where the last crazy lurch of the plane had flung him. Then he gulped
air into his aching lungs, slowly sat up straight and turned around
to look at Freddy. The British youth was upside down in his section
of the cockpit. His head was down by the flooring, and his feet were
sticking up in the air. His safety belt had been snapped in two by the
terrific impact of the plane, but by some miracle he had been spared
serious injury. Even as Dave reached back to lend a hand Freddy wiggled
himself around and came upright, eyes popping and his face the color of
a flaming sunset. It was a second or so before he could drag enough air
into his lungs to speak.
"Did we get it, Dave?" he finally choked out.
"Sure we got it!" Dave replied. "But I don't mean the U-boat. You don't
happen to have a nice ocean going cruiser in your hip pocket, do you?
I think this baby is going to sink right from under us in darn short
order."
As Dave spoke he made a sweeping gesture with one hand. Freddy looked
about and it was not joy and happiness that came into his eyes. The
Fairey Fulmar fighter plane looked as though it had been jammed
through a meat grinder. The tail was completely gone; broken off clean
as though clipped by an axe. The wing was twisted and bent, and the
fuselage was punched full of holes. Sea water was coming in through the
holes, and coming in fast. Freddy shook his head and looked at Dave in
apologetic chagrin.
"If we get out of this you can kick me around the block six times!"
he said bitterly. "All my fault for not letting you get that blasted
Fairey Swordfish when you had him cold. It wasn't until after that that
he got our engine. Gee, Dave, I could jump overboard and drown myself
for being such a blasted fool. I...."
"I might have known!" Dave snapped at him. "We no sooner get in a tight
spot and you want to quit me cold!"
"But, Dave," Freddy protested, "I didn't mean it that way. I simply
meant that I...."
"Then get a grin on your mug, and stop picking on yourself!" Dave cut
in. "How many times have I got to explain that Freddy Farmer is the
best pal I ever hooked up with, and that I don't allow anybody to ride
him. Not even you, Mister! Get it? Come on, that grin, or I'll toss you
overboard, myself."
Freddy blinked a couple of times, swallowed, and then forced a faint
smile to his lips.
"Always right there to put sense into a chap's head," he said softly.
"That's Dave Dawson. But I still say I was a blasted fool. How long,
though, do you think before we'll be in the water with only our Mae
Wests keeping us afloat?"
Dave shrugged and made a little gesture with both hands.
"Search me," he grunted. "Your guess is as good as mine. What's
worrying me is that darn U-boat. If we'd only been able to clip it. We
didn't, and now the darn thing's down under some place getting ready
to let loose a brace of torpedoes at the first navy ship that comes
tearing up this way."
"I wonder about that," Freddy said. "Maybe it just happened to come
to the surface by accident. Ten to one it's making tracks for distant
places right now."
"No," Dave said firmly. "I'm sure it's hanging around. This thing was
all planned, Freddy. That bum in that Fairey Swordfish proved that to
me."
"How so?" Freddy questioned with a frown.
"Gosh, it's simple to figure that one!" Dave cried. "Didn't you see
that bird make a couple of final passes at us and then breeze off? No,
Freddy, that boy had a perfect chance to riddle us both with slugs so
that it would be a waste of time for anybody to pick us up, but he
didn't! His job was just to shoot us down for a forced landing."
"Good grief, I believe you're right!" Freddy Farmer gasped. "But what
was the idea of that U-boat coming to the surface? Why did it risk
showing itself to the pilots of a forced landing plane? That doesn't
make sense to me."
"I think it makes sense to me," Dave said after a moment of thoughtful
silence. "I think the U-boat was taking no chances of our signalling
to anybody once we were in the water. Or of our sinking the plane so
that searching craft wouldn't sight it. I think they planned to take us
aboard, let the ship float, and submerge to wait for our navy ships to
arrive."
"And that is probably what it's doing right now!" Freddy said, tight
lipped. "Dave, we've got to think of something, some way to warn all
surface ships away from here. There may be a dozen U-boats waiting!"
"You're telling me?" Dave muttered grimly and hoisted himself up on the
seat to keep clear of the mounting water level in the cockpit. "But
what in thunder can we do? The radio's out. And even if we could set
the ship on fire ... which we can't ... the column of smoke would only
attract the navy boats all the more. There's just one chance, one hope.
And it's the slimmest hope you and I ever had, my boy!"
"Well, what is it?" the English youth cried impatiently. "Anything's
worth a try."
