e ship. She leaped forward with a snap that would have
done credit to any fighter craft. Darting down the runway she hoiked her
tail and was off before she had covered a fourth of the alloted space.
Upward she roared like a streak. The boys on the ground grinned. The
Mosquito got off so fast she was out of sight before any spotter could
pick her up.

Easing around in a wide circle, Stan put her nose into the wind and let
her have her head. He settled himself to the job ahead, his pulses
beating in tune with the roar of the slip stream of air piling up and
rolling off the leading edges of his wings. A good ship, the De
Havilland. She was the craft used to make regular flights between
England and Malta. Too fast for interception, the Mosquitoes streaked
right across Hitler's Germany or across France, running supplies daily
through enemy-guarded skies.

The coast of Italy showed clearly ahead. Slipping in over Reggio Stan
picked a rail line and checked with his eye. No need for a bombardier
here. He lined up on the track and then spotted a short string of cars.
The train was standing still and smoke lifted from its locomotive. Stan
suspected some other Yank had spotted it and laid a stick of bombs on
the track, blocking it.

Stan knew he should cut loose his bombs and be on his way. But the feel
of the Mosquito made him eager to try her out. This was an ideal target
for the fast-flying bomber. If he went down he would be sure to stir up
German fighter planes. The temptation was great. Stan nosed over and
sent the Mosquito roaring down the chute. He lined up on the freight
train as he went.

The landscape wavered up at him. The train seemed to be twisting and
turning like a snake trying to wiggle away, though he knew it was not
moving. The wind ahead of his diving wings piled up and banked like
invisible snow, making the plane shudder and shake. Stan grinned. Only
the Lockheed Lightning could fly a dive fast enough to bank up air like
snow; that was what he had always thought, but the diving Mosquito was
doing it. Stan began to wonder if a ship made of plywood could take the
strain of a pull-out after such a dive.

He released his stick of bombs and the Mosquito bounced like a golf ball
before the cutting edge of a driver. Up she went and Stan set himself
against the "high G's" he had to expect. First, as he started up, there
was a blurring of vision, then a graying, and then a momentary blackout.
Instantly the grayin