up against the superstructure island and
burn there like a huge flare. Stan upped the chances. They were one in
a million, not one in a thousand.

He didn't kick or order O'Malley to bail out, which was the sane thing
to do. He didn't even think about his own chute.

The sailors were signaling again and there didn't seem to be any welcome
letters in the signals. But the deck was clear as O'Malley swung the
Hawk into line and set her for the crazy attempt. The panel flipped
black and white warnings frantically as they zipped in.

"The wing flaps!" Stan shouted as the idea struck him.

"Sure, an' I'm dumb," O'Malley came back.

He set the flaps and they nosed over dangerously, but they slowed a lot.
The carrier was rolling about, trying to take her proper position, which
she had deserted when she started fooling with this strange Royal Air
Force plane. She was now paying no attention to the Hawk at all.

Shells from the pocket battleship sent up huge columns of water
alongside. Stan squinted through a bullet hole in his hatch cover. The
forward plane lift was down, leaving a neat but restricted patch of
deck.

Four long, pen-shaped bombs whistled down from the sky. The sea
swallowed them and a second later belched an eruption of water.

The Hawk was settling fast now and it seemed the carrier would get away
from her. O'Malley cut the incidence. The Hawk lifted a bit, lunged
forward and slid over the edge. Then it squashed down, hit and plunged.
Stan could see the flying bridge and many staring, white faces.

O'Malley was showing a rare amount of knowledge of carrier landings. He
stalled the Hawk as the deck opened under her, then clamped her down
furiously. There was a thud, dull but solid. The Hawk wrenched around,
screamed complainingly, then set herself at landing position.

Stan tossed his arm over his face and set himself for the crash that
would tear him apart. The blow did not come. He slid his arm down, and
all around the ship a ring of red-faced sailors peered at him, some of
them grinning broadly. Then a cheer broke out.

O'Malley was first out of the ship. He plumped down on the deck and
faced an officer who came charging from somewhere. He saluted solemnly.
Standing there, with his flying suit hanging on his bony frame, his hawk
face peering at the officer, he looked more like a scarecrow than one of
His Majesty's crack pilots.

"Where did this come from and what is it?" the officer demanded.

"