Sergeant Hale in the bomber’s nose began counting aloud through the interphone.
“—thirteen—fourteen—fifteen Zeros dead ahead, and a flight of three more just above them. Here they come!”
“Flights two, three and four, pull in closer!” barked the command radio. “Wing men will step up—the others down—ready to repel attacking planes.”
Glancing up and to the right, Barry caught sight of still another enemy flight arrowing down at the Fortresses. He nudged O’Grady and pointed with his finger. The Old Man merely nodded. Keeping Rosy in her place in the tight protective formation was his only task for the moment.
Sergeant Hale Counted Aloud Through the Interphone
BR-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R!
With a chattering roar that cut through the engines’ thunder, Rosy’s nose, top turret, and side guns went into action. From the squadron’s .50-caliber machine guns burst a storm of white tracer bullets. These mingled briefly with the fire of the diving enemy. Then most of the Zeros were below the flying forts.
Rosy O’Grady’s belly turret opened up, followed by Tony Romani’s fire from the “stinger” turret in the tail. As it ceased, the thought came to Barry Blake: “We’ve knocked them out of the sky! I thought those Japs were tough fighters, but this was like shooting clay pigeons. There’s nothing in sight but three Zeros torching down below—”
A slamming explosion jarred the fuselage. Then the side gun manned by Curly Levitt chattered harshly. Out of the corner of his eye, Barry saw the nearest Fortress stagger out of place in the V.