'Malley. They
lounged about, with O'Malley getting as restless as a panther and twice
as grouchy. They went over to see Allison and found him sitting up. He
would be out in a very short time.

Stan took the opportunity to give O'Malley a course of lessons dealing
with the fine points of the Hawk.

"She carries two sticks of bombs when she's out hunting. That's
something new. They put those sticks on just to pep you up. The other
day, when we were zipping through Messerschmitt bullets, I gave them a
thought or two. If a cannon ball or a bullet lands just right, off goes
the stick of bombs and out you go." Stan grinned at O'Malley as he
spoke.

"Sure, an' O'Malley will fix that," the Irishman said. "We pick a nice
spot and drop them firecrackers."

"I'm glad you suggested it. It would have been against regulations for
me to say anything about it."

"Sure, we might find a Jerry to pop them down on, but no matter, they
are no fit things to be kapin' tucked under your wings whilst you're sky
scrappin'." O'Malley shook his head.

"We'll try them out. This is the best dive bomber that was ever built.
You nose her straight down and pull the flaps. She settles herself to a
350 mile per hour pace and when you get your sights set you cut loose.
It's a dead cinch to pot a target that way."

"Sure," O'Malley agreed. "Only we aren't bomber boys."

They left O'Malley's room and went to the mess. Stan read the pictorial
while O'Malley took a nap. The blaring of the intersquadron speaker
roused them. The Irishman's feet hit the floor and he was awake at once.

"That's us," he mumbled.

"It's everybody else, but it's not us," Stan growled.

It seemed the Group Captain and his men gathered around the map in
headquarters had forgotten all about the Hendee Hawk.

"That's the trouble in being a one-ship flight," O'Malley muttered. "If
we had three Spitfires we'd be up there now."

An orderly entered and ran across to Stan. "Wing Commander Farrell's
instructions for Lieutenant Wilson," he said as he handed Stan the
paper.

Stan unfolded the paper and, with O'Malley reading the order out loud
over his shoulder, he scanned the paper. They were to join a flight of
Hurricanes and Spitfires setting out to contact enemy planes over the
channel. Orders would be broadcast later, but the action was in
connection with a naval attack. Their radio call would be Red Flight.

"Sure, an' we're still Red Flight," O'Malley said as he whirle