ill fly
Spitfires as Red Flight," the O.C. said. "After that you will likely win
the war without any help."

"Sure, an' we'll do just that, sor, as a special favor to you," O'Malley
answered.

The O.C. looked at him and frowned. He wasn't sure whether O'Malley was
spoofing or meant it. Allison and Stan were sure O'Malley was in dead
earnest.

"Thank you, sir," Stan said. "We'll run along now."

When they were outside the office, Allison said in his slow drawl:

"That ought to be the last of Garret."

"Sure, an' he'll be brewin' trouble if he stays around, you can bank on
that," O'Malley said.

Stan had the same feeling. There was something about Garret he could not
understand. He had a feeling there was more than just a grudge against
him in Garret's acts. The lieutenant had certain connections that seemed
to reach very high up into official circles. Stan planned to do some
quiet checking, now that he didn't have to be so careful.

During the next three days Stan poked about asking a lot of questions.
He was very careful not to arouse suspicion. He learned very little.
Garret came in as a ferry pilot and later was given a chance in the air.
He was a Canadian who had lived most of his life in the United States.
Why he was not released from the Air Arm after Allison reported his
action in deserting Red Flight was not clear. And no one seemed to know
how he had managed to get himself placed in a responsible position close
to the O.C.

One thing looked good to Stan. Garret had left the squadron and no one
knew where he had been sent. He was out of the way, yet Stan had a
feeling he had not seen the last of him.

The day Allison returned to duty an order was posted creating a night
defense group of fighters. It consisted of twelve Spitfires and Red
Flight was included. O'Malley was so excited over the order that he
walked away from a half pie, forgetting it entirely.

"Sure, an' this is me dish," he crowed.

"Swatting Stukas in the dark?" Allison asked grimly. "Dodging balloon
cables and ducking through Ack-Ack muck?"

"This Moon Flight is the toughest job in the service," Stan admitted.
"But we should be swelled up. Look at the list of boys posted."

"Oh, yes," Allison admitted. "All aces." He laughed shortly.

"You've recovered all right," Stan said with a grin.

There was reason enough for setting aside twelve of the toughest, most
reckless, Spitfire pilots for night service. London had been smashed an