“Sure, an’ we’ll fly to Berlin,” O’Malley said.
“You better be thinking about locating that airfield,” Stan answered. “There was a general at the meeting I just left.”
“As long as he won’t be askin’ to go along, it’s all right,” O’Malley said.
“Now let’s get some shut-eye.” Stan got to his feet.
In the operations room the next morning, their papers were ready and they headed out on the field where three big Mustangs stood ready and warmed up. They were powerhouses with wicked armament and plenty of wingspread. In addition to wing guns, they had bomb racks which were fitted with extra gasoline tanks.
“Sure, an’ they’re one-man bombers,” O’Malley crowed.
“They weren’t built for hedge-hopping, but the major said they could do about four hundred miles per hour on the treetop level,” Stan explained.
Sim whistled. “Wait until the Eighth gets a flock of these,” he said.
“You plot the course, O’Malley,” Stan said. “We’ll stay in close until we start down over Germany, then we’ll keep within striking distance to cover each other. We’re camera equipped but we have to use our eyes, too.”
The boys climbed up and got settled. Control gave Stan clearance and he called to his flight.