Rutherford G. Montgomery

“ For a moment the little ship staggered on, then exploded.
"The poor fellers," grated O'Malley.
Stan said nothing but he felt cold all over. He looked down at the carrier and saw torpedo bombers sliding off her deck like little swallows. O'Malley's voice chopped off his thoughts.
"'Tis a pocket battle wagon we get, no less," he almost crooned.
"Thick weather down there," Stan warned.
The muck of anti-aircraft fire made the stratum above the sea look as though it was on fire. The smoke was stabbed by blossoming shells hurling ragged pieces of iron in every direction. ”

“ Domber leaned into the cockpit. Stan pointed to the valve. His fingers closed over it and began to turn it. Then his right arm shot out. His fingers gripped Domber's yellow tie. The Dutch Quisling's eyes bulged and he pulled back.
In that instant the Allison surged into full, smooth power. Stan kicked down on one brake and snapped her around. Like a falcon launching out from a limb, the Mustang shot toward the opening ahead. Stan held Domber over the edge of the open hatch until the ship was out in the sunshine, then he gave the little Quisling a shove. ”

“ The wolves leaped on the carcass and began devouring it while the buzzards walked over the snow, halting with their necks stretched out, their hard eyes glittering. They must wait for their share, which would be the gnawed bones.
And so the battle against the snow and the cold went on through the long winter. Another colt was lost to the gray killers, and an old mare went lame. She dropped behind in spite of the savage nipping and crowding of the big stallion. That night she bedded down alone in a little canyon and a gaunt cougar came upon her in the gray dawn. ”

“ After a few minutes he picked up Rangoon. Allison and Tom got their bearings and they headed in, still keeping to the cloud layer.
Over Rangoon they broke out of the clouds and began drifting in. They saw below a calm sea and a green jungle. A beacon began to flash and Stan contacted the field. They slid in over blue markers and down on a long runway. As they bumped to a halt, it seemed as if they had landed at one of the airfields in England. Only the ground men who rushed forward were American mechanics, not British. ”

“ The man was on foot and he was toiling upward, a pack strapped on his back. He did not seem to be interested in the band of wild horses, but the wind carried a strong man smell to the meadow. The scent was rank with the odor of an old pipe.
The chestnut stallion laid back his ears and bared his teeth. With a shrill warning he lunged at the rump of the nearest mare. She whinnied with fright as she galloped away. The stallion drove the other mares into a thundering stampede. They charged across the meadow and into the timber, the colts bounding along at their mothers’ sides. ”

“ Out on the dispersal area Colonel Holt could see guards watching the shadowy forms of the Thunderbolts. A jeep came chugging up a muddy street and turned off toward the mess barracks. At one-five in the morning the base looked peaceful enough. Sheltered by darkness, its mud ruts and half-finished buildings were softened by the gloom. Still scowling, the colonel strode away.
Several hours later, in a tunnel-shaped hut with a corrugated iron roof and a cement floor, two fliers sat near a wood stove. Stan Wilson was poking wood into the stove. ”

“ In a dozen scattered flight centers men were busy. Coveralled ground squads swarmed around fighter planes, medium bombers and long-range giants whose lettering B Y 3, painted there by Yank builders, had been smeared over with British lacquer. Exhausts flamed, bomb trucks trundled in and out, while pilots and gunners checked rigging and outfits. The big show was on, the biggest the Royal Air Force had ever planned.
Stan and O'Malley and Allison waited with their gunners near them. ”