"Your flight time is double what it should be. Get over to Number Three Field and get your transportation back to Africa."
"Yes, sor," O'Malley said. "We drifted a bit off course."
The captain looked at him sharply. He was very busy and delays did not improve his ragged temper.
"Don't let it happen again," he snapped.
O'Malley smiled at his two fliers. "Sure, an' 'tis very ungrateful some people are. We risk our necks to deliver these crates an' get a sour welcome." He turned and walked away. The captain stood staring after him. He had not met a man like O'Malley before. Usually ferry pilots were not given to back talk.
The transport was waiting. O'Malley and his pals climbed in among an assortment of equipment and supplies being returned to base. In a short time they were back at their own briefing room. Three planes were ready and they took off again.
All day they ferried Lightnings across to Malta and not once did they sight enemy craft. O'Malley was wild when they checked in for the evening. He glared at the grinning Captain Marks.
"Sure, an' something better bust loose tomorrow," he cried.
"Probably will," Marks answered.
O'Malley stomped away to quarters. Wilks and Liske dashed off to put in for an immediate transfer to more active duty. O'Malley hoped they got the transfer. He knew there was not much chance of him getting shifted, not as long as Colonel Benson was in command.