flying them had not noticed any Jerries near by. In this they were very much disappointed.

Stan peeled off and banked steeply. Laying over he rolled into position and cut out an Me. As the Jerry flashed past his sights, he opened up and his Brownings sawed a wing off the fighter. He was over and the Jerry was gone before he was able to see what had happened to the enemy ship. As he came up he saw that O'Malley was celebrating. He was doing mad loops and dives that threatened to drive the six Me's out of the sky before Allison could tangle with one of them. Allison's voice came in, crisp and exasperated.

"I say, you Irisher. Lay off and let me have a chance!"

"Come on in!" O'Malley yelled back and he stalled and dived after an Me.

The three ferry pilots were finishing off the Jerries when a flight of six Lightnings and three Airacobras slid down from upstairs and joined in. There was only one luckless Me left. Three had been shot down and two had fled. The outnumbered Jerry dived and headed for home.

Allison and Stan closed in beside O'Malley. Their leader called over to them.

"There's a big fight on down there on that beach. Looks like the boys needed some help to keep the Stukas away."

"We're under your orders, Commander," Stan answered.

"Sure, an' you birds stand trial right alongside o' me when we get back," O'Malley shouted back. He dived and his pals went with him.

Down they went over the invasion beach-head where sky battles raged as German and Italian fighter bombers tried to strafe or bomb Yank and British landing craft.

Stan leaned over and looked down. The scene below was a stirring one. Three battlewagons of the cruiser class lay offshore. In closer, a line of destroyers was blazing fire and smoke as they blasted the shore batteries of the enemy. A group of torpedo boats darted in and out, tormenting an enemy ship. Toward the shore and moving from four big transports came the landing barges: the personnel barges, the tank carriers, the mechanized armament barges. In swarms they were pouring toward the shore. In the air above, Yank and R.A.F. fighter pilots struggled to keep the dive bombers and the torpedo planes from getting at the ships. This was the zero hour for the boys in the barges. Either they established a beach-head or they failed at terrible cost.

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