"We can only hope that a Fleet Air Arm plane will get here well ahead
of any naval craft," Dave said. "The trouble is they may hold back the
planes for fear that they would be sighted before the destroyers and
cruisers arrived. It's the raider they want most, you know. And I don't
think they'd risk showing a plane until the surface ships were close
enough to check the raider from making a run for port and escaping."
"And there isn't any raider!" Freddy groaned as lines of worry grooved
his face. "We don't know what kind of a trap this is. We don't know
what the navy ships may run into. Phew! What a mess I made of things."
"Shut up!" Dave growled. "I was as much at fault as you were. A great
deal more, in fact. I should have made a run for it the instant you
sighted that plane, instead of sticking around and trying to outfly
him. No, Freddy, we're in it together. And our only hope is that a
Fleet Air Arm plane will get here first."
"You mean so's they'll see there's no raider about and suspect that it
is some kind of trap?" Freddy asked hopefully. "And they can radio the
surface ships to stand clear?"
"Partly that," Dave said with a nod. "But mostly so's we can wig-wag
them with our shirts and _tell_ them to radio the fleet to stand clear.
That's our hope. That they'll spot us first and read what we signal to
them. And...."
"Dave, look!" Freddy suddenly screamed. "The hope's come true. There's
a plane up there to the northwest. It's a Catalina, too. And they've
spotted us. See? She's starting to slide down from altitude!"
Dave snapped one quick glance up toward the huge flying boat several
thousand feet overhead and some five or six miles distant. Then he
started tearing off his Mae West life jacket, and ripping off his tunic
to get at the white shirt he wore.
"Get your shirt off, too, Freddy!" he barked. "Here, give it to me.
Thanks. You wave both arms westward and I'll wig-wag for them to radio
the surface boats to stand clear. Okay, Freddy, start waving. We've got
to make those boys understand that all plans have gone haywire!"
Hoisting himself up until he was standing straddle legged with a foot
braced on either side of the cockpit, Dave clutched Freddy's shirt in
one hand, his own in the other and started wig-wagging furiously at
the huge Catalina boat that was continuing to lose altitude rapidly.
Seconds passed and his arms ached so much he thought they were going to
drop off at the shoulder sockets, but still the flying boat continued
to come on down toward the water. It was Freddy who finally voiced the
terrible fear that was mounting in his heart.
"They don't see our signals, or else they don't understand, Dave!" the
English youth groaned. "That boat is coming down to land alongside and
take us aboard."
"I know," Dave said in a choked voice. "What are they, blind?
Once they're on the water the U-boat can surface and blow them to
kingdom-come. But keep signalling, Freddy. We've got to make sense to
them!"
It was simply a futile, heartbreaking effort, however. The flying boat
came down until it was almost touching the surface. Then it flattened
out slightly and headed toward the fast sinking Fulmar with throttled
engines. Another moment and the craft had touched the water. Spray
showered up both sides of the hull. Then the craft settled and came
slowly toward them as the engines picked up revs. Dave let his aching
arms drop to his sides and anxiously scanned the surrounding waters.
There was no sign of the U-boat, but that fact didn't make him feel
any better. Deep down inside of him he had the firm conviction that
the under-sea menace was lurking near ready to strike at the first
opportunity.
Then suddenly came Freddy Farmer's shrill cry.
"Over there, Dave, to the right! A periscope! The U-boat's going to try
for the Catalina!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
_Missing Wings_
Dave Dawson didn't so much as bother to turn his head and look in the
direction Freddy Farmer pointed. The Catalina flyingboat had come to
a full stop not twenty yards from the water logged Fairey Fulmar. Its
pilot was keeping it heading into the wind with the aid of his engines
and sea rudder. A hull door had been pushed open and an R.A.F. clad
figure appeared in the opening with a casting line in his hand. Dave
gave him but a single glance, then shoved a hand against the small of
Freddy Farmer's back.
"We swim for it, and fast, Freddy!" he shouted.
The English youth shouted a reply but it was cut off short in the
middle as he dived headlong into the water. A split second later Dave
dived in too. He hit the water with arms and legs working furiously.
Perhaps it was a matter of five seconds before he reached the side
of the flying boat's hull, but every second seemed a soul torturing
eternity in length. Every second he expected to hear the thunderous
roar of a U-boat torpedo crashing into the Catalina. Every second he
expected to be his last in this war, and in this world.
Then suddenly he and Freddy were at the side of the flying boat.
