The carrier held her course well west of the line of
destroyers. The cruisers were pouring broadsides across the lashed
water, and the destroyers, like bull pups, were pounding away, holding
station splendidly, trying to reach the enemy. One got a hit squarely on
its foredeck and rolled half around, wallowing in the trough. A sheet
of flame spurted from a gun turret and rolled over the deck. For a
moment the little ship staggered on, then exploded.

"The poor fellers," grated O'Malley.

Stan said nothing but he felt cold all over. He looked down at the
carrier and saw torpedo bombers sliding off her deck like little
swallows. O'Malley's voice chopped off his thoughts.

"'Tis a pocket battle wagon we get, no less," he almost crooned.

"Thick weather down there," Stan warned.

The muck of anti-aircraft fire made the stratum above the sea look as
though it was on fire. The smoke was stabbed by blossoming shells
hurling ragged pieces of iron in every direction. There was a swarm of
Messerschmitts and Stukas and Heinkels all messed up with a crisscross
of darting, thrusting Hurricanes, Spitfires and Defiants. The Hampdens
were not having any better luck in getting through to their objectives
than were the Stukas.

"We better set the firecrackers off or we'll miss one foin scrap,"
O'Malley called.

He nosed the Hawk down and sent her into a screaming dive. The little
boats that Stan knew were pocket battleships began to grow in size, and
the muck swarmed up closer to them with Hades breaking loose around
their ears. None of the Messerschmitts tried to stop them. The Jerries
thought the odd plane was just another crazy fighter who didn't know
where he was going. The cockpit shuddered and the instruments on the
board seemed to dance.

"Set your wing flaps!" Stan screamed. "Set your flaps!"

The Hawk began to steady as O'Malley remembered the flaps and applied
them. Holding a plumb line at 350 miles per hour, she dropped upon the
battle wagon below. Stan could see the deck of the ship coming up toward
them as though a mighty hand were lifting it.

The wind screamed above the din of exploding shells. The gunners on
board the battleship were taking notice and frantically trying to swing
guns to bear upon the plummeting Hawk. Stan caught his breath and held
it. This was exhilarating, almost glorious. He didn't think about the
danger of meeting a bursting shell, all he thought about was the drop
and the mighty surge of