ce.

For a full five minutes O'Malley stood outside the office looking out
toward the blue Mediterranean. There was a deep scowl on his face.
Finally he sauntered into the mess and seated himself near a window.
Elevating his feet, he closed his eyes and took a nap.

He was awakened by an orderly. The soldier saluted smartly and said:

"You are wanted at operations, sir."

O'Malley got to his feet and walked into the briefing shack, which was
a shed hastily erected outside the mess. Captain Marks was waiting for
him. He shoved a sheaf of flight orders at O'Malley.

"You are to deliver three Lightning fighters to Malta. In case you meet
enemy planes, you are to take proper evasive measures. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sor," O'Malley said and added, "If we be attacked we fight?"

"Certainly, we don't want these new planes shot down."

Glancing at his flight orders, O'Malley moved leisurely out to the
flight strip designated. Three Lightnings stood there with their props
spinning. A ground crew was just leaving them. O'Malley nodded toward
the chief mechanic who swung down out of the cockpit.

"Is this bag o' bolts ready to fly?" he asked with a grin.

"She's clicking fine, sir," the sergeant answered.

O'Malley glanced at his orders. The two men under him were Ted Wilks and
Pete Liske. He wondered what they had done to call down the colonel's
displeasure. Swinging up into the greenhouse, he palmed the hatch cover
and got set.

"Wilks and Liske," he called lazily. "This is your skipper, Mrs.
O'Malley's son. Get your crates hot."

"Temperatures check," Liske called back. His voice sounded sour.

"Which one of the Auld Man's corns did you step on, Liske?" O'Malley
asked.

"Same one I did," Wilks called in.

"Can the chatter and get going," snapped a voice from operations.
"Lieutenant O'Malley, report out at once," another voice cut in.

"Up to five thousand and then tuck in close to me," O'Malley ordered.

"Read your flight sheets!" The voice from operations was sharp and
snappy.

O'Malley laughed. "Shove off, me hearties," he called.

Wilks went zooming off and Liske followed closely. O'Malley watched
their take-off with a critical eye. He saw at once that he had been
given two fledglings to nurse safely through. Like an old hen, he was
expected to see them through by proper evasive tactics. O'Malley began
whistling a bit of an Irish tune. He'd protect those kids, just let any
Italian or German fighter sho