Sweeping in a few yards above the runway, Stan laid over just a little. He checked the wrecks and saw that one of them was Sim’s ship. The other was an FW fighter minus one wing. The Germans behind their hidden batteries opened up with a savage burst of fire. Stan went straight toward the hill, flying low to keep out of the flak. As he shot up off the runway he stared hard at the hillside ahead, then blinked his eyes.
“So,” he said softly. “So that’s the way it is.”
He went up and over the hill, spiraling into the sky in a climb steeper than any ship had ever carried him. The FW’s had been joined by five Me 110’s, but the Jerries did not close with him. Stan headed for home as fast as the P-51 could travel, which topped four hundred miles per hour by a wide margin.
He was roaring along with no opposition in sight and a clear sky around him when he suddenly spotted a plane in his mirror. It was overhauling him rapidly. Suddenly Stan grinned. He eased back on the throttle and waggled his wings as O’Malley roared over him. Picking up speed, he dropped in beside his pal and signaled that his radio was dead. They roared on home, wing to wing.
CHAPTER V
HIDDEN DROMES
Stan sat at Colonel Holt’s desk along with O’Malley. It had taken them just twenty minutes to get from the operations room to the colonel’s office. Holt had called in Major Kulp of the photography wing and General Ward from the command staff.
“When I came in to check the wrecked planes,” Stan said, “I was able to see how they do it. They have a screen on tracks. It is covered over with brush and leaves and looks from any angle, except squarely in front, like the side of the hill. They just roll it out and it covers the planes.”
“You wrecked quite a few of them on the ground?” the general asked.
“We must have smashed at least half of them,” Stan answered. “But the part that interested me most was the underground hangars. The screen is only a temporary camouflage. The planes are snapped back into the underground hangar. I say we got about half of them, because the wrecked ones were still out under the screen. The others had been pulled back.”
“We can bomb those hangars out,” the colonel said.
“I don’t think so,” Stan said. “I judge there’s a full forty feet of earth over them as a roof, and I suppose there’s at least ten feet of concrete under that.”
“That would make them safe. Have any any ideas for handling them?” General Ward bent forward eagerly.
“Yes,” Stan replied. “We could skip-bomb them.”
“Skip-bomb?” Major Kulp asked.
“Bounce our bombs right into the open end of the hangar,” Stan said, grinning.
“It might work,” Colonel Holt said.
“The P-51’s carry bombs, and I’m sure the boys could rig them so that we could fly at the right angle to bounce them into the hangars. If we went across once, they’d have the ships pulled back in and we’d get most of them.”
“We’ll try it,” the general said. “Wilson, you will have charge of the flight.”
“It will be tough going. We lost Jones today and O’Malley and I were just lucky. We both had our ships shot up badly.”
“Chances we have to take,” Colonel Holt said gravely. “Are you sure Jones was killed?”
“I saw his ship hit by what looked like a rocket shell,” Stan said. “I went into the smoke and did not see it until I flew over it on the ground.”
Silence followed this remark. Finally the colonel spoke. “We’ll report him missing in action and hope for the best.”
“Sure, an’ I’m thinkin’ the Jerries were plenty mad,” O’Malley said grimly.
“The thing to do is to check with bomber operations and locate the spots where they run into the most fighters. Then scout those areas with low-level flights. When we locate a set of runways near a hill, we’ll check. After the data is in we’ll try Lieutenant Wilson’s skip-bombing tactics. But we want to make a clean-up, for once we let them know how we do it they’ll rig up a defense.” The general rose to his feet. “I’ll let you know, Colonel, what plans my office makes.”
“You have pictures of the hangars?” the major asked eagerly.
“I’m afraid I forgot all about your cameras when I came in over the runway,” Stan replied. “I was really looking for Sim and O’Malley.”
“You fighter pilots always forget the cameras,” the major said sourly. “Well, we’ll check what you did get.”
“’Tis about time to be eatin’,” O’Malley put in anxiously.
“In that case, Colonel, we’ll run along,” Stan said with a grin.
Colonel Holt looked at O’Malley sternly. “Food is a secondary matter right now, but you may go.”
“Thank you, sor,” O’Malley said. “It’s very important to me.”
The colonel looked at O’Malley’s lank and bony frame and smiled. He turned back to his desk, and Stan and O’Malley hurried away.
“I thought you had to have water to do this here skip-bombing,” O’Malley said when they were outside.
“It can be done on land, too. Our boys can rig a delayed fuse and we can roll the eggs right back into the nests,” Stan explained.
“We’ll have fun,” O’Malley chuckled. “In no time at all we’ll be over Berlin.”
During the next week, scouting flights from the Eighth Air Force field and from other fields near by were made on a pattern. Long-range P-51’s and swift Mosquito bombers went out. They searched a wide band of enemy territory and made many photographs. Every landing strip, even though it appeared to be only an emergency runway, was checked and photographed. Then the boys were called in. The fields had been spotted and their underground hangars located. It was time to strike.
Stan and O’Malley sat in the operations room looking at a big map. Colonel Holt stood before the map with his staff. The men leaned forward eagerly. For several days they had been practicing a new type of bombing with fighters, a skip method. The colonel pointed to the map.
“There are many flights going out at daylight. Ours is just one of them, but we have been assigned to destroy the largest of the fighter bases near Berlin. You all know the tactics. There will be thirty planes in your flight. This is a teamwork job.” He paused and looked over the eager faces before him.
The men began to breathe easier as the colonel went on. They knew what they were up against. There would be a long flight during which they would avoid fights in the air. Then there would be a sudden attack to be staged just at dawn. That attack would be rugged going and a lot of them would never come back.
When the briefing was over, they crowded out of the room and into the mess for hot coffee and sandwiches. There was little talking. This was the hour of tension. Weather still had to come through with reports and the men had learned that Weather often let them down. Being let down after getting keyed up for a dangerous mission was worse than going out.
But Weather did not let them down. They got their clearance without delay and headed for the ready room. Eagerly they scrambled into their outfits, then barged out into the night. Stan and O’Malley walked side by side.
“We fly the tail slot,” Stan said. “That means some hot going.”
“’Tis as good as any,” O’Malley answered as he headed for his plane. “See you at breakfast.”
Like huge night birds the P-51’s took off and headed east. Stan watched the flare of their exhausts as they flamed down the runways and lifted into the dark sky.
“O’Malley ready, Wilson stand by.”
Stan adjusted himself and checked his instruments. He eased down against the shock pad and waited. O’Malley went knifing away and he wheeled in behind. Hoiking the P-51’s tail he sent her off and up.