“Fighters going up to twenty thousand,” Stan called back. He snapped an order to his fighters and up they went.
They climbed into the sky with their exhausts roaring. They hit twenty thousand feet above the sea level and headed south and east. As they swept over the Salween River, day was breaking. It burst over the jungle and the rice paddies like a great light flashed on in a dark room.
The Flying Tigers were silent. There was no cocky banter or wisecracks such as they would hurl at one another once they opened up on the enemy. This was grim business and the Tigers were masters of the surprise attack. Hit fast and hit hard. Get the yellow man’s planes off the ground. Beat him to the punch. Stan checked his guns and listened to his motor. He was casting an eagle eye about. The Japs should have planes up, looking for bombers. It was his job to intercept them.
The silence was broken by the crisp voice of Dern. “Temple Flight, Temple Flight. Bombers going down over objective. Peel off and go down. Wilson, stand by. Kariganes coming up.”
The voice snapped off. Stan cupped his flap mike and called to his Flying Tigers:
“Peel off and go down. Take ’em!”
Stan could see the bombers below. They were laying over and going down, one after another. Far below he saw the red roof of the temple gleaming in the sun. Stan could see the observer gunners in their turrets far out on the nose of the bombers. Their guns flashed in the morning sun.
Stan spotted the fighters coming up. This would be an even battle for once, unless he had been mistaken about the number of fighters the Japs had available. Stan’s eyes suddenly narrowed. The Jap fighters were led by a trim P–40. Munson was heading the pack.
“Spot that P–40,” Stan snapped. “It is 9-P–89.”
Shouts came back to him as he bored along watching his boys go down the chute in roaring dives, white plumes of smoke lining out behind them.