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It might be that Domber was telling the gun captain not to blast the P-51 if it made a run. In that case Domber had plans even if Stan got the ship away. Domber came back to the P-51 and Stan looked the other way as he bent forward and seated the valve. The tough part was that if he hit the mixture just right in seating that valve the engine would hit it off at once.
"And we get P-51 ships with the same range as the Forts." "Sure, an' we'll fly to Berlin," O'Malley said. "You better be thinking about locating that airfield," Stan answered. "There was a general at the meeting I just left." "As long as he won't be askin' to go along, it's all right," O'Malley said. "Now let's get some shut-eye." Stan got to his feet.
The one on the P-51 is something new. If you can recall some of the details...." Domber leaned forward. "You haven't captured one intact yet?" Stan asked. "No, and the possibility seems quite remote. You Yanks have been very clever in fixing it so that that particular piece of mechanism is always smashed when a ship lands." "I'm not an instrument man. I just fly planes," Stan said.
Various planes stood along one high wall. There was a Fort, a Wellington, two Spitfires, a Lockheed Lightning, and at the far end in a wide shop space stood a new P-51. Her nose was pointed out toward the runway and she looked ready to glide out from underground and take off. Domber laughed. "I'm sorry, but it can't be done," he said as though Stan had spoken his thoughts out loud.
"General Ward and Major Kulp," the colonel said. "This is Lieutenant Wilson." The men shook hands and all sat down. The colonel passed several papers across to Stan. "You are on special detail. You'll be equipped with P-51 ships and have a flight of three. General Ward suggests you do a bit of rhubarb raiding." "Thank you, sir. These 51's are the new long-range fighters?"
Domber had ceased smiling and for the first time his hate came to the surface. He shrugged his shoulders suddenly. "But we waste time. We will have a look at the P-51." Herr Domber led the way from his shop and laboratory to the street entrance where a car was waiting. He scowled at the guards outside his door and shouted, "Heil Hitler!" Then he marched down the walk to the car.
Stan pulled up hard and as his P-51 lifted, he felt something hit her. It was as though he had slammed into a stone wall. She staggered, let down one wing, then nosed over. Stan felt the ground slap her and heard the ripping and tearing of metal as something exploded almost in his face. A blinding flash of light stabbed at his eyeballs and blinded him.
There was just enough to fly him out over the channel if he took off before he used too much. Once out over the channel he might be able to water-crash the P-51 near a British patrol or pick-up boat. The trouble was that the instant the engine began to work the trap would be sprung on him. He had to figure that one out fast. Swen showed up and hung around watching along with the other mechanics.
Just ahead of him he saw something that looked like a huge rocket lift toward Sim's ship. It exploded with a blinding flash directly under the P-51. Sim's ship shot upward and a wing swirled away like a dark strip of paper torn from a wall. Then the P-51 nosed into the ground and exploded. Cold sweat broke out all over Stan's body as he pulled his ship over and up.
Coming over he tried a burst on one of the FW's. It was a long shot, but the Jerry was lined up neatly in his sight. The heavy guns of the P-51 roared and bucked. Up ahead the FW wobbled and dived. The other two went up for altitude. Stan went up, too. The P-51 was a high-altitude lady and would do better up where she had rare air and plenty of space.
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