PLENTY OF TROUBLE
Stan Wilson followed by O'Malley and Allison barged into Wing Commander
Farrell's office. Before them marched Arch Garret with a Luger shoved
into the small of his back. The O.C. leaped to his feet. He had been
nodding in his chair and thought he must be dreaming. He quickly changed
his mind.
Stan told his story in brief, clipped sentences. Farrell did not
interrupt. When he had finished Garret broke in before the O.C. could
say anything. He was not the defiant and arrogant lieutenant he had
been. Fear showed in his eyes and his voice was shaking.
"I'll talk if it will save me from a firing squad," he begged.
"I may try but I do not think any power will save you," Farrell said
sternly. "But you had better talk for the sake of your own conscience."
"They had me where they wanted me. My father was in Germany, in a
concentration camp. I had to do what they ordered." Sweat was standing
out in big drops on Garret's forehead. "I was straight and did my job
until they got to me."
"That's why you got where you are and why you were not released after
your first bad report. Your past record was fine." The O.C. dropped back
into his chair. He jerked a phone from its cradle. He was looking
intently at Garret as he clicked the receiver. "Go on, talk. I'll do
what I can for you."
"The radioman is at 30 Elm Inn," Garret babbled. "He is to wait there
for word from Herr Naggel. When Naggel gives the word, all will be clear
for the attack."
"Naggel won't send any messages," Stan said grimly, remembering the
terrible explosion which had blown him clear out into the street.
The O.C. had gotten his man and was barking into the phone. He kept on
putting through calls and talking to Stan and Allison and O'Malley at
the same time.
"Get a guard, O'Malley, and turn Garret over to him. Wilson, stand by.
Allison, get back to the mess and see that all of the men stand by ready
for action."
Stan watched the O.C. with admiration. He was a demon for getting things
done in a speedy and effective manner. Stan handed his Luger to
O'Malley. The Irishman prodded Garret with it.
"Get a move on, ye skulkin' hyena," O'Malley growled.
They moved out of the room with O'Malley telling the wilted Garret what
he thought of him.
"We can get a crack at them before daylight, if headquarters will let us
pull an immediate raid." The O.C. held the receiver jammed to his ear
with one hand while he fished into a drawer with the other. He found a
cigar and bit the end off, then clamped the cigar between his teeth.
Speaking out of the side of his mouth, he went on.
"How did you come to bag Garret?"
"I found him in the mess, sir. He was sitting there waiting for the call
to action he was sure was coming. He had warned all of the boys against
loose flying. They had strict orders to stick close to him," Stan said.
"This is one raid they won't put over, thanks to you, Wilson."
"We can blast them at their bases," Stan said eagerly. "They'll be
grounded and waiting, saving their gas and getting ragged nerves while
they wait."
"Ragged nerves?" The O.C. had his man on the phone and began barking at
him, arguing furiously. He waved his cigar and pounded the desk and
bellowed. Five minutes later he clamped the receiver into place and
swung around to face Stan. Wiping the sweat from his face, he said:
"That was the Air Ministry."
Stan grinned. "I take it you convinced them, sir."
"Convinced them? I routed them!" Farrell found a match and lighted his
frayed cigar. Getting to his feet, he added. "We're off for those bases
and this time I fly myself. I have been wanting to see how this show
stacks up with the last one, and now I'm going to find out."
Stan followed him out into the night. After that things happened with
lightning speed. Stan lost track of all the things they did and the
places they went.
First of all, the radioman was caught with all of his equipment. The
hunchback cracked when faced with the grim prospect of facing a firing
squad within a half-hour. His code book revealed a complicated mass of
information which was deciphered at once, with some assistance from him.
Exact locations were charted and objectives laid out. All of it was done
on the run.
Before the officers were through with the radioman, a message was sent
out to the Nazis holding up the attack until further instructions were
given. The message was in code and properly sent so that it would be
received by the enemy as an order from their key man in London. Herr
Naggel's secret code number was signed to it.
Then there was a cold and clearheaded gathering around the big map in
the central control room. Four flights would go out. Not just four
ordinary flights, but four all-out invasion formations with all the
punch the Royal Air Force could put behind them.
Red Flight, with its three deadly Hawks, was assigned to go with the
long-range Consolidateds over France to the base from which the biggest
of the Jerry bombers would take off. This would be the first wave sent
over, because it had the longest route. It would be protected by the
Hawks and by Defiants equipped for long-range flying. At last Stan got
away from the O.C. and dashed to the mess.
He had secured three capable gunners to take along because he expected
an opportunity to do some ground strafing. The early morning sky was
cloudy with high fog and black clouds. If the weather held all the way
over, they would be able to stage a real surprise.
In the mess he found Judd and McCumber and Kelley talking with Allison
and O'Malley. Other men were gathered in small groups. The tension was
high in the room.
"When do we get the signal?" Judd asked. His detail was to a field in
Belgium.
"Any minute now," Stan said. He looked over Judd's head and saw that
O'Malley was munching a slab of apple pie.
"Sure, an' we'll all get to go on a long vacation after this is over,"
O'Malley said. "There won't be a Jerry left in the sky."
Stan smiled but back of the smile there was a feeling of grimness. A lot
of the eager youngsters gathered in that room would not come back.
"I'll see that you get your vacation in a pie factory," he promised.
Three sergeants came in and stood waiting. Stan went to them.
"Kent, Ames, and Martin, sir, reporting as gunners," one of the men
said.
"Fine. Come along and I'll give you a one minute lesson on the guns
you'll use, though you likely don't need it." He turned to Allison.
"Pack out my togs, will you?"
"I'll bring a helmet and a chute," Allison drawled. "The Nazis will make
it so hot for you, you won't need a fur suit."
Stan grinned in response to Allison's casual manner. Both knew this
would be the most important action they had yet been engaged in, that it
would be one of the most terrific and devastating raids staged during
the entire war, yet it was best to kid about it. That was the only way
to relieve the tension all of them were under, keep them cool and
collected until the shooting actually started.