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Up above, the Jerries cut loose and the Yanks got a crack at them as they tried to filter through. For five minutes the sky was a battlefield, then the Thunderbolts up above had to leave. They broke off and headed for home. Behind them they left the wreckage of eleven Messerschmitts and Focke-Wulfs. With the bombers, O'Malley was putting on a show which reminded Stan of the old days.
Stan saw that the Forts and Libs were slamming lead at the Focke-Wulfs in a blaze that rivaled a Fourth of July celebration. He kept an eye on Allison's Fort and saw an FW go down flaming after a thrust at the bomber. Stan chuckled softly. "Allison got one!" O'Malley yelled. "'Tis a sad day, this, for Mrs. O'Malley's son."
"Right waist gunner to pilot, sir. 190's at eleven o'clock. They're after the flight ahead." "Rear gunner Roger, sir. Flock of Focke-Wulfs at six o'clock. Coming in on our tail." "I say, old man, don't get itchy fingers. No ammo to waste." Allison's voice was calm and unruffled. O'Malley's voice broke in over Stan's headset. "Hey, sure an' we ought to go down an' bust that up."
Grimly Stan dived and then zoomed. The two Focke-Wulfs gleefully tore in upon him. Stan gave one of them a burst but missed. He was caught like a clumsy float plane and knew it. Up he went and over, using every evasive trick he knew. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Sim had banked sharply and was coming back to help him. He also spotted the cloud the Jerries had used to ambush the flight.
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