be equipped with P-51 ships and have
a flight of three. General Ward suggests you do a bit of rhubarb
raiding."

"Thank you, sir. These 51's are the new long-range fighters?"

"They have the same range as the Libs and Forts." The colonel smiled.
"But we have only a few of them. Later, perhaps, we'll have a great
many."

"Check carefully on location and construction of fields. Each ship has a
camera to record the details of any fields you locate." General Ward
spoke in a Texas drawl.

"Don't trust the cameras entirely. Get down low and see all you can,"
the major added.

"The third pilot, who is he?" Stan asked.

"Did you have a man in mind?" Colonel Holt asked.

"Yes, sir."

"I should have consulted you, but I already have promised a man the
job."

"Who is he?" Stan asked, trying not to show his disappointment.

"Lieutenant Jones."

Stan began to grin. "The same man I had in mind," he said.

"Good. Now take over."

Stan hurried away. He found the boys listening to the radio in the rest
room. At his nod O'Malley and Sim joined him at a reading table.

"We get special rhubarb detail," he said.

"Foine," O'Malley said eagerly. "Only we'll never be able to fly far
enough into Kraut territory to see anything."

"I get to go along?" Sim asked.

"Colonel's orders," Stan said and grinned. "And we get P-51 ships with
the same range as the Forts."

"Sure, an' we'll fly to Berlin," O'Malley said.

"You better be thinking about locating that airfield," Stan answered.
"There was a general at the meeting I just left."

"As long as he won't be askin' to go along, it's all right," O'Malley
said.

"Now let's get some shut-eye." Stan got to his feet.

In the operations room the next morning, their papers were ready and
they headed out on the field where three big Mustangs stood ready and
warmed up. They were powerhouses with wicked armament and plenty of
wingspread. In addition to wing guns, they had bomb racks which were
fitted with extra gasoline tanks.

"Sure, an' they're one-man bombers," O'Malley crowed.

"They weren't built for hedge-hopping, but the major said they could do
about four hundred miles per hour on the treetop level," Stan explained.

Sim whistled. "Wait until the Eighth gets a flock of these," he said.

"You plot the course, O'Malley," Stan said. "We'll stay in close until
we start down over Germany, then we'll keep within striking distance to
cover each other. We're camera equipped