We can get a crack at them before daylight, if headquarters will let us
pull an immediate raid." The O.C. held the receiver jammed to his ear
with one hand while he fished into a drawer with the other. He found a
cigar and bit the end off, then clamped the cigar between his teeth.
Speaking out of the side of his mouth, he went on.

"How did you come to bag Garret?"

"I found him in the mess, sir. He was sitting there waiting for the call
to action he was sure was coming. He had warned all of the boys against
loose flying. They had strict orders to stick close to him," Stan said.

"This is one raid they won't put over, thanks to you, Wilson."

"We can blast them at their bases," Stan said eagerly. "They'll be
grounded and waiting, saving their gas and getting ragged nerves while
they wait."

"Ragged nerves?" The O.C. had his man on the phone and began barking at
him, arguing furiously. He waved his cigar and pounded the desk and
bellowed. Five minutes later he clamped the receiver into place and
swung around to face Stan. Wiping the sweat from his face, he said:

"That was the Air Ministry."

Stan grinned. "I take it you convinced them, sir."

"Convinced them? I routed them!" Farrell found a match and lighted his
frayed cigar. Getting to his feet, he added. "We're off for those bases
and this time I fly myself. I have been wanting to see how this show
stacks up with the last one, and now I'm going to find out."

Stan followed him out into the night. After that things happened with
lightning speed. Stan lost track of all the things they did and the
places they went.

First of all, the radioman was caught with all of his equipment. The
hunchback cracked when faced with the grim prospect of facing a firing
squad within a half-hour. His code book revealed a complicated mass of
information which was deciphered at once, with some assistance from him.
Exact locations were charted and objectives laid out. All of it was done
on the run.

Before the officers were through with the radioman, a message was sent
out to the Nazis holding up the attack until further instructions were
given. The message was in code and properly sent so that it would be
received by the enemy as an order from their key man in London. Herr
Naggel's secret code number was signed to it.

Then there was a cold and clearheaded gathering around the big map in
the central control room. Four flights would go out. Not just four
ordinary flights, but f