shooting I hear?"
"A beautiful day!" Freddy shouted back automatically. "Oh, my, no!
That's not shooting. Just some old geezer in the next room rattling
his evening paper. And I say, Dave, could we stop for a bite to eat?
I'm famished!"
At that instant a shell from the raider's forward gun seemed to explode
right on the hull nose of the Catalina. There was a mighty roar of
sound, and a cloud of vivid red flame. Then the flying boat was down
through it and still going.
"Like fish?" Dave yelled out.
"Hate it!" Freddy cried and made a face.
"Too bad!" Dave yelled. "Chances are that's all you're going to get,
pal. Fish, and all kinds!"
"Right-o!" the English youth echoed. "But get that blasted raider,
first!"
Freddy Farmer's remark ended the bit of by-play between them. The
raider was looming up large below the nose of their diving plane, and
the air all about them quivered and shuddered with a terrific bedlam of
sound. So great was the din, Dave could hardly hear the screaming howl
of the Catalina's over-revving engines. And although he held a thumb
jabbed against the trigger release on the Dep wheel he could not hear
his forward guns firing. He could only see the stabbing jets of flame
that spewed out from the nose and streaked down toward the raider.
A mighty power dive straight down into a whole world exploding sound
and flames. Time ceased to exist. Time stood still. A hundred thousand
crazy, inane thoughts raced across Dave Dawson's brain, but they were
forgotten almost before they were registered on the screen of his mind.
And then suddenly the raider was once more directly under the nose.
Another instant and the Catalina would go hurtling in to its own doom.
In that last remaining instant Dave pulled out of the dive, roared
straight along the entire length of the raider and pounded down the
last load of the flying boat's bombs. And then like before he was once
again zooming up and away.
This time, though, it was different. The American built flying boat
had taken a terrific beating from Nazi guns. It had taken enough
bullets and screaming fragments of anti-aircraft shells to break up
a half dozen planes. Yet it still held together. Still held together
and valiantly climbed upward, though it shook like rotten timber
under strain from nose to tail, and though both engines coughed and
sputtered, and threatened to quit cold in the very next second. Dave
could sense the flying boat failing in its mighty effort to keep on
going, and an icy hand closed over his heart as he wondered just how
long she would last. How long before she would break up and they would
go tumbling down into that inferno of gunfire below?
As a matter of fact he felt as though a miracle had actually come to
pass. The miracle that Freddy and he still lived. The miracle that they
had been able to hold off the Nazi aircraft this long, and to have been
able to make that last do-or-die bomb dive on the raider. A Catalina
was not a bomb diver. That wasn't her job. But this old girl had proved
that she could tackle anything when necessary. The ship of ships, but
she was doomed. Doomed just as sure as there was the golden blue of the
heavens above and the raging fury of war below.
"Did it, Dave, did it!" Freddy's voice suddenly screamed in his ears.
"Right on the topper this time. Look, she's heeling over! No, she's
coming back up on even keel. But she's really on fire this time, and
she's losing headway fast!"
Even as the English youth screamed the words Dave was staring downward
at the raider. Though still plowing sluggishly forward, the raider
didn't look much like a surface ship any more. She looked little more
than a narrow stream of fire that bulged out slightly in the middle.
About her sides water boiled and foamed white. And in the next instant
there was a blast of red and a sheet of flame up toward the bow. The
raider seemed to stop dead and rear up by the prow. She settled back
almost immediately and continued to stagger onward like some wounded
beast of prey half lurching and half walking toward its hole.
"The U-Boats!" Dave heard his own voice cry out hoarsely. "Look!
They're starting to scatter. They're quitting the raider cold. Running
away from her like so many rats. And we haven't any more bombs left.
Darn those rats! If only there were British planes around to give us a
hand. If only...."
At that exact instant came the mighty blast of worlds colliding. Red
fire and clouds of smoke seemed to completely envelop Dave and blot out
all else. The Catalina lurched drunkenly off onto the left wing. In the
next instant it seemed to roll completely over. Instinct and instinct
alone caused Dave to grab the controls with both hands and fight to get
the craft back onto even keel. Yet, no matter which way he moved the
Dep wheel and control column, the Catalina continued to roll over like
a huge tired bird.
Then, as though by magic, the red fire and the smoke cleared away,
and they both saw the jagged hole in the hull nose. Hole? There just
wasn't any hull nose left! And as Dave looked out to the left he saw
the left wingtip let go and go sailing off into oblivion. With a part
of its lifting surface gone, the Catalina began to lurch and stagger
crazily about in the air. No matter what Dave did with the controls it
just didn't seem to make any difference.
"A direct hit on us!" he heard his own voice faintly. "The bums. They
had to get in one last lucky shot!"
"The raider's stern gun!" came Freddy Farmer's voice through the
terrible din of sound that still raged on all sides. "I saw the flash
just before it hit us. We're sunk!"
"We will be darn soon!" Dave panted and struggled with the controls to
counteract the flying boat's crazy maneuvers.
However, for all the good it did him, he might just as well have
walked out on the wing and patched up the damaged tip. The Catalina
just wasn't flyable any more and she was flip flopping seaward at an
alarming rate.
"Cold meat for those Jerry planes!" Dave said savagely. "They'll have
great sport picking us off like a helpless clay pigeon, now. Okay, do
your darnedest, you vultures. We got some of you first, and your raider
is junk ticketed for the bottom of the Atlantic. Go on and...."
Dave cut himself off short, gasped and hunched forward to gape down at
the water. It looked as though a couple of dozen subterranean volcanoes
had let go and were belching their fury up to the surface of the
Atlantic. The area covered by the crippled raider and her wolf-pack of
U-boats was virtually alive with mounting columns of water and flame.
Even as Dave gaped downward the raider disappeared completely in a
mighty geyser of foaming water and flame and smoke. An instant later
when he saw it again the raider was broken in two pieces and plunging
down under the waves.
"Dave, _the Fleet_!" Freddy shrilled and pounded him on the shoulder.
"They're shelling them. And look. Planes. _Our_ planes! From the Fleet
Air Arm. They're giving those U-boats everything. Just look, will you!
Nothing can live in that sea, now! We win, Dave. _We win!_"
Not quite sure whether he was alive or dreaming, Dave stared down at
the holocaust of war being created on the surface of that part of the
Atlantic. Hundreds of shells were raining down to explode among the
fleeing U-boats and turn the waters into an oily froth. Shells from
British battleship guns still out of sight below the horizon. And
hundreds of bombs were dropping down upon the U-boat flotilla from the
planes of the Fleet Air Arm. Dave looked up at the sky filled with
British wings and could hardly believe his eyes. Flight after flight
of them had appeared as though by magic. As though the heavens had
split apart and the Fleet Air Arm ships had come tearing down through.
While the bombers concentrated on the U-boats below the escort fighters
tore into the Nazi planes swarming about the helpless Catalina and
practically shot them out of the sky with their withering bursts of
fire. In less than nothing flat, bombs were not only tumbling down into
the Atlantic, but Nazi planes as well.
"_Our_ planes?" Dave shouted when he found his voice. "But how the heck
did they...?"
He didn't have the chance to finish the question. At that instant a
lone remaining German plane wheeled in close and let fire at almost
point blank range at the stumbling Catalina. Dave saw it coming out
the corner of his eye, and sight and action were one for him. He let
go of the Dep wheel, lunged out and hooked Freddy about the neck and
then ducked forward and down. The compartment windows gave way like
tissue paper before the furious blast of bullets. A sound akin to that
of somebody tearing a strip off a tin roof filled Dave's ears as the
shower of bullets raked the instrument panels and turned the thing
into a shambles.
"Hey, what the dickens!" came Freddy's choked cry as the youth
struggled to free himself from Dave's bear hug hold.
Dave let go and straightened up. So did Freddy, and the English youth's
face turned from beet red to paper white as he saw the instrument panel.
"Good grief!" he got out in a tight voice. "I'd have been punched full
of holes, Dave, if you hadn't grabbed...."
A short sharp explosion to their left cut off Freddy Farmer's voice.
Almost instantly a spear of fire shot down across the shattered front
window. Then in the next split second there was an unearthly whine and
something glistening sliced right down through the anti-aircraft shell
blasted hull nose. Both boys turned their heads quickly to look, but
both knew instinctively what had happened.
It was Dave who shouted the truth.
"Port engine's exploded, and the prop blades have let go!" he cried.
"And the wing's on fire."
"And we're too low to jump!" Freddy echoed. "Blast it! What more hard
luck is going to pick on us?"
"We'll soon find out!" Dave yelled and hauled back on the control
column with every ounce of his strength. "One ocean coming up! Brace
yourself, Freddy, and be set to scramble out fast. She's so full of
holes she'll probably sink like a rock as soon as we touch. I'm going
to try and belly flop us in, but I can't guarantee a thing, pal!"
Freddy Farmer made some reply to that, but Dave didn't catch what it
was. The blood was roaring in his head as he exerted the very last
ounce of strength to get the Catalina's shell blasted nose up so that
they would not crash head on into the water. It was like trying to
pull over the side of a building. His lungs felt ready to burst. His
arms felt ready to snap right out of the shoulder sockets. And a weird
conglomeration of colored stars danced and spun around before his eyes.
He couldn't see anything. He could only feel the heartbreaking sluggish
upward movement of the plane.
He was positive that the nose was not coming up enough, and his heart
stood still in his chest as he waited for the sickening, terrifying
sound of the shell battered nose crashing straight into the water.
Then suddenly the compartment roof seemed to drop down to hit him a
stunning blow on the top of the head. He heard Freddy yell as though
from a thousand miles away. Then in the next instant unseen iron fists
pounded and pummeled his body from head to toe. He tried to hang onto
the Dep wheel for support but his hands were wrenched free. He had the
crazy sensation of sailing head over heels off into space. Then just
as suddenly all movement stopped, and for an instant his ears heard no
sound but that of gurgling water.
Water! The very thought of the word cleared his brain. His head ceased
pounding and the dancing colored lights faded away from in front of his
eyes. He turned impulsively and saw Freddy Farmer sitting bolt upright,
blinking stupidly, and clutching a broken section of the radio panel
between his two hands. Dave reached out and shook him roughly by the
shoulder.
"Drop it, Freddy!" he barked. "It came loose and the darn thing's no
life preserver. You okay?"
The English youth stopped blinking and gaped down at the section
of panel he held in his hands as though it were some strange and
mysterious discovery. Then he shook himself and dropped the section of
panel into the water that was pouring onto the compartment floor.
"I grabbed the panel for support," he choked out. "It must have come
free, and...."
"And did!" Dave cut him off. "Now, out on the wing, pal. This thing's
going to be an express elevator headed down in darn short order, I'm
afraid. We've got to get out on the wing so's we can jump clear. Now,
up with you, Freddy!"
The English youth scrambled up onto his seat, then wiggled out through
the compartment window and onto the forward hull. Bracing himself as
best he could, he reached back to give Dave a hand. The Yank started
out through the window, then suddenly checked himself and shook
Freddy's hand free.
"Oh my gosh!" he cried. "Von Khole!"
"Hey!" Freddy screamed. "Where the...?"
By then Dave had ducked back into the compartment again. Freddy saw him
through the bullet and crash shattered window. Saw him plunge aft along
the cat-walk and then go right out of sight under a couple of feet of
water that was rising fast. A moment later Dave reappeared spouting sea
water and clutching the limp form of von Khole in his arms. He waded
forward along the cat-walk and hoisted the Nazi's head and shoulders up
through the window.
"Catch hold, and pull him through, Freddy!" he shouted. "He's still
breathing."
The English youth didn't bother to argue. He grabbed hold of the German
and pulled him through onto the forward hull hatch. A couple of moments
later and Dave was through the window and standing beside him.
"Don't say it, Freddy," Dave growled. "I didn't do it to save his
rotten hide. He's a present for Manners. Besides, we couldn't let him
drown even if he is a Nazi. Here, give me a hand undoing these ropes. I
can keep him afloat better if his arms and legs are free."
"Of all the crazy, balmy idiots!" Freddy growled, but there was a warm
glow in his eyes as he bent over to fumble with the water soaked knots.
"With the bus liable to sink like a rock any second, the blighter goes
fishing for a Nazi. Next time do it for me, but try and come up with
Adolf, himself. I ... Watch it, Dave! She's settling fast. Come on! Up
on the top center section of the wing. She may not go completely down
under, yet."
Dave didn't waste breath making comment. His head was swimming and he
had hardly the strength left to move. Somehow, though, he and Freddