His eyes were smarting and his vision had not cleared, but he saw a ship coming down at him and a twisted grin formed on his lips. Getting shot up while hanging in the sky like a sausage on a butcher’s hook was a fine way to wind up a fighting career with the greatest air force in the world. He refused to close his eyes. He scowled and struggled to focus his gaze upon the diving plane.
The plane went past him and banked steeply. It circled slowly around in a tight maneuver. Suddenly Stan began to laugh. He recognized the ship and its number. O’Malley was standing guard while he sailed to earth.
Stan waited for the ground to come up and meet him. He was filled with a great weariness but he fought it off. He had to make a decent landing and not pile up like a dead man. He was commander of Base Two and his men were watching. The ground lifted and a tall tree reached for his boot soles. He sailed over the tree and settled down on an open field.
In spite of his determination to make a good landing he piled up and fell in a heap. His parachute settled gently to the grass. Stan rolled over and tried to sit up. He saw O’Malley swoop down and tried to wave at him.
After that he gave up to the great weariness inside him and collapsed.
Stan opened his eyes to find white walls and a bare room around him. He moved his head and looked at two officers sitting beside the white bed he was in. Allison and O’Malley grinned broadly.
“Hello,” Stan said.
“’Tis a foine mornin’,” O’Malley said.
“Feel up to another fight with Nick Munson?” Allison asked.
“Didn’t I get him?” Stan asked.