"She is that," Stan agreed.
They climbed in and got set in their cramped quarters. Seated very close together, with Stan a bit lower than O'Malley, who was at the controls, they pulled up their belts. O'Malley jerked his hatch cover shut and Stan closed his. The Irishman revved up, pinched one brake and gave the throttle a kick. The Hawk spun around with a roar. Stan noted the look of surprise on the Irishman's face. He hoped O'Malley didn't ground loop her before they got off.
O'Malley didn't. He was a born flier and a lover of engines. Before they got the starter's signal, he had the feel of the big Double-Wasp motor. He took her off with a rush and a zoom, falling easily into place between a flight of Spitfires and Hurricanes. Later a spread of Defiants joined them and still later they overtook a squadron of Hampdens moving steadily out toward the channel. The bombers were loaded heavily and making no attempt to climb up.
"Don't ye forget we're pickin' a target and unloading the bombs." O'Malley was speaking through the "intercom" telephone.
"Wait until we spot a good target. I want to see what we can do with our sticks of bombs," Stan answered.
O'Malley began to hum a snatch of an Irish melody. He wasn't in the least disturbed. For that matter the whole flight was slipping along as smoothly as though on parade.
Then everything changed in a flash. "Naval battle! Naval battle!" O'Malley was bellowing into his mike.
The Hampdens were moving into formation for action against something below and the fighters were peeling off and going down to see them through. Up ahead shells were bursting in the sky and the thunder of big guns rolled up to them.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
The big fellows weren't tossing their shells aloft. They were lobbing them at targets below. Stan shouted to O'Malley: