Stan leaned back against the shock pad and checked his dials. He cracked the throttle a bit more and his powerful radials roared with surging power. The Mosquito shuddered and trembled against her chocks.
"Ready, Flight Fifty-four?"
"Ready," Stan called back.
"Lane Three, Flight Fifty-four." The voice from the control tower snapped off.
Stan eased up and signaled the men below. The chocks were jerked loose and Stan gunned the ship. She leaped forward with a snap that would have done credit to any fighter craft. Darting down the runway she hoiked her tail and was off before she had covered a fourth of the alloted space. Upward she roared like a streak. The boys on the ground grinned. The Mosquito got off so fast she was out of sight before any spotter could pick her up.
Easing around in a wide circle, Stan put her nose into the wind and let her have her head. He settled himself to the job ahead, his pulses beating in tune with the roar of the slip stream of air piling up and rolling off the leading edges of his wings. A good ship, the De Havilland. She was the craft used to make regular flights between England and Malta. Too fast for interception, the Mosquitoes streaked right across Hitler's Germany or across France, running supplies daily through enemy-guarded skies.
The coast of Italy showed clearly ahead. Slipping in over Reggio Stan picked a rail line and checked with his eye. No need for a bombardier here. He lined up on the track and then spotted a short string of cars. The train was standing still and smoke lifted from its locomotive. Stan suspected some other Yank had spotted it and laid a stick of bombs on the track, blocking it.
Stan knew he should cut loose his bombs and be on his way. But the feel of the Mosquito made him eager to try her out. This was an ideal target for the fast-flying bomber. If he went down he would be sure to stir up German fighter planes. The temptation was great. Stan nosed over and sent the Mosquito roaring down the chute. He lined up on the freight train as he went.
The landscape wavered up at him. The train seemed to be twisting and turning like a snake trying to wiggle away, though he knew it was not moving. The wind ahead of his diving wings piled up and banked like invisible snow, making the plane shudder and shake. Stan grinned. Only the Lockheed Lightning could fly a dive fast enough to bank up air like snow; that was what he had always thought, but the diving Mosquito was doing it. Stan began to wonder if a ship made of plywood could take the strain of a pull-out after such a dive.
He released his stick of bombs and the Mosquito bounced like a golf ball before the cutting edge of a driver. Up she went and Stan set himself against the "high G's" he had to expect. First, as he started up, there was a blurring of vision, then a graying, and then a momentary blackout. Instantly the graying appeared before his eyes again, then the blurring, and a moment later clear vision. Stan whistled softly.