"There are many flights going out at daylight. Ours is just one of them,
but we have been assigned to destroy the largest of the fighter bases
near Berlin. You all know the tactics. There will be thirty planes in
your flight. This is a teamwork job." He paused and looked over the
eager faces before him.

The men began to breathe easier as the colonel went on. They knew what
they were up against. There would be a long flight during which they
would avoid fights in the air. Then there would be a sudden attack to be
staged just at dawn. That attack would be rugged going and a lot of them
would never come back.

When the briefing was over, they crowded out of the room and into the
mess for hot coffee and sandwiches. There was little talking. This was
the hour of tension. Weather still had to come through with reports and
the men had learned that Weather often let them down. Being let down
after getting keyed up for a dangerous mission was worse than going
out.

But Weather did not let them down. They got their clearance without
delay and headed for the ready room. Eagerly they scrambled into their
outfits, then barged out into the night. Stan and O'Malley walked side
by side.

"We fly the tail slot," Stan said. "That means some hot going."

"'Tis as good as any," O'Malley answered as he headed for his plane.
"See you at breakfast."

Like huge night birds the P-51's took off and headed east. Stan watched
the flare of their exhausts as they flamed down the runways and lifted
into the dark sky.

"O'Malley ready, Wilson stand by."

Stan adjusted himself and checked his instruments. He eased down against
the shock pad and waited. O'Malley went knifing away and he wheeled in
behind. Hoiking the P-51's tail he sent her off and up.

Quickly the big fighters, each with a bomb load tucked in where
ordinarily extra tanks would nestle, closed into formation. The flight
leader, Colonel Wellman held them in tight formation.

As they roared along Stan thought back over the past few days. He had
been offered the flight leader's job but had turned it down. When
Wellman got back he would be ranked up a notch and shoved into a job
where he could fly only occasionally. Already his record and his rating
kept him at base most of the time. Stan grinned. He did not want
anything out of the war but a chance to fly in action.

They moved across the channel, high up in the cold sky. Roaring toward
Berlin in arrow-straight flight, the