CHAPTER II
CLOUD TAG
Stan entered the mess room the next morning and stood looking around.There was the same air of indifference, with that undercurrent oftension. A dozen men were eating breakfast at the tables in the far end.They were all talking and joking, but at any moment they might be calledto face the grim specter of death high in the clouds. Stan spottedAllison sitting by himself at a small table near a window. He lookedabout for Tommy but the lanky flier wasn't in the room. Probablysleeping in after an all-night party aboard a bomber, thought Stan.
He crossed the room and as he approached Allison he saw that the FlightLieutenant's breakfast lay untouched before him. His coffee looked coldand stale. But it was the grimness of his face that jolted Stan. Allisonlooked up and there were savage points of light in his eyes. His mouthtwisted into a sardonic grin.
"Sit down, Stan," he said, using Stan's first name, something he hadn'tdone before.
"What's up?" Stan demanded quickly as he slid into a chair.
"We're on day shift," Allison said. "Sunshine all the way."
"Where's Tommy?" Stan drove at the thought that had leaped into hismind.
Allison looked at him and his lips pulled into a thin line. "The kidpicked up a package last night. A Flak-88 laid a shell right up againstthe Bristol and cracked her open."
Stan said nothing for a minute. He knew that the words of the FlightLieutenant were likely the last he would say about Tommy Lane's lastride. Then something like red fire surged up inside him.
"We'll keep him in mind," he said grimly.
"I'll see that the score keeps even," Allison said and savage lightsflickered hot in his eyes.
The mess corporal appeared with a private at his heels. "We have somevery fine waffles," he said.
"Bring me black coffee," Stan growled.
"And waffles?"
"Sure, sure."
The corporal turned away. It worried him that his fliers were sotemperamental they didn't eat enough of his food.
Allison shoved aside his cold coffee. "We have a new man coming in. Heought to be here any minute now."
Ten minutes later a tall man entered the mess. He stood looking around,then spoke to one of the privates. The soldier nodded toward Allison,and the tall youngster headed across the room.
"Here he comes," Allison muttered sourly.
Stan saw a black-haired, hawk-faced young man of perhaps twenty. The newflier had a big mouth that was pulled into a loose frown as his darkeyes stabbed about the room, pausing to rest for a moment upon eachface. He walked with a swagger and his uniform was neatly creased. Atfirst glance Stan didn't think much of him.
"Hello," he greeted Allison. "Are you Flight Lieutenant Allison?"
"Sure. Sit down and have something."
"I'm Arch Garret. The O.C. sent me over to plug a hole in Red Flight.I'll take care of you boys." He glanced at Allison's sloppy uniform andthen at Stan's, which was little better.
"That's nice of you, old man," Allison said in a soft drawl.
Then Arch Garret began to tell how good he was, and how manyMesserschmitt One-Tens he had knocked off in coast combat. He spokeloudly so that all in the room could hear. After listening for a fewminutes, Allison yawned and got to his feet. Without a word he walkedaway.
Stan was sure Garret hadn't had all the experience he claimed. One thingwas certain: Stan knew the new flier would soon have the gang down onhim. He listened silently to Arch Garret's talk while he finished hiswaffles and coffee.
"I'm from the United States," Garret said. "I was the best test pilotLockheed ever had or ever will have. Spinning those Yank jobs was tooslow for me. I had to have action." Garret smoothed a closely croppedlittle mustache and swelled out his chest.
Stan pretended to be dumb, but he was looking Arch Garret over veryclosely. He knew every ace test pilot Lockheed had had in the past fiveyears. He was sure Garret was lying.
He was about to ask some questions when the intersquadron speaker begansnapping and clicking. A voice filled the room.
"Red Flight, all out! Red Flight, all out!"
"That's us," Stan said as he jumped to his feet. "Sorry, you'll have tomiss your coffee."
Arch Garret's manner changed at once. He quit bragging and seemed to bea little nervous as he got to his feet.
"Where are we headed?"
"I don't know," Stan snapped.
They barged out of the mess close upon Allison's heels. Everything wasrush, with parachutes to adjust and flying suits to climb into. Stanpaid no more attention to Garret until they were outside.
The three Spitfires of Red Flight were throbbing with restrained poweron the cab rank. Stan felt better about sliding into his cockpit becausethe sun was shining and he could see the silver wires attached to thehydrogen gorged balloons. This was better.
The flight sergeants had cleared the ships and Allison had gotten hisorders from the recording officer. In another minute the lead Spitfirehad cramped about and was sliding toward the line. Stan swung into placeand watched Garret get set. The new flier slid his plane up to the linewith showy flash, gunning and idling the big motor in a way that madeStan's nerves rasp. To him a motor was a living thing and he hated tosee one abused.
