"Wilks and Liske," he called lazily. "This is your skipper, Mrs. O'Malley's son. Get your crates hot." "Temperatures check," Liske called back. His voice sounded sour. "Which one of the Auld Man's corns did you step on, Liske?" O'Malley asked. "Same one I did," Wilks called in. "Can the chatter and get going," snapped a voice from operations. "Lieutenant O'Malley, report out at once," another voice cut in. "Up to five thousand and then tuck in close to me," O'Malley ordered. "Read your flight sheets!" The voice from operations was sharp and snappy. O'Malley laughed. "Shove off, me hearties," he called. Wilks went zooming off and Liske followed closely. O'Malley watched their take-off with a critical eye. He saw at once that he had been given two fledglings to nurse safely through. Like an old hen, he was expected to see them through by proper evasive tactics. O'Malley began whistling a bit of an Irish tune. He'd protect those kids, just let any Italian or German fighter show up. Kicking down on one brake, he spun the Lightning around and sent her zooming off the field, hanging her on her prop at once, and surging over the hatch covers of his charges like a crazy angel heading for the sun. His boys dropped in behind him and soon had snuggled in, wing to wing, one on each side. "So you birds were bad boys," O'Malley called across to his men. "So what? We hear you were supposed to be a major," Liske answered insolently. "We didn't read the rule book careful," Wilks confessed with a laugh. "From now on you won't be after needin' a rule book," O'Malley assured them. He was scanning the blue sky eagerly. A pile of clouds, off to the east, looked promising. He swung over that way. If there was a Jerry in the whole area, he'd be hiding up in that cloud. The three Lightnings zoomed low under the cloud but nothing happened. The sky was as serene and calm as the sky over a Kansas wheat field or a kirk in Kerry County, Ireland. O'Malley scowled and eased back against the shock pad. They roared over
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