Stan leaned over and looked down. The scene below was a stirring one. Three battlewagons of the cruiser class lay offshore. In closer, a line of destroyers was blazing fire and smoke as they blasted the shore batteries of the enemy. A group of torpedo boats darted in and out, tormenting an enemy ship. Toward the shore and moving from four big transports came the landing barges: the personnel barges, the tank carriers, the mechanized armament barges. In swarms they were pouring toward the shore. In the air above, Yank and R.A.F. fighter pilots struggled to keep the dive bombers and the torpedo planes from getting at the ships. This was the zero hour for the boys in the barges. Either they established a beach-head or they failed at terrible cost.
Stan forgot that he was supposed to be a ferry pilot. He spotted a Stuka slipping in behind a screen of smoke rising from a burning freighter. Nosing down, he went after the Stuka. He caught a flash of O'Malley and Allison going in, too. They were needed, there was no doubt about that. The German planes were getting through.
Coming down on the bandit, Stan eased over a bit and flattened out to come in on the bomber's tail. The Stuka was sloping down toward one of the transport ships. Stan kicked his throttle on full and raised his nose until he had the bandit in his sights. His thumb pressed the gun button and he felt the terrific kick-back from his bank of guns. He saw the tail and a large part of the rear compartment of the Stuka wobble and then sheer away. Whirling crazily, smoke billowing up from its torn body, the Stuka went down, landing with a splash close alongside the transport. Stan went over the deck of the ship so low, he could see the grateful Navy boys waving at him.
Swinging inshore, Stan knifed after a Focke-Wulf 190 which was strafing the barges. He sent the 190 kiting along the tops of the waves and away inland. Stan was hot on the tail of the Focke-Wulf. He was sure he would get in a burst, when suddenly a burst of flak from a ground battery enveloped him. He felt the steel ripping through his wings. One motor began to stutter badly. It was then that Stan remembered he was supposed to deliver his plane to Malta in good condition.
Easing around, he climbed upward at a slow rate. He was looking for O'Malley and Allison. He spotted O'Malley by the crazy manner of his attack against an Me 110 which had closed in upon him. Stan grinned in spite of the seriousness of their predicament. Half the tail had been shot off O'Malley's Lightning. She was not handling very well. The Me had a big edge. Stan went up as fast as his one crippled motor would take him.
The Me pitted against O'Malley had the Irishman in a spot. He had doubled inside O'Malley's loop and was now on his tail. Stan tried hard to power dive but got only feeble results. He waited grimly, expecting O'Malley to go down under a hail of Nazi lead. But O'Malley did not go down. Another Lightning came roaring down and cut the Me almost in half. Allison had been looking for O'Malley, too.
"How about hitting it for Malta, Commander?" Stan called.
"I say, old man, we better be getting out of here. The boys have everything under control in this sector," Allison added.
"Sure, an' we're headed for home, tuck in close an' follow me," O'Malley called cheerfully.
"We better cook up a good report," Stan said grimly.