"You're a bit off course," an unusually gruff voice broke in.
"Sure, an' I'm flyin' this outfit," O'Malley snapped.
They were swinging east by north, which headed them for Sicily. O'Malley scanned the skies as light began to break. Below him the strait was alive with barges and transports. A British monitor wallowed on its way, rolling and plunging. Flight after flight of medium bombers fanned out at low level. High above, the fighter patrols were roaring toward Sicily. O'Malley scowled as he scanned the scene hopefully. Not a German or an Italian plane in sight. It appeared that the best O'Malley would get for setting his own course was a good view of the invasion fleet and the opening wedge of the air forces.
Suddenly the shores of Sicily appeared below, and almost at once O'Malley was jerked out of his sour mood by a shout from one of his pilots.
"Me 110's coming down at four o'clock!"
"Protect yerselves!" O'Malley shouted eagerly. "Run fer it!"
"Shall we follow your example?" came in a mocking voice.
O'Malley started and his mouth popped open. He knew that voice! Then in came the voice of his other pilot.
"We'll do as you do, Commander. Lead on!"
"You spalpeens!" O'Malley bellowed. Then he broke out in a loud laugh. "Sure, an' the Auld Man made monkeys out of you two."