d mortar and stone and brick. People were buried under the
debris.

Stan banked steeply and shouted into his flap mike. "They've slipped in
behind us. Come on, Red Flight!"

"Sure, an' I'm way ahead of ye," came the voice of O'Malley.

Moon Flight wheeled and went thundering back. They could not stop the
raging fires below or do anything about the shattered buildings, but
they could make sure that few of the raiders ever made a return trip.

In the dull glow from the fires below Stan saw O'Malley's ship dive
down, like a streak of dark shadow, straight upon a Junkers that was
flying along in a manner that suggested it thought it was over
unprotected territory. O'Malley's guns drilled fire and the Junkers'
right wing flipped upward and faded into the night. Then the killer
nosed over and went down like a flaming torch.

Stan was into the battle before the wrecked Junkers had dropped 500
feet. He laid over and raked a big death ship with his Brownings. It
folded and slid off, spewing its crew into the night.

Having made contact Moon Flight really went to work. Their first savage
attack had broken up the spear-shaped Stuka formation. Now they gave
their attention to individual combat. There was no need for commands
from anyone. They swung about on invisible hairpins and screamed after
the big fellows.

It didn't take so very long. Stuka after Stuka went down. From the black
pit above the Jerry fighters were diving down to see what had happened
to their charges. The Messerschmitts twisted and ducked and dived,
clearing their guns for action.

Down at the 4,000-foot level the Spitfires were knocking down the last
of the raiders. This done, they nosed upward to meet the Messerschmitts
as eagerly as they had attacked the killers. They were overeager to
contact the fighters and one of them caught a crossfire as he roared in.
His ship went slithering off to the west, spinning madly. The Spits
darted through the flame filled sky. They flipped over and spun and
dived, always seeking targets to make their guns flame.

Stan sent his Spitfire into a screaming reversement, tipped out of it
with his guns hammering as he laid his sights on a leering swastika. It
was over quickly. The Messerschmitts had no stomach for such a deadly
game. After a gesture at rescuing their bombers, they fled into the
night.

"Moon Flight, come in. Moon Flight, come in."

Then O'Malley's brogue burred. "Begorra, 'tis a very fine avening."

S