Waiting hands reached down and hauled them scrambling aboard.
"I say, why the blasted rush?" cried a voice in Dave's ear. "We could
have pulled you aboard dry as a bone. Here there, what the devil, man?"
The last was because Dave had bounced up on his feet and shoved the
speaker roughly to one side. Without wasting breath to either explain
or apologize Dave dashed along the hull cat-walk leading to the pilots'
compartment. He went through the small compartment door like a twelve
inch shell, fell over the chief pilot's shoulder and rammed both
throttles wide open.
"Port rudder!" he screamed in the dumbfounded pilot's ear. "Port
rudder, man, for Heaven's sake!"
Though still completely dumbfounded the pilot was a man trained for
split second action. He jammed on port rudder and the roaring engines
swung the huge craft around to the left. Panting and gasping for air,
Dave turned his head and looked out the compartment window. What he saw
froze every drop of blood in his veins, and made his heart stand still.
No more than fifty yards away a white frothy line was being traced in
the water and the front end of the line was heading straight for the
Catalina.
He tried to shout out but the words clogged in his throat. He
automatically reached out with his hand again and pressed it hard
against the already wide open throttles, as though in so doing he might
add speed to the flying boat that was slowly getting under way. And
every instant of the time he kept his gaze riveted on the white frothy
line that drew closer and closer to the flying boat. A second, an hour,
or maybe it was ten years dragged by. The sea, the sky, and the whole
world seemed to stand still. Nothing seemed to move save that deadly
white line being traced in the water. It moved right up to the flying
boat and then passed out of Dave's vision. He held his breath, closed
his eyes, and awaited that last horrible second.
Then came sound. But it was the sound of an excited voice and not that
of a world blasting explosion.
"Torpedo off our stern, sir!" shouted a figure that suddenly appeared
in the compartment doorway. "Only missed us by inches. Came from dead
starboard, sir!"
Dave wanted to shout, wanted to cry, wanted to get up and dance a jig
of joy. He did none of those, however. Instead reaction set in and for
a moment turned all of his muscles into so much limp rubber. He slipped
off the back of the pilot's seat and flopped down on the floor boards.
By the time he had been lifted to his feet the huge Catalina was clear
of the water and arcing up toward the sky. Dave wiped sweat and sea
water from his face and grinned crookedly at the pilot at the controls.
"That was the idea of my haywire actions," he said. "There wasn't time
to explain."
The pilot grinned, reached out with one hand and pressed Dave's arm
hard.
"Thank God you didn't take time to explain!" he cried. "We'd all be
shark food now. You're Dawson, aren't you? I'm Featherstone, and my
co-pilot here is Williams."
"Never so glad to meet two fellows in all my life," Dave said with a
nod and a grin. "But, look, didn't you get my wig-wag stuff? Things
went all haywire. I'll explain later, but right now contact the fleet
and tell it to stand clear of this area. I don't know what's up, but
I'm pretty sure Jerry is trying to spring a trap on us."
"Hold your horses, my lad!" Featherstone said as Dave started
unconsciously pounding him on the shoulder. "You'll have me black and
blue for a week. The fleet's standing clear, and has been for an hour
or more. The Old Man didn't like the way your signal stopped so soon.
According to our calculations you had no sooner reached the edge of the
suspected area than your signal went off the air. The Old Man got the
idea you had run into Jerry planes, so he sent us off for a look-see.
As we came down I sent back word in code that there was not a thing to
be seen but your plane in the water. What happened, anyway?"
Dave heaved a long sigh of relief and started to speak but checked
himself as Freddy came through the compartment doorway looking very
much like a half drowned rat. Dave made introductions all around and
then opened his mouth to speak again. But once again he checked himself
and gave Featherstone a hard stare. The flying boat's captain looked
mystified for a moment. Then his face brightened and he laughed
shortly.
"It's quite all right, Dawson, old chap," he said. "You won't be
telling any state secrets. The Old Man acquainted us with the orders
you received from Air Marshal Manners. Naturally some of us had to
know, you see, in order to carry out our part of the assignment. Of
course, though, if you'd rather not, then don't tell me a thing. I'll
get it later from the Old Man's report."
"Oh, it's okay by me," Dave said. Then in a sudden excited voice, "Man,
oh, man, am I slipping! That U-boat! We should have been hunting for it
instead of standing here jawing!"