"Steady, Red Flight," Allison was snapping into his flap mike. "Checkyour temperatures."
Stan called back his O.K. Garret did not clear. Allison's voice came inangry, cold.
"Are you set, Garret?"
"Sure, big boy, I'm always set," Garret replied.
"Then sound off as you should," Allison snapped.
A second later they were off, tails lifting, boring across the turf.With a wrenching lift, they bounced up and lifted into the blue wherebig clouds floated over the city of London. Allison's voice came in. Thecrispness was gone and the drawl was there again.
"Close formation, and keep it close all the way out. We're headed foremergency work below the Thames estuary. Junkers Ju 87's for breakfast."
The Spitfires closed in and roared away, gaining altitude as they boredinto the early morning light. In a very short time the twisting streets,the masses of little squares that were blocks of buildings faded awaybelow them. Allison took them up above the fleecy clouds and into thegreat, high-piled formations.
"Ought to find them sneaking around up here," he drawled.
Stan looked out upon the mountains of clouds and the patches of bluesky. The Junkers Ju 87's were dive bombers, popularly known as Stukas,and their presence meant a raid upon shipping.
"Red Flight, keep west by south. Red Flight, keep west by south." It wasthe control room at the field sending them directions from the big roomwith the table which had a huge map spread on it. On that map were toyplanes which the watchers shoved about with wooden rakes.
Ahead, Allison broke out of the feathery edge of a cloud into a greatvalley of clear blue. Stan sliced through the cloud close beside him.Garret was trailing a little now.
"Three Stukas cruising, four points right," Allison grated. "ThreeStukas. Don't let one of them get away or he'll come back again."
Instantly the Spitfires broke formation and Allison went plummetingdown, his Merlin roaring wide open. His twisting flight was an amazingshow of cold skill. Stan peeled off and shot after him. He was sureAllison had picked the Stuka on the right so he took the one on theleft, leaving the center bomber for Garret, who wasn't getting in asfast as he should.
"Easy, a cinch!" Allison's voice roared out of Stan's headset. "Here'sone for Tommy."
Stan saw his Spitfire lay over on her side and slice down upon theStuka, her eight Brownings drilling flame and lead. The startled crew ofthe bomber immediately came to life. They had been craning their necks,looking for slow crawling freighters headed into port. They sent theStuka into a nose dive, spewing bombs to lighten their load, but theywere not fast enough. Stan saw the right wing of the big raider rise,then whirl away. The Stuka spun out of the square space in hiswindscreen doing grotesque loops.
Ahead lay
Stan's target and his thumb pressed gently on his gun buttonas he roared down. His Brownings opened up and he saw the Stuka staggerand swerve as he thundered past in a hissing dive. Coming up he noticedthat Garret's Stuka was streaking away toward the south with Garretmaking a feeble try at coming up under the big ship.
"Missed a dead target," Stan said grimly. "He hasn't fired a singleburst."
Then Allison's voice cracked in over the air. "Messerschmitts up abovein the big cloud. They're coming down. Seven in all." His words snappedoff in a sputter of crackling static. Stan nosed up and saw the sevenfighters diving upon Allison. Then he heard Allison's voice again.
"Better let me have them. Keep clear!"
Stan yelled into the flap mike. "Coming, Allison."
He gave the Spitfire all she had and the Merlin wound up beautifully,lifting him up to meet the fighters diving out of the cloud above. As hewent up he looked for Garret. At that moment they sure needed all of RedFlight. He spotted Garret diving for a great thunderhead.
"The scum," Stan snarled. He shot the words into the flap mike withoutrealizing it.
It did not seem possible that Allison could escape from the deathtrap.The Stuka setup had been too easy after all. The Spitfires were twistingupward, straight on to meet the seven diving Messerschmitts, any one ofwhich was near their match. Stan knew the boys at the controls of thoseships were good fliers.
Allison's ship rolled over suddenly and fell away, then hit a steepspiral climb. For a few seconds it knifed along on its back. Themaneuver threw the seven fighters off for a moment, giving Stan time toget more lift and more ceiling. Allison laid over in a vertical bank,and, as he swung back his guns, cut a swath across the enemy craft. OneMesserschmitt went into a crazy whirl.
After that Stan was busy with his own end. He cut across the path of astreaking fighter and sawed off his tail so neatly it seemed to havevanished by itself. But the next second he had a brace of roaring gunsin his face and the hatch cover above his head shattered, showering himwith glass and pieces of metal. His engine did not falter as he stalledand slid off after the Nazi, his Brownings ripping away. The fighterdodged and twisted and got away, though it was plainly hit.
As he dived to shake off another red-hot gunner he saw Allison goingstraight at another Messerschmitt, the only one in his field of vision.He waited for the burst from Allison's guns that would send the Nazidown, but it did not come and Allison thundered over the enemy ship,taking a ripping hail of lead as he went.
