any so that they would be sure to run out
of gas. It was infuriating, but there just was nothing that could be
done about it. Stan watched O'Malley as he roared after a Jerry.

"Come back, Irisher. They're just tricking you out of gas," he called.

"The spalpeens!" O'Malley roared, but he zoomed up and over, then tailed
in after Red Flight which was heading for home.

Stan saw the Me's dive down to overtake and attack the Forts and Libs.
He had a cold, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He still was not
convinced that the big fellows could take care of themselves. They had a
hundred miles more to cover before reaching their targets, and then
another hundred to return before fighters could meet them.

Red Flight slid in on its home field, a sleek flight group in fine trim,
except for one slight wound. Sim's ship had picked up a small piece of
flak, but it had done no damage. Sim had it in his hand when he climbed
down and joined his men.

"A foine battle!" O'Malley fumed.

"I was hit," Sim said, grinning.

"'Tis the fillin' out o' one o' yer teeth," O'Malley answered.

"I counted eight fighters shot down by the big boys," a pilot remarked.

"Check in all kills you observed," Sim said. "It will help the bomber
boys get credit."

O'Malley stared gloomily up into the sky. Stan nudged him. "How about
some breakfast?" he asked.

O'Malley brightened a bit. "I ordered a pie for breakfast," he said. "If
that cook forgot my pie, he'll be no more than a grease spot when I get
through with him."

O'Malley got his pie, a thick apple pie dripping with juice. He cut it
into quarters, slid one slab out on his fist and began munching, paying
no attention to the dripping juice. Stan stared into his coffee cup. He
was thinking.

O'Malley finished his second quarter of pie. He looked at Stan.

"What you dreamin' up now?" he asked.

Stan smiled faintly. "You know, I have a hunch we might fool those
Jerries. They have this all down to a science. A flight is reported to
their head man and he figures out just how far we can fly. If we could
do say a hundred miles more, we'd have some fun."

"So you're goin' to order planes with a hundred more miles gas supply."
O'Malley grunted and attacked his third piece of pie.

"We could take along emergency tanks and drop them," Stan said.

O'Malley halted the movement of his hand. His mouth was open like a
cavern. He closed it.

"Sure, an' 'tis a brilliant idea. We'll see the