"Relax, Dawson!" Featherstone said with a good-natured laugh. "Really,
man, give us credit for a little sense! I've been circling ever
since we cleared the water and the crew has maintained a constant
watch. Williams, here, too. See those headphones on him? Intra-plane
communication, you know. What's the word, Williams?"
The co-pilot shook his head.
"Not the ghost of a sign," he said. "She probably went right down to
sit on the bottom when she saw she'd missed us."
"And she'll probably stay there until dark," Featherstone added.
"Okay, okay, I'm over the jitters," Dave said with a gesture of one
hand. "Well, here's what happened."
Beginning with the moment they opened their sealed orders Dave gave
Featherstone a detailed account of exactly what had happened.
"Don't ask me what I think about it," he finished up, "because it sure
has me in a flat spin. It stands to reason, though, that the Jerries
knew more about our little trap than we did. Anyway, something went
haywire."
Dave emphasized his words with a shrug and looked at Freddy Farmer.
"Did I leave out anything?" he asked.
"No, that was the whole story," the English youth said. "But, now that
we're sure the U-boat's gone I think we'd better get back to Plymouth
Base as fast as we can. The Fairey Swordfish had Seventy-Four markings,
you know. And I got the number on the tail. I think the first thing we
should do is check up on that plane at once."
"I agree," Featherstone said. "But just a minute, lads. I can't take
you back to Plymouth. My orders were to take you back to the Old Man
aboard the Aircraft Carrier Tornado. That is, if I picked you up, and I
did. The Tornado isn't far off, and...."
"And we'll just be wasting time," cut in Dave. "Look, Featherstone, be
a good guy and radio the Tornado's skipper. Tell him I'm requesting
permission for you to fly us to Plymouth at once. Say that I have
to report to Air Marshal Manners in person at the earliest possible
moment."
The Catalina's captain looked dubious for a moment, then gave a little
shrug of his shoulders.
"Right you are, then," he said and nodded at the waiting Co-pilot
Williams. "The Old Man's wrath will be on your shoulders, not mine. And
he's a lad with a sharp tongue, I can tell you. Go ahead, Williams."
Nobody said anything while the co-pilot got busy on the radio. Two
minutes later he slipped off his headphones and looked at Dave with a
faint trace of awe in his eyes.
"You must rate with the Old Man, Dawson," he said. "Or perhaps
mentioning Air Marshal Manners was the bit of magic. Anyway, his orders
were to grant your request at once."
"God bless you for making the suggestion, Dawson!" Featherstone cried.
"Frankly, I've been praying the answer would be yes. We've been in
the air a solid eighteen hours and a bit of rest and an odd spot of
liquid refreshment at Plymouth Base won't make us mad at all. Right-o!
Plymouth it is, and in a hurry. You and Farmer better go aft and get
some dry duds on. The Sergeant Gunner will dig up something for you.
And thanks again for that little bit of haywire action of yours when
you came aboard. Hate like the devil to get shot down by a torpedo, you
know. Would be kind of fantastic, wouldn't it?"
"Also final," Dave said with a grin. "But if you want the truth, I was
thinking only of my own skin all the time."
"Liar!" Featherstone snapped, but softened it with a smile and a look
that spoke volumes. "Now, get back there and into some dry things. Both
of you."
"We're gone," Dave said and pushed Freddy Farmer ahead of him through
the compartment door.
A little over an hour later the huge Catalina flying boat slid down
toward a landing in the mooring basin at Plymouth Base. Perched on an
empty bomb rack amidships Dave and Freddy watched the basin surface
rise up toward them. During the seventy minute flight they had not
spoken more than a dozen words to each other. They hadn't for the
simple reason there wasn't much to say. Both realized that they could
hash over their close to death adventure until the cows came home, and
still be no nearer to a correct solution. Then, too, the feeling of
depression that had come with failure made the speaking of words seem
futile.
True, it was not their fault that they had failed. They had carried
out their orders to the letter. They had even gone beyond orders and
attempted to crash into the lone U-boat and disable it at the cost of
their own lives. Yet, in spite of all that they felt depressed; felt
that they had slipped up somewhere and brought failure to what should
have been a successful mission.
Such thoughts were rambling through Dave's brain when Freddy reached
out and placed a hand on his knee.
"Chin up, Dave," the English youth said with a smile. "I've been
thinking."
"Well, I haven't exactly been asleep," Dave grunted. "But what has your
brain been chewing over, pal?"
"The whole crazy business," Freddy replied with a heavy scowl. "I've
been thinking that all this started back at Adastral House. I mean, the
business was doomed to failure long before we opened our sealed orders.
In fact I'm sure of it. Because, why should that Fairey Swordfish
suddenly start popping up into our lives?"
"Okay, I'll bite," Dave said. "Why? But speak words I can understand
this time. That last has me all balled up."
"Well, I figure it this way," Freddy said after a moment's hesitation.
"Some one knew, or found out that we weren't just a couple of
replacements being sent to Seventy-Four. Some one also knew what our
sealed orders were going to be. So when we took off in the Fulmar that
some one tagged after us in that Swordfish. Being in a Seventy-Four
plane, he knew that he could get in close and smack us down without
much danger to himself. And...."
"And do it without killing us, though he came close in your case!"
Dave interrupted. "I get your train of thought, now. A Nazi spy in
Adastral House. Maybe he's actually on Manners' staff. The Jerries know
everything that is planned. They just sit back and wait for you and me
to go sailing off on our little adventure. A radio message in code to
some U-boat near by, and everything's set. Yeah, I get it. Joe Saps! A
couple of fall guys. That's you and me."
"Quite," Freddy said with a curt nod. "But don't you get all of it?"
"Huh?" Dave grunted. "Now what?"
"Go ahead and laugh at me, but here it is," Freddy said in a deadly
serious voice. "Our little boy friend on the train coming down. Flying
Office Steffins!"
Dave stiffened, gave Freddy a hard stare, but he didn't laugh.
"You sure are souped up on that guy, aren't you!" he finally said. Then
with a half shake of his head, "But darned if you're not getting me
thinking the same thoughts. Right! I've got the hunch that Steffins was
the pilot of that Swordfish. He.... You know something, Freddy? The
thing has suddenly hit me like a ton of brick. Yes, sir, I'll bet you
any amount of dough you want to put up!"
"I don't bet unless I know what I'm betting on," Freddy said. "So why
not tell me first?"
"Then pin your ears back and listen, my little man!" Dave said with
tense excitement in his voice. "We didn't see Steffins again, did we?
No. And here's why. The guy was waiting until he knew our sealed orders
had come through before he reported to the Base. I'll bet you that
he was reporting to Squadron Leader Hays just about the time we were
taking off in the Fulmar. He probably had faked papers and all the rest
of it. Well, he takes up a Swordfish for a joy hop. Once he's clear
of the field he heads straight for where we're heading. He knows the
U-boat's there. Probably saw it. So, bang, he cracks us down and heads
back for Plymouth knowing that the U-boat will pick us up and take care
of us for keeps. See? Smooth as silk. The tramp double crosses our
plans, gets rid of us, and now he's safe in Seventy-Four Squadron all
set to do more of his dirty work!"
"But he won't!" Freddy said grimly, and bunched his two hands into rock
hard fists. "We're still alive and kicking. We also got the tail number
of that Swordfish. They have records at the Base that Steffins took it
up. We'll cook that chap's goose for him!"
"And how!" Dave grated. "Look, what we want to do is to sneak ashore
and get in touch with Squadron Leader Hays as soon as possible and tell
him the whole story. Then he can grab Steffins, and that will make at
least one rat who won't jam up the works next time."
"Yes, if there is a next time!" Freddy said gloomily.
Dave started a wise crack but let it slide.
"Yeah!" he muttered and shook his head slowly. "For a couple of fellows
in the Emergency Command we're doing swell. I mean, terrible!"
CHAPTER EIGHT
_Pilot's Luck_
Right after the Consolidated Catalina flying boat had settled on the
surface of the mooring basin Dave went forward and explained their plan
to Featherstone, though he didn't mention Steffins by name.
"So you and the crew go ashore, Featherstone," he finished up, "and
Farmer and I will wait here a spell and then slip ashore: Just make
believe that you are returning from a patrol, and sat down because you
were running out of gas. I'll explain to Squadron Leader Hays when I
see him."
"Right you are," the Catalina's captain said. Then after a moment's
hesitation, "Sure there isn't something I can do to help catch the
chap, wherever he is? I think I'd rather like to bash him one on the
snoot, myself. I'm sure I would when I think of that torpedo that just
missed us."
"Nix, nothing doing," Dave said with a grin. "If there's any slugging
to be done Freddy and I will take care of it."
"And in tip-top order, too, I can tell you!" Freddy said over Dave's
shoulder. "But thanks for everything you've done, Featherstone."
The Catalina's captain laughed.