trail them. That landing strip is just above the
place where the Germans are holding Allison and O'Malley."

"In that case I'll assign you a fast bomber and an objective. You will
drop your bomb load at another spot and make a try." His eyes were
twinkling. "And if you should bring back Mussolini, I think you might
get a medal."

They both laughed. Stan looked at his watch. "Dusk would be the time to
hit there. I can make it tonight."

"As you like," the colonel said. "Report to me at once when you get
back. What information you gather should clear over my desk." He
grinned. "I am a bit of a politician, you see."

Stan saluted and made off while the colonel got busy on the telephone
getting a ship assigned to him.

When Stan reported to the briefing room he found the colonel there. The
briefing officer and his second in command gave him his locations and
his bombing data, the weather and the wind drift. Everything was very
much routine and like a hundred other sorties being made hourly over
selected targets by from one to fifty planes. The colonel walked out to
the runway with Stan.

They shook hands like old pals. Stan smiled. The colonel was deadly
serious.

"Landing almost on a German flying field isn't going to be a soft
touch," he said grimly. "Not even with your luck."

Stan turned to his ship and his smile broadened. Colonel Benson had gone
to considerable trouble in selecting a bomber. The ship that stood with
idling props was a De Havilland Mosquito. She was humpbacked like a
codfish. Her forward gun opening and her nose greenhouse made her look
like a fish. They furnished eyes and mouth. She was a plywood job,
light, but the fastest bomber in the world.

He waved a hand to the colonel and climbed up. None of the ground men
seemed interested in his lack of crew or light bomb load. In the swelter
and rush of round-the-clock operations the boys followed orders and
rushed each job out, knowing that another ship had to be on the line as
soon as one craft cleared a spot.

Stan leaned back against the shock pad and checked his dials. He cracked
the throttle a bit more and his powerful radials roared with surging
power. The Mosquito shuddered and trembled against her chocks.

"Ready, Flight Fifty-four?"

"Ready," Stan called back.

"Lane Three, Flight Fifty-four." The voice from the control tower
snapped off.

Stan eased up and signaled the men below. The chocks were jerked loose
and Stan gunned th