Free Command Decision by William Wister Haines

put infra-red cameras on night fighters and photographed the Focke-Schmidts, which only came out of hiding after dark, on the aprons of three camouflaged factory airfields. Then, leaving the graph, Dennis pulled the mask from the operational map and revealed the little triangle of black dots.
    “Posenleben, Schweinhafen, and Fendelhorst. That’s Operation Stitch, for Stitch in time….”
    Garnett whistled. “They’re far enough in.”
    “Marshal Milch thinks better of us these days,” said Dennis ruefully.
    “What’s the present limit of fighter cover, Casey?”
    Dennis picked up a piece of blue crayon and swung the arc on the plexiglass map cover. Garnett didn’t even bother to reach for the measuring tape. The gap between line and dots was too clear.
    As he proceeded with his exposition Dennis noticed that Kane was studying Garnett as intently as Garnett was studying the problem. He had forgotten Cliff’s capacity for concentration and for absorbing information rapidly. The counter questions were pointed and pertinent. Dennis had time to reflect that the United Chiefs probably asked sharp questions, too. He could see that Kane, like himself, was trying to read the Chiefs through their secretary. But it was also part of the secretary’s business to keep his thoughts to himself.
    Dennis was sure, however, that Garnett comprehended the gravity of this. The struggle for aerial supremacy in Europe was measurable in the multi-colored lines that slashed those quarter-inch crossings of graph paper. It was impossible, of course, to graph so coldly the capabilities of the boys who would work out the proof of this hypothesis. Dennis ran through the last details and came to the climax.
    “This curve was made, Cliff, with four 30-millimeter cannon mounted.”
    He could see Garnett’s brief silence reducing this last arithmetic to its shocking significance in range and lethal burst.
    “Good God! How were they?”
    “Sweet up to thirty-five thousand. That’s enough.”
    It was. Garnett took a long breath.
    “Casey, why hasn’t this technical data been reported?”
    “It has. Through channels. You’ll hear from it in about a year.”
    A rueful nod. Then:—
    “What’s your honest opinion, Casey?”
    “This can run us out of Europe in sixty days.”
    Kane broke into protest.
    “That’s giving them absolute perfection in production, in testing, in crew conversion, in armament operation, in spotting, signals, control, tactics…” He paused, plainly groping for still further margin between himself and the blunt truth.
    “That’s giving them thirty days to get two groups operational and thirty more to catch one of our columns for just half an hour, sir. I put that in the report, Cliff.”
    “Why didn’t you send this report to us?” asked Garnett.
    Dennis did not answer. Garnett turned from him slowly for a deliberate, inquiring scrutiny of Kane. The Major General stirred like a man trying to shake off a bad dream.
    “I couldn’t endorse such alarming conclusions, Cliff. This would disturb the United Chiefs at the very time when everything depends on our getting well established here, on an acceptable loss basis, for the good of the whole service.”
    “You didn’t agree with the report then, sir?”
    “Nobody could prove these assumptions now,” said Kane angrily. “We have experimental jobs of our own that could be hotted up to test like that with Ted or Casey flying. I did send a preliminary appreciation that we could not exclude the possibility of encountering an unsuspected enemy capability.”
    “Did you approve this Operation Stitch, sir?”
    Kane’s ruddy face was dark purple.
    “I told General Dennis that this operation constitutes a tactical emergency within the scope of division commanders’ directives. If, in his opinion, the threat justifies countermeasures…”
    “That’s my opinion, Cliff,” said Dennis. “It’s my rap.”
    Kane flashed him a grateful glance but Garnett shook his