as lighted with a red
glow. A second later a Messerschmitt One-Ten came flaming down, tossing
away parts as it spun. A broken Defiant followed it down in a wide,
agonizing spiral.

"What goes on up there?" Stan called back to his gunner.

"Upper level defense units in contact, sir," the gunner answered. He had
been on thirty-six raids across the channel and knew what to expect.

"And they pulled us down to let the Defiants have the fun," Stan
muttered.

"Have a look, Red Flight," Allison's voice snapped.

Down the Hawks went for a look at the ground. They saw a band of light
swing across the ground, then steady.

"Landing field lights located, port a few points," Allison droned.

Almost at once the Liberators changed their tone. They began to growl
and roar. Positions were taken and the Hawks slid up to be above the
bombers, out of their way and into the path of diving Messerschmitts and
Heinkels. But the lone fighter seemed to be the only enemy ship in the
air.

As Stan watched the action he realized that bombing wasn't just
releasing a stick or two of bombs. Its complications were apparent. Far
below them the earth had suddenly begun to erupt fire and flame. They
were clear of the clouds and their objective was below, a circle inside
a ring of flaming guns all pointed at the bombers. And the Liberators
were going down with feathered propellers.

Twelve thousand feet below lay their objective. The bombers were in a
big hurry to catch the rows of black planes on the ground, to spot the
oil reserves and to smash the surface of the runways. They slipped away
in screaming dives and left Red Flight to watch from above.

Tracer bullets trailed threads of fire upward and the muck of bursting
shells was thick below. The Liberators were knifing straight into it.
Red Flight went down to 8,000, there to stay on the alert. Stan saw a
Liberator smack into a bursting shell that exploded against her
understructure. The Liberator slid off to the side and burst into
flames. Grimly Stan noted that no parachutes blossomed out below her as
she shot to earth. The other bombers were through the muck of fire and
down upon their targets.

"Red Flight, strafe ground planes," ordered the voice of the Squadron
Leader.

That was why they had been pulled down. The Hendee Hawks with their
sixteen-wing guns would deal terrible destruction to ships on the
ground.

"Sure, an' 'tis about time," O'Malley roared.

Down went the three H