The air was hot and humid. Great cumulus clouds were piled against the sky. Out on the landing field, which was actually a converted rice paddy, sat a flight of six Curtiss P–40 planes. The Tomahawks, as they are called in the R.A.F., gleamed in the sun as their propellers turned over idly.

Stan Wilson stood between O’Malley and March Allison, listening. Above the muttering of the six Tomahawks rose the distant roar of bomber planes coming in.

“Sounds like business,” Allison said.

A captain of the Flying Tigers appeared from a shack. He ran across the field with three pilots after him. The three newly arrived pilots saluted.

“Up and at ’em, boys,” the captain snapped. “And remember you’re not in the R.A.F. now. Make every burst count and snap it off short. Ammunition supplies are limited.”

O’Malley was away before his pals could move. He had crabbed some about flying a P–40 until he had taken one up. Now he was bragging about the ship. Stan and Allison raced to their planes and climbed in.

A Chinese corporal waved to them, shouting a string of words they could not understand, then grinned broadly and ended up with:

“Give ’em the works!”

“That must be the signal to take off,” Stan muttered as he pinched one wheel brake and blasted his tail up, snapping the P–40 around in a tight circle.

The six Tomahawks bumped across the rice paddy, noses into the wind, and were off. Stan lifted his ship off the ground and sent it surging up into the sky. It was like old times when he was a test pilot back in the United States. The instruments and controls were familiar and he eased back against the shock pad.

Up spiraled the P–40’s above the high-piled clouds. They bored along in close formation. Allison had charge of three planes, and an American from Texas had charge of the other three.

“Japs on the left,” Allison’s voice cracked in over the air, “beyond the white cloud. Take two thousand feet more air under you, Flight Five.”

“O.K.,” Stan called back.

“Don’t be after wastin’ me time,” O’Malley grumbled. “I see a Jap down under.”

“Take two thousand, O’Malley,” Allison drawled. “Fighter planes, upstairs.”

They went on up, looped over a huge cloud and burst out above a flight of twenty bombers with red circles on their wings.

“Peel off and go down,” Allison ordered. There was a happy, reckless note in his voice. This was action again, a fling at bullet-filled skies.

O’Malley peeled off and went roaring down the chute. Allison followed, and Stan eased over and opened up. The P–40’s engine hammered a smooth tune as the air rushed past the hatch cover. Stan grinned. He was glad to be back at it again. The bombers below were very slow. They did not break formation until the P–40’s were on their backs. Stan drove down on a big killer and opened his guns. He cut his burst short and knifed past. As he went down and over in a tight, twisting dive, he saw the bomber burst into flames. Up he went at the belly of another bomber. His Brownings rattled a hail of lead and sheared away the bomber’s wing.

As Stan went up, he saw, coming down the chute, a flight of Jap fighter planes. They were roaring in to save the bombers from destruction. Stan made a quick guess and decided there must be at least thirty of them.

“Air superiority,” he muttered. “So this is the way they get it.”

He laid over and sprayed another bomber. It dived and circled, heading back the way it had come. A glance showed that the bomber attack had been riddled and put to flight. But there was still the flock of fighters darting in on the P–40’s.

Stan went up and over and around. He held the P–40 wide open and shot under the diving Japs. He was remembering what the captain had said when he gave them instructions. “Go through them and on up. You can outfly them and be back for a kill before they can get at you.”

As he went up and over in a screaming loop, he saw that O’Malley had forgotten his instructions. The Irishman was in the middle of the enemy formation of fighters and he was stunting like a madman, his guns spitting flame and death. One Jap plane went down and then another, but O’Malley was in a tight spot. Smoke was trailing out behind him, not exhaust smoke but black smoke telling of fire inside the P–40.

Stan came over and went down. He ripped through the formation, darting around O’Malley. As he went, he saw, on his right, another P–40 shuttling across the sky. He clipped a wing off a fighter that tried to intercept him by diving at him. He saw his companion take another one out. Then he heard Allison’s clipped words.

“O’Malley! Get moving. Shuttle across. Use your speed.”

“I’m havin’ some fun stayin’ right here,” O’Malley called back. “You’re on fire,” Stan warned.

“I’m just learnin’ to smoke,” O’Malley called back.

As Stan went across and up, he saw the advantage the P–40 had over the Jap fighters. They darted after him, but he slipped away on them. As he went over and down, he saw that his pals were doing the same thing. That is, all but O’Malley, who was battling it out with a dozen Japanese around him.

The five Flying Tigers came back across and their roaring charge was too much for the Japs. They dived and scattered, but, in getting clear, they lost three more planes.

“No use trying to keep a tally!” Stan shouted.

He looked down and saw that O’Malley’s plane had burst into flame. He watched the Irishman heave back his hatch cover and tumble out. For a moment, he held his breath. Had O’Malley forgotten everything he had been told? It seemed he had slept through the instruction period. His parachute was billowing out and he was sailing through the air. But that was not the worst of it. Two Japs were diving at him from out of the blue.