"His guns are out," Stan groaned as he sent his ship over in a roll andwent down after the raider, who was banking to dive upon Allison'sdefenseless tail. Stan's lightning drop carried him down just in time todrive the Messerschmitt away from Allison. The crippled Spitfire duckedinto a cloud. Allison's voice came to Stan, mocking but with his olddrawl.
"Thanks, old man."
"Where's Garret?" Stan rasped back.
"I'm up here. Just finished off my second bandit."
"You don't say," Allison cut in. "Well, we're going in, boys, before wemeet all of Goering's gang. If they're all as active as those Messers wejust slipped away from, I don't care to tackle any more of them."
They settled into formation and dropped down upon London. The headsetbegan to sputter and a voice from the ground said.
"Red Flight, come in. Red Flight, are you all there?"
"All here," Allison called back cheerfully. He had recovered hissardonic good humor.
They slid up the Thames and on over the city to their field. Sliding in,Allison and Stan set down on an even glide. Garret slid in with agrandstand flourish. Stan eased in close beside him, clambered out ofthe cockpit and stepped across to Garret's Spitfire, giving it asearching look. His lips were twisted with anger as he caught up withAllison.
Allison gave him a wide grin. "Sweet going, Yank," he said softly.
"What got into your guns?" Stan asked in an effort to let his wrathcool.
"Got a burst through the center section. Those Jerries are liberal withtheir lead."
Stan saw that Allison was going to say nothing about Arch Garret'scowardly trick in cloud-sneaking when his pals were in a tight spot. Hehitched along beside Allison, his parachute rapping him behind theknees. Garret had paused to show off before the ground crews. They heardhim say, in a loud voice:
"I cut down on one Messer and then laid over just in time to take outanother one."
Stan looked at Allison. He was grinning at Brooks who was chewing on apencil and staring at him as if he had seen a ghost.
"Mead of Green Flight said seven Messers had you bottled, Allison," hesaid.
"Mead needs his eyes fixed," Allison answered as he slid out of hischute.
Squadron Leader Rainey came in. He had three rings of braid on hissleeve and wished he had only two so that he could be out on flight dutywith the boys. In the last war Majors were flying men, but in this onethey were just ground officers. His grim face lighted in a thin smileas he looked at Allison.
"Nice work, Red Flight," he said. "Like to have been up with you."
"We could have used you, sir," Allison said and laughed almost directlyinto Garret's face.
Garret had strutted to the desk just inside the briefing room. He spokeloudly, paying no attention to the Squadron Leader. He leaned on thedesk and fixed the briefing officer with a steady look.
"Chalk up a Stuka and two Messerschmitts for me. And add a note sayingit was lucky for two stiffs I was along."
Stan swung around facing Garret. The gall of the man made his angerflare up and he forgot all about regulations. "Why lie about it," hesaid, his lips a tight line. "You didn't fire a burst, you hid in acloud. Next time you better unlimber your guns while you're in the cloudso you'll have an alibi."
Arch Garret's dark face twisted with rage. "So you play that way, lyingme out of credit."
"I checked your guns before I came in. You didn't fire a shot." Stanturned upon Allison and the Squadron Commander. As he did so he realizedhe had made a mistake. They were silently watching, their facesexpressionless.
"Well then, Canuck, if you've checked my guns I'll pull down thosecredits," Garret snarled.
"You said something about my lying," Stan gritted as he swung around toface the flier. His six feet and two hundred pounds of muscular bodymade him look like a certain Colorado U. half-back who had once beenpicked as All-American. Stan wouldn't have admitted it, he wouldn't havedared, but he had once been a great blocking back.
Allison stepped forward. "You come with me, Wilson," he said. "I want totell you a few things you ought to know."
The Squadron Leader nodded to Allison. He turned upon his heel withoutlooking at Garret. Snarling, his lips twisted with anger, Garret madeoff to his cubicle.
In the mess Allison sank into a chair. He grinned across at Stan, whohad seated himself. "Mind if I order tea? I've drunk a gallon of coffeejust to be polite to you."
Stan grunted, "You don't have to be polite to me."
"I don't intend to from now on, old man." Allison's eyes were twinkling.
"What's on your mind? Regulations and such rot, I suppose." Stan wasstill hot under the collar.
"We don't do it that way here," Allison said. "A rotter like Garret isalways taken care of."
"You mean he's out?"
"No, I can't swing that, but we don't have to have him in Red Flight."He reached for the cup of tea the corporal had set in front of him. "Youmade an enemy who will go a long way to stymie you."
"He'd better stay out of my way," Stan growled.
Allison grinned. "Guess he had, at that," he admitted.