“I’ll bet he is seeing action,” Allison said. “But I’m satisfied to be riding in peace with a pip of a vacation ahead. You’re not beginning to get the bug to fight so soon, old man?”
“No,” Stan answered with a grin. “I aim to have a swell time and be ready for the big push into Europe.”
The trained ears of the two pilots caught a warning signal from one of the plane’s radial motors. The motor complained for a few minutes, then coughed and conked out completely.
“Looks like we might be due for a forced landing,” Stan said.
“That would be our luck,” Allison answered. “Where are we, anyway?”
“We must be near Bengazi.” Stan peered down at the coast line.
A few minutes later their fears were realized. The transport began circling for a landing. They sighted the ruins of a town and were soon over it. Ten minutes later they were standing on a sand dune along with the pilot and copilot. A group of higher-ranking officers, including a general, stood a little way from them.
“We’ll not be here very long,” the pilot said, jerking his head toward his other passengers. “Not with the big boy along. He’s on an urgent mission. We’ve already radioed for a pick-up plane.”
“He’s hurrying in the wrong direction,” Allison said.
Stan walked away and down the slope a bit. One of the Navy’s NATS amphibian freight planes was down at the dock. Stan had learned to respect the Navy Air Transport Service. Those boys flew freight and mail from the United States to every part of the world where the Yanks were fighting, and they flew it on schedule. This plane probably was headed back to Tunis or Bizerte.