Stan went over and down with his motor wide open. As he roared toward the earth, a plane shot over his hatch cover and he had a glimpse of Allison bending forward as though to push his plane faster.

“He grabbed the fastest crate,” Stan growled as he eased over and chased Allison down the chute.

Before they could reach O’Malley, one of the Japanese had zoomed past the dangling pilot and had opened up on him. Stan gritted his teeth and pulled the P–40 up. He intended to get that fellow for the dirty trick he had pulled. Furiously he twisted the gun button as the Jap came into his windscreen.

His Brownings rattled a short burst and the Jap wobbled sickeningly. His ship laid over and seemed to explode. Stan eased off and looped. As he came down again, he saw that Allison was circling a parachute that was settling into a field. Watching, he saw the parachute fold up. He laid over and throttled down waiting for O’Malley to get up. O’Malley did not move. He lay sprawled where he had hit. Stan gritted his teeth and went up again, looking for more Japs. The sky was clear. Not an enemy ship was in sight, except for a number of wrecks on the ground.

“Flight Five, come in. Flight Five, come in,” headquarters began calling.

“Flight Five, coming in. Allison speaking.” Stan waited. “One plane lost. One pilot lost. Flight Five, coming in.”

They made rendezvous with Flight Four which was all intact and the five P–40’s went in. They eased down and landed, sliding down the field with rumbling motors.

Stan faced Allison as they climbed to the ground. Allison scowled bleakly, then he drawled.

“The next time that wild Irisher will listen to instructions.”

“There won’t be any next time for him,” a pilot said. “You can’t make that kind of flying stick out here. It might work against the Jerries, but not in a ten-to-one fight with the Japs.”

“You might be right in your tactics,” Allison said with a sardonic smile. “But you don’t know O’Malley.”

“I’m going to beat some sense into his head when he comes in,” Stan growled.

He knew both he and Allison were just talking. He remembered clearly the limp form lying in the rice paddy.

They stamped into the briefing shack and the captain looked them over, frowning.

“You fellows lost a plane. Planes are valuable in this man’s country. From now on, you’ll be one short in formation.” Then he grinned. “Anybody have any idea how many were shot down?”

The boy from Texas spoke up, “I believe about twenty, sir.”

“We’ll make it twelve to be sure. If the ground boys pick up any more wrecks than that, we’ll take credit.” The captain turned away.

Stan didn’t feel very good. He looked at Allison. “I’d like to see if we can pick him up,” he said.

The captain turned on him. “You are under combat orders from daylight until dark,” he snapped. “If you want to go poking out into the rice fields after dark, that’s your business. The Brownies may come over again at any moment.”

“Yes, sir,” Stan said.

Allison lowered his voice. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t do any good,” he said. “I saw him land.”

“So did I,” Stan answered.

The captain spoke sharply and all of the pilots turned to face him.

“We have ten new planes and a new group of pilots coming in. The whole flight will be under a new flight instructor. He will give you instructions from now on. I’ll see you men over in the mess as soon as you are relieved this afternoon.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

Having a new instructor meant nothing to Stan and Allison. They had not been with the Flying Tigers long enough to know the man who was to be relieved. They went out into the sunshine and seated themselves under a tree to wait for action.

The Japs did not come back. Apparently their smashing defeat had slowed their attacks. Stan kept watching the flat fields stretching away from their base, hoping to see a lank figure coming in through the ground haze.

An hour before sundown they were relieved and went to their barracks to change to light uniforms. When they had changed, they walked over to the mess.

A group of some fifty men milled around the room. They were laughing and talking in small groups. Stan noticed at once that the men were not acquainted with each other, except for small squads gathered together. He and Allison stood watching. Suddenly Allison nudged Stan and said:

“There’s Nick Munson.”

Stan looked and saw Nick Munson in a uniform resplendent with braid. On his shoulders was the insignia of a colonel.

“He sure got himself a rating in a hurry,” Stan said.

“And a good one. I say, old man, you don’t suppose he has a special drag around here?” Allison’s lips curled into a smile.

At that moment Munson stepped to the front of the room and faced the fliers. “Men!” he shouted. “Give me your attention. Snap into it!”

The men faced him and silence filled the room. “I’m sorry Colonel Fuller can’t be here. I’ll just have to introduce myself. I’m Nick Munson, test pilot from the U.S.A. And I’m your new instructor.” He let his eye rove over the men. His gaze flecked over Stan and Allison, seemed to pause a moment, then it moved on.

“What do you think of that?” Stan muttered.

“I’m not saying,” Allison answered.

“Just keep your lips buttoned up and listen to me.” Nick glared directly at Stan and Allison, though he could not have heard what they said.

The men moved in closer and frowns creased many faces. The Flying Tigers were easy-going, loose on discipline, deadly in the air. Many of them were veterans of the China Army. They didn’t like this new colonel’s attitude.

“I see some of you need a bit of military training,” Nick snapped. “I’m here to kick some action out of you birds. And I’ll do it or hand in my papers.”

The men stared at him, but no one said a word.

“I don’t want any more exhibitions like we had this afternoon. One famous R.A.F. pilot who thought he knew all about flying had a plane burned from under him and got himself shot up. You birds play this game my way or you’ll stay on the ground.”

Stan felt his hands clench into fists.

Nick’s tone was sarcastic as he continued, “You may have been aces where you came from, but that doesn’t mean a thing to me. Now get out and when I give an order see that you carry it out to the letter. None of you have any brains to do any thinking for yourselves. You do as you are told.”

Nick Munson turned on his heel and strode out of the mess. Allison faced Stan. The insolent mockery Stan knew so well was in his eyes.

“Imagine, old man,” he drawled, “you’re short on gray matter.”

“I may be short on brains, but I still pack a left hook and a right cross. Nobody can insult O’Malley and get away with it. Not when he isn’t here to speak for himself.” Stan’s chin was jutting out and his eyes were blazing.

“I’d suggest waiting a bit. Colonel Munson may have some plans. Perhaps he’s worried about the morale of this outfit,” Allison smiled his cold smile. “Perhaps it’s too high. He might like to see a few fights among the men. Possibly they might get the idea of quitting. This is a voluntary job, you know.”

Stan laughed and his fists opened. “I believe you have something there. Suppose we just circulate around and talk with a few of the men.”

As they talked with the irate fliers, Allison managed to slip in a word regarding Munson’s possible intention to create unrest in their ranks. When they left the mess hall, Allison saw that the men were beginning to get his slant. He felt sure that they would not be goaded into making trouble.

They were crossing the field when an officer came out of the briefing shack. It was Nick Munson. He changed his course and approached them. They snapped a salute. Munson looked them over.

“You fellows didn’t seem much impressed by my talk,” he said gruffly.

“We have heard a lot of speeches in this war,” Allison said very softly.

“I’m sorry that numskull Irishman isn’t with us any more. I should have liked to have made a flier out of him,” Nick said.

“For a test pilot without combat stripes you have done well, Munson,” Stan said and his eyes locked with those of the colonel.

“I may do even better,” Nick boasted. “This is the land of opportunity.”

Stan had suddenly lost interest in Munson. He was looking out across the darkening rice fields. Three men were coming toward the shack. Two walked ahead while another came on behind. Suddenly Stan laughed in Nick’s face.

“You may get your chance to train O’Malley, after all,” he said.

O’Malley was striding across the field with two Japanese pilots in front of him. He had lost his helmet and his flaming hair bushed out on his head. He waved an arm to Stan and Allison and bellowed:

“Here I come with the reserves!”

He marched his prisoners up to Colonel Munson and halted them. They were very meek. One of the men had a black eye that suggested he had been hit by a fist. Nick stared at the Japs and then at O’Malley.

“You were reported killed,” he growled.

O’Malley looked Nick over, observed his rating and then answered insolently:

“And you don’t like it because I wasn’t, eh, Colonel?”

“O’Malley, I outrank you. Speak in a respectful manner when you talk to me.” Nick’s face was red and his eyes were blazing.

“Sure, an’ the Chinese are hard up for colonels,” O’Malley said. He turned to Stan and then to Allison. “I’m thinkin’ I’ll go over an’ get my general’s stripes as soon as I hand over these fellers.” He grinned at his prisoners. “They are slippery ones, and don’t you ever ferget that. My friend, here,” he nodded toward the man with the black eye, “tried to stick a knife into me.” “Hand over your prisoners and then report to me,” Munson ordered. “I’m going to ground you for not following out instructions this afternoon. You lost a valuable ship.”

“I don’t think I’ll like bein’ grounded,” O’Malley answered. “I’m thinkin’ you and this Jap would look more alike if you had a black eye, me foine friend.”

“Easy, Bill,” Allison warned and stepped to O’Malley’s side. “Don’t play his game.”

Munson wheeled on Allison. “What’s that?” he demanded.

“You may outrank us, but just remember that this is a volunteer group, and if they take it into their heads to knock those stripes off you they can do it,” Allison answered coldly.

Munson stared hard at Allison, then he said, “No use in your getting hot under the collar. I have to make this a military outfit.” He turned to O’Malley. “I may not ground you, but you have to listen to instructions. You have a lot to learn.” His voice was almost friendly.

“The Japs taught me all I’ll be needin’ to know from now on,” O’Malley answered. “I’m a flyin’ snake from this day on. A hit-and-run driver.”

Munson turned and walked away. Stan and Allison went along with O’Malley to deliver the prisoners.

“You sure hit the bull’s-eye when you cracked down on him,” Stan said to Allison.

Allison frowned. “He gave himself away all right. Now we know how to handle him.” He turned to O’Malley. “What made you lie there on the ground as though you were dead? You had me fooled.”

“I figgered I’d better play possum. With the sky full o’ Japs, one of them might have come down an’ peppered me,” O’Malley answered.

“And where did you meet your friends, the Japs?” Stan asked.

“I saw them crawl out of a bomber and I followed them,” O’Malley sighed. “An’ did I work up an appetite walking all that way! Let’s get rid of these birds and go eat.”