O’Malley didn’t. He was a born flier and a lover of engines. Before they got the starter’s signal, he had the feel of the big Double-Wasp motor. He took her off with a rush and a zoom, falling easily into place between a flight of Spitfires and Hurricanes. Later a spread of Defiants joined them and still later they overtook a squadron of Hampdens moving steadily out toward the channel. The bombers were loaded heavily and making no attempt to climb up.
“Don’t ye forget we’re pickin’ a target and unloading the bombs.” O’Malley was speaking through the “intercom” telephone.
“Wait until we spot a good target. I want to see what we can do with our sticks of bombs,” Stan answered.
O’Malley began to hum a snatch of an Irish melody. He wasn’t in the least disturbed. For that matter the whole flight was slipping along as smoothly as though on parade.
Then everything changed in a flash. “Naval battle! Naval battle!” O’Malley was bellowing into his mike.
The Hampdens were moving into formation for action against something below and the fighters were peeling off and going down to see them through. Up ahead shells were bursting in the sky and the thunder of big guns rolled up to them.
“Boom! Boom! Boom!”
The big fellows weren’t tossing their shells aloft. They were lobbing them at targets below. Stan shouted to O’Malley:
“Follow the Hampdens down so we can unload!”
“Sure, an’ the quicker the better,” O’Malley bellowed back. He depressed the nose of the Hawk and they went screaming down the chute. In a moment they had a good look at the sea below.