“It wasn’t exactly a Turkish bath,” Stan admitted.
“I’ll radio in for an ambulance,” the officer said as he helped Stan wiggle out of his soggy clothes and into the electrically heated blanket.
“No ambulance,” Stan said. “I’ll catch a ride over to my base with someone.”
“The ambulance is the fastest way,” the officer said.
“They’d take me to a hospital, and that’s the last place I want to see. Just dry my outfit if you can.”
“Glad to, old fellow, and we’ll have a spot of hot tea ready for you in a jiffy.” The officer turned away.
Stan drank hot tea and toasted himself inside the blanket until they were near the port where they were to put in. By that time his clothing had been dried by one of the machinist mate’s men in the engine room.
Getting dressed Stan went on deck. They were edging in beside a pier. Stan was the first over the side. He shook hands with the British officer and waved to the crew, then he headed for a row of cars parked along the street near the wharf. Picking out a car with a uniformed girl at the wheel he walked over to it.
“Hi, Yank,” the girl greeted him. “You look a bit wrinkled.”
“I just had my daily bath in the channel.” Stan grinned at the girl. “My butler forgot to pack my bathing suit so I went in as is. How about a lift?”
“This is Sir Eaton Pelham’s car. I’m afraid it isn’t available.” She smiled sweetly when she said it.
Stan glanced at the other cars. There were no other drivers about. He looked back at the girl.
“Sir Eaton a kindhearted man?” he asked.
“Very,” she assured him. “He carries a pocketful of cracker crumbs for the pigeons.”
At that moment Sir Eaton Pelham appeared. He was a burly Englishman, wrapped snugly in the folds of a greatcoat. His ruddy face beamed and he nodded to Stan.
“Jolly nice weather for one day,” he said as he opened the door of the car.
“Very,” Stan answered. “How about a lift?”
Sir Eaton looked at Stan closely for the first time. “I say, a Yank flier. What could you be doing here?”
“I was just fished out of the channel by one of His Majesty’s patrol boats and want to get back to base.”
“Hop in, old man. Where is base?”
“Take me to Diss,” Stan said as he climbed in.
“Right-o.” Sir Eaton did not ask any more questions. He spoke about the country they whirled through, but never mentioned the war at all. When Stan got down at Diss, Sir Eaton waved his thanks aside. “Good hunting, my boy,” he said. Turning to his driver he said, “Whitehall, London. We’ll have to hit it a bit fast to be on time for my meeting.”
Stan stood staring at the car as it whirled away. “Whitehall,” he muttered. “Pelham.” Suddenly he began to laugh. He had hitched a ride with one of Winston Churchill’s right-hand men. And he had taken the honorable assistant secretary many miles out of his way.
Hailing a jeep Stan hooked a ride to the camp. He walked into operations and up to the desk. A major looked up and then started.
“Wilson!” he exclaimed. “We had you marked down as lost. Sim Jones reported you short of gas.”
“I hitchhiked back. Caught a ride with one of Churchill’s secretaries,” Stan said dryly.
The major looked at him sharply, then shoved a pad across the desk. “Just put that in writing,” he said.
Stan made his report, then headed for his hut to change into an unwrinkled uniform. There was no one in the hut, but his things and the belongings of O’Malley had been neatly stacked. Stan scowled.
“They gather a man’s stuff up in a hurry around here,” he muttered.
He put his own things back and did the same with O’Malley’s. There would be no rush about making O’Malley out a dead man. Getting into his uniform he headed for the mess. He was suddenly very hungry.
Walking into the little dining room he halted and his mouth dropped open. At a table, with four youngsters listening open-mouthed to his talk, sat O’Malley. He looked up and for a moment held a big piece of steak poised on his fork. Then he shoved the steak into his mouth and waved a big hand.
Stan crossed the room and seated himself. There was no warm greeting. O’Malley swallowed his steak and grinned at his pal.
“Ye’re a bit late, but in time for the pie course.”
“I took a bath on the way back,” Stan said.
“That spalpeen—”
“Now, now,” Stan cut in. “No names named.”
“I said a spalpeen let you down,” O’Malley growled.
“And what happened to you?”
O’Malley grinned. “Me? Oh, I had the boys tuck an extra sixty gallons o’ gas aboard. The colonel said we was to handle fixing the tanks, so I fixed mine like that.”
“You dropped out of sight at Huls in a hurry,” Stan said.
“I ran out of ammunition, and havin’ a spot of extra gas, I did a bit o’ sight-seein’,” O’Malley explained. “An’ did I get an eyeful!”
The four youngsters sighed and got to their feet. It was time for them to shove off.
“See you when I got time to tell you how I chased a Nazi birdman right down on a British landing strip,” O’Malley called after them.
“You’ve been stringing the kids along,” Stan said.
“I gave them only a bird’s-eye view o’ the life o’ the great O’Malley.” The Irishman leaned back and surveyed the platter where the steak had been. “Now jest a wee bit of apple pie an’ I’ll have the edge taken off me hunger.”
He ordered a whole pie. Stan ordered a steak and coffee. As soon as the orders were placed before them, O’Malley leaned forward.
“Sure, an’ I saw the strangest sight today,” he began. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.”
“What was it?”
“I was flittin’ along over the tops o’ trees an’ the spires o’ kirks when I zoom out over a wooded slope with a big cleared field in the middle o’ the woods. There on that field was at least seventy Jerry fighter planes.” O’Malley paused to cram a large bite of pie into his mouth.
“Fighter field. Did you get its location?”
“Sure. An’ I thought I’d give those fellers a grand scare. There wasn’t a plane in the air, so I was safe. I zoomed up an’ over an’ came down in a dive.” O’Malley paused and shook his head. “You’d never believe it. I could hardly believe me own eyes. When I came back down to scare the daylights out o’ them Krauts, there wasn’t a plane on that field. They just vanished.” O’Malley looked hard at his pie and kept on shaking his head.
“It’s all right to tell that yarn to me, but don’t ever tell it to a general,” Stan said. “Did they all take to the air?”
“Nary a plane in the air. It’s some black magic them Krauts have conjured up, if ye ask me.”
It was clear that O’Malley was in dead earnest. Stan believed O’Malley had seen the planes. He also believed there was some trick the Germans had worked out to hide their fighter fields and to protect them.
“We’ll have another look,” O’Malley said. “I have the place spotted.”
“Being able to get fighters out of sight so quickly would account for our not being able to knock out their fighter fields,” Stan said. “We’ll have to give this some thought.”
“It ought to get us special duty,” O’Malley said.
“I’ll bet you slipped inside their warning system and caught them flat-footed. But there must be some way they get parked planes moved so fast.”
“We’ll be the b’ys to find that out,” O’Malley answered.
“I doubt if we ever make anybody swallow your story,” Stan said.
CHAPTER IV
SCOUTING MISSION