Stan hated the idea of leaving Rangoon without squaring matters with Nick Munson. None of his fliers had tangled with the Nazi spy, though he had been sighted many times. He was never cornered, though he did lead Jap attacks over the area.
The loud-speaker rattled and began rasping: “Enemy bombers coming in from the southeast. Flight Four, all out. Flight Five, all out.”
Stan grabbed his outfit and hurried out to the field. He was too restless to stay on the ground. He saw Allison and O’Malley climbing into their planes. They zoomed up along with four other P–40’s. Stan had to spend a few minutes getting ready. By the time he was in the air Flight Four and Five had vanished into the clouds above.
Heading along under the cloud layer Stan watched for the bombers. They would not show up for another fifty miles, but he wanted to spot them before they sighted him. He did not go above the cloud layer. His boys were up there and he would let them handle the attack. He would mix in with any low-flying enemy that came along. He was moody and not on his flying mettle. For days he had been on the ground working on battle plans and maps. The work irritated him.
He was jolted out of his daydream by a ripping sound. Bullets were smashing into his P–40. A glance in his mirror told him the reason. A fighter was on his tail slamming lead into him. As Stan dived he caught a glimpse of a P–40 raging over his hatch cover, and saw, for a split second, the grinning face of Nick Munson.
Nick was flying low intent on picking off any cripples. The way Stan had been flying, half-asleep, had made him the same as a cripple. He gunned his motor and was glad it was still hitting. Up he went and over in a tight roll. Munson came down in a wicked dive. Stan blazed away and missed. As he came on around he saw the reason Munson was staying to fight it out. Black smoke was rolling out of the cowling of his motor.
“I’m spotting you the first round,” Stan said grimly. He eased over and slid off on one wing. Munson came on in for the kill. Stan zoomed upward and Munson went racing past.
The P–40 went up like a comet trailing a tail of fire. She hung at the top of her climb, leveled and slid away. Stan let her spin, hoping to shake the fire out of her. Munson knifed in, eager to knock the P–40 out. He came down with a rush.
Stan jerked his ship out of her spin and stood her on her tail. Heat was surging back at him and he was coughing from the smoke. He saw Munson go past and nosed down after him. Munson had not expected that Stan would be able to maneuver his flaming ship. He was caught squarely in the sights of Stan’s P–40. Stan saw the tail and the fuselage and the cowling of the hood as he pressed his gun button. His bullets hammered home, ripping great holes in the fuselage and the engine cowling of his enemy’s ship. Then Munson pulled up and Stan shot past.
Flames were sucking back now and the smoke was choking, but Stan went up and over, seeking his antagonist. Munson was rising slowly and his ship was on fire. Stan heard his rasping voice come in over the radio: