"That would be our luck," Allison answered. "Where are we, anyway?"
"We must be near Bengazi." Stan peered down at the coast line.
A few minutes later their fears were realized. The transport began circling for a landing. They sighted the ruins of a town and were soon over it. Ten minutes later they were standing on a sand dune along with the pilot and copilot. A group of higher-ranking officers, including a general, stood a little way from them.
"We'll not be here very long," the pilot said, jerking his head toward his other passengers. "Not with the big boy along. He's on an urgent mission. We've already radioed for a pick-up plane."
"He's hurrying in the wrong direction," Allison said.
Stan walked away and down the slope a bit. One of the Navy's NATS amphibian freight planes was down at the dock. Stan had learned to respect the Navy Air Transport Service. Those boys flew freight and mail from the United States to every part of the world where the Yanks were fighting, and they flew it on schedule. This plane probably was headed back to Tunis or Bizerte.
He passed the high officers at some little distance. The wind was blowing away from them and he caught the irritated voice of the general.
"With this delay I'll have to go back. Action against Italy starts at dawn tomorrow." The wind whipped away the general's words and Stan did not hear any more, but what he had heard made him halt.
Invasion. The boys were going in for the kill and he was heading for a rest in Alexandria. Turning, he walked up the hill. Allison was chatting with the pilot. Stan motioned to him and they strolled down the slope. When they were out of hearing of the crew, Stan said:
"I just overheard something."