He finally decided to go on to the navy base and then send for Allison and O’Malley at once. They would believe him and help him. He would have a good crew of mechanics at the field to slap the Hawks together quickly and might be able to get them off in one day. Then there was one other thing that tipped the balance in favor of going on. This was pretty much a personal matter between himself and Arch Garret. This was the second time Garret had tried to wipe him out.
Heading north he drove along and did not see any more Heinkels. He was hailed by a scouting squadron from the fleet arm.
“Where to, Spitfire?” called a very English voice over the radio.
“Navy base. Shetlands,” Stan called back.
“Good luck and cheerio, Yank,” came back the English voice.
Stan grinned broadly. His western accent sure marked him well. He bored ahead, his eyes seeing far into the distance, his mind working upon the crooked plotting of Arch Garret.
He spotted the naval base and circled around to give the boys at the batteries a chance to see who he was, then set down and turned the Spitfire over to a ground crew. Taking his file of papers he headed for the commander’s quarters.
The commander was an affable man, ruddy-faced and square-jawed. He had heard about Stan and O’Malley’s attack upon the pocket battleship.
“I was so inquisitive about those ships I had them unloaded and uncovered. They are beauties, sir. But I can’t see what you’ll want with so much motor.”
“I’ll show you,” Stan promised. “Now I want to make a call back to London and then I want a squad of your best mechanics. I have to get these Hawks into action at once.”