did not have a machine gun or a cannon aboard and she was going it alone. The two fighter pilots, used to a bank of Brownings in front of them, felt uneasy. If a Heinkel or an Me 110 showed up, the old girl would be a dead duck.

No enemy planes showed up, however, and the freighter bored along. Ahead of them the sun was settling down into the sea, filling the air with golden haze and making the water glow like sapphire. Just at sunset the freighter swung inshore and eased down over the harbor at Bizerte. Two fighter planes from a carrier lying offshore zoomed around her as she came in. She hit the water and glided in to a mooring.

"Passengers ashore!" Bert Thomas called back.

As they piled out Stan and Allison saluted the skipper. "Thanks a million," Stan said.

"Right fine of you, old man," Allison chimed in.

"Glad to give you a hand," Thomas said as he turned to the job of unloading.

Stan and Allison shoved through the crowds along the docks. They were eager to get in touch with Colonel Benson and get back on the job. Everywhere they could see signs of the coming invasion attempt. Thousands of ships and barges and warcraft lay in the harbor or offshore. Men swarmed everywhere, while tanks and trucks and mobile guns rattled down to the water front.

The boys caught a ride with an air force truck headed toward their field. The truck took them to within a few blocks of headquarters. When they hopped out, Stan said:

"Here goes nothing. Wonder what the Old Man will say?"

"We'll be lucky to be able to see him at all. He'll be very busy," Allison drawled.

Reaching headquarters they spoke to an orderly. The soldier regarded them closely.

"Yes, Colonel Benson is in his office."

"Tell him Lieutenants Wilson and Allison wish to see him." Stan gave the soldier a look that made him snap to attention.

"I'll report, sir," he said and made off.

"He acted as though we were not welcome," Allison remarked.

"The Old Man probably told him to shoo all pilots away," Stan said. "Now we better make our story good."

The orderly returned and nodded toward the fliers. "Colonel Benson will see you, sir," he said to Stan.

They moved into the room and found Colonel Benson sitting behind his desk. He had a pot of coffee, a bowl of soup, and a plate of sandwiches before him. His green eyes lifted and swept over the two officers. They saluted and Stan said:

"Lieutenants Wilson and Allison reporting for duty, sir."

The colonel dipped up a spoon of soup and ate it. He selected a sandwich, lifted the lid and looked at the filling, then took a bite.

"I believe you gentlemen are under orders to report to Alexandria. I take it you have made some changes on your own account." The colonel paused and waited for a reply. His face was expressionless, but his eyes bored into Stan and Allison.

"We hoped you would allow us to join Lieutenant O'Malley's command. We got the idea there might be action on this front soon." Stan stood very straight and looked the colonel in the eye.

"What gave you the idea there would be action?" the colonel asked.

"We got it quite by accident," Stan answered.

"I see. So you canceled the orders of the area commander and returned. Who brought you back?"

"The Navy, sir." Allison smiled as he said it.

The colonel grunted. He finished his sandwich and helped himself to more soup. Finally he spoke.

"There will be action very soon and we do need pilots," he said blandly. His eyes dropped to a pad of reports. They were urgent requests from Wilks and Liske asking to be transferred from O'Malley's ferry flight. "I have two places I find very difficult to fill, and they happen to be in Commander O'Malley's flight. I'll assign you men to those places." His eyes lifted and there was a glint of hardness in them. "For the duration of the present action," he added grimly.

"Thank you, sir," Stan said. "We will not take up more of your time."

"One more thing," the colonel said. "I will cancel your leave to Alexandria. But your new assignment will not free you from any measures I decide to take later as punishment for your breach of orders. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," both officers answered. They saluted and about-faced.

Outside the door Stan turned to Allison. "The Old Boy isn't such a tough cookie after all."

"Don't be so sure about that. You know I had a hunch he was spoofing us all the time." Allison scowled. "I'm sure he was."

"You smelled a mouse?" Stan grinned.

"I smelled a very dead one,"