y slid over the Netherlands. There
were to be no roundabout evasive tactics tonight, not with bombs in the
place of extra gasoline.

Stan checked his instrument panel and his clocks. They must be over
Germany now. The country below was blacked-out entirely. There was no
flak and no lights below. Darkness still filled the world, but dawn was
not far away.

A buzzer signal in his headset told Stan it was time to settle down for
low flying. Light had begun to show in the east. Down went the Mustangs,
and as the dawn began to lighten the low country below, they roared
across the German countryside. Now they were greeted by a few bursts of
fire, but no heavy flak came at them. Because they were hedge-hopping at
a terrific speed, the German warning systems were not spotting them in
time to allow gunners to get set.

"Tactical formation, Red Flight." Colonel Wellman broke the silence with
that crisp order.

The Mustangs spread out and made a circling sweep. They had been headed
straight for Berlin and would be spotted as a nuisance raid group of
Mosquito bombers. No fighters would try to intercept them. The Berlin
defenders would depend upon flak, as fighters were useless against the
fast Mosquitoes. By swinging sharply east the Mustangs would hit the
fighter hangars.

The light was good as the boys roared along at treetop level and spotted
the landmarks they had been briefed to expect. They flew in perfect
formation. Stan was flying the tail slot along with O'Malley. They were
in a mopping-up position.

Stan saw the runways flash into sight, then he saw the lead Mustangs go
in with their wheels almost touching the runways. A second later there
were many flashes of flame and rolling clouds of dust. At the same
moment the earth began to erupt fire and smoke and steel. The second
wave of Mustangs disappeared into the inferno. Stan saw two of them blow
up, then go bouncing and tumbling along the ground. That was all he had
time to see. With his hand on the bomb release he went in.

The smoke and the firing was so intense Stan could make out little. He
judged his distance and released his bombs when he caught a glimpse of a
yawning tunnel ahead. He saw O'Malley cut his load loose. O'Malley was
wing to wing with him. Then the Irishman's Mustang stuck her nose into
the ground and went end over end down the field like a wrecked kite.
Stan pulled up hard and as his P-51 lifted, he felt something hit her.
It was as though he h