Dern and his bomber crew dropped over for a few minutes. The Raid Commander spoke briefly, then walked over to Stan and let the boys do their own planning. After the men had talked things over, the bomber crew left and Base Two Squadron settled down to wait for the signal to go.
The signal came through soon after Dern had left. Stan and his boys rushed out to their ships and piled in. The P–40’s stood on the cab rank, their flaming exhausts making a pattern of shadows on the ground. Stan palmed his hatch cover forward and adjusted his mike. He had a near attack of stage fright as he set himself to take over. He was a flight leader and had a squadron behind him.
“Temple Flight, are you ready?” he called into his flap mike.
Twenty-three signals came back to him, eager, snappy.
“Temple Flight, check your temperatures,” Stan called. The tightness had gone out of his throat and he was eager to be off. He had a group of deadly fighters to lead and it would take some savage fighting to keep ahead of them. One thing he dared not do. He could not make any mistakes. Mistakes in the air meant death for someone.
“Temple Flight, upstairs!” Stan called. He reached for the throttle knob and opened the P–40 up.
Kicking one brake, he spun his ship around and headed down to the shadow bar. The ground officer’s Aldis lamp blinked and lifted. A line of trim Tigers slid down the runway and roared into the coming dawn. With tails up, they surged off the field and circled to take formation.
“Temple Flight, close in,” Stan directed. “Right echelon line on Allison. Left echelon line on Wilson.” Stan felt a sudden surge of confidence run through him. He could see O’Malley in the right-hand slot, holding on his aileron groove. Other shadowy forms slid through the sky on either side and back of him.
The fighters went upstairs, circled and picked up the two engine bombers. Dern’s voice came in clear and loud:
“Take the fighters up to twenty thousand, Wilson. Blank out radio. Take over up there.”