Where the deck of the battleship had been there was now a great burst of smoke and flame.
“That card will make ’em watch their course, me bye!” O’Malley crowed.
Stan could not tell whether they had put the pocket battleship out or not. She shifted her course and moved more slowly, but she kept going. Now the Messerschmitts decided the crazy ship was a bomber and not a fighter. They swarmed upon her, which was exactly what the wild Irishman wanted.
Stan went to work with his guns, but he kept track of the doings of his crazy pilot. O’Malley seemed to have gone stark mad. He plunged up into the path of the oncoming fighters and his banks of Brownings opened up. Lead spattered all over the Hawk and a lot of it came through. But two Messerschmitt One-Tens went down before the flock discovered that this new ship had more wicked fire power than a Spitfire. They zoomed and dived and circled like angry hornets.
“They need a bit of educatin’,” O’Malley shouted. “An if they’ll be swarmin’ around I’ll give it to them.”
Stan didn’t answer because at that moment his hatch cover splintered into a million tiny cracks and a maze of ragged holes, the line of bullets moving across not six inches above his head.
O’Malley decided the only thing was to select a Messerschmitt and run him down. He picked one and roared after it. The ME, confident that he had superior speed, darted away. But he soon discovered this strange ship had plenty more engine than his One-Ten. He banked and shot down. O’Malley dived and was on his tail, slicing away great chunks of the Jerry’s ship.
When they came up they were well inside the enemy lines and no Royal Air Force ships were in sight, though the air was full of assorted Jerries.
“Get back on our side of the fence!” Stan shouted.
“Sure, an’ it’s nicer over here,” O’Malley called back.