Stan sat in his office looking out upon the field. He had just returned from a conference at headquarters. Things were moving fast in the South Pacific war zone. Stan had orders to be ready to take action on a new sector at an hour’s notice. The move might not come, but if it did, he and his Flying Tigers would be on their way to new fields of action. No one knew just what the orders would be, that was a secret the Chinese High Command was guarding.

Stan hated the idea of leaving Rangoon without squaring matters with Nick Munson. None of his fliers had tangled with the Nazi spy, though he had been sighted many times. He was never cornered, though he did lead Jap attacks over the area.

210 The loud-speaker rattled and began rasping: “Enemy bombers coming in from the southeast. Flight Four, all out. Flight Five, all out.”

Stan grabbed his outfit and hurried out to the field. He was too restless to stay on the ground. He saw Allison and O’Malley climbing into their planes. They zoomed up along with four other P–40’s. Stan had to spend a few minutes getting ready. By the time he was in the air Flight Four and Five had vanished into the clouds above.

Heading along under the cloud layer Stan watched for the bombers. They would not show up for another fifty miles, but he wanted to spot them before they sighted him. He did not go above the cloud layer. His boys were up there and he would let them handle the attack. He would mix in with any low-flying enemy that came along. He was moody and not on his flying mettle. For days he had been on the ground working on battle plans and maps. The work irritated him.

He was jolted out of his daydream by a211 ripping sound. Bullets were smashing into his P–40. A glance in his mirror told him the reason. A fighter was on his tail slamming lead into him. As Stan dived he caught a glimpse of a P–40 raging over his hatch cover, and saw, for a split second, the grinning face of Nick Munson.

Nick was flying low intent on picking off any cripples. The way Stan had been flying, half-asleep, had made him the same as a cripple. He gunned his motor and was glad it was still hitting. Up he went and over in a tight roll. Munson came down in a wicked dive. Stan blazed away and missed. As he came on around he saw the reason Munson was staying to fight it out. Black smoke was rolling out of the cowling of his motor.

“I’m spotting you the first round,” Stan said grimly. He eased over and slid off on one wing. Munson came on in for the kill. Stan zoomed upward and Munson went racing past.

The P–40 went up like a comet trailing a tail of fire. She hung at the top of her climb, leveled and slid away. Stan let her spin,212 hoping to shake the fire out of her. Munson knifed in, eager to knock the P–40 out. He came down with a rush.

Stan jerked his ship out of her spin and stood her on her tail. Heat was surging back at him and he was coughing from the smoke. He saw Munson go past and nosed down after him. Munson had not expected that Stan would be able to maneuver his flaming ship. He was caught squarely in the sights of Stan’s P–40. Stan saw the tail and the fuselage and the cowling of the hood as he pressed his gun button. His bullets hammered home, ripping great holes in the fuselage and the engine cowling of his enemy’s ship. Then Munson pulled up and Stan shot past.

Flames were sucking back now and the smoke was choking, but Stan went up and over, seeking his antagonist. Munson was rising slowly and his ship was on fire. Stan heard his rasping voice come in over the radio:

“Lay off, you fool, we’ll both be cooked.”

Stan cupped his mike as he went on up. “This is Stan Wilson, Von Ketch. I’m coming213 up after you. This time you won’t run out on me.”

Stan went up on the tail of the burning P–40. Munson made a desperate effort to bank and swing his guns into line. He fired two bu............