"Sure, an' we got waylaid. 'Tis something could happen to anyone flying ferry planes," O'Malley answered. "Wasn't that the way it happened?"
"That is a bit of the truth, you know," Allison agreed.
"I don't know how I'll explain the flak holes I picked up. No Jerry or Italian plane ever carried five-inch guns," Stan answered.
"We met a enemy battleship," O'Malley said, unconcerned.
Stan snorted. "The Italian Navy hasn't poked its nose out of a home base in over a year. We were supposed to be flying in close to Allied shores."
"Sure, an' you're right," O'Malley answered cheerfully. "But I'll be thinkin' o' something, niver fear."
Stan looked down and then up. They had plunged into very soupy weather with low clouds and some wind. His ship was not taking it very well. Then it began to rain.
"You better be thinking of getting us in, one of my engines is about to conk out on me," he called across.
"I'm doing foine," O'Malley said. "Hear them signals coming in? That's the boys on Malta giving us the old signal. We'll ride right in."
They changed course, heading north. Stan began to frown. It did not seem right to be heading in that direction. Suddenly they sighted a field through the rain. O'Malley dived for the field and Stan followed with Allison close behind. They hit the runway in a drenching rain and rolled in wing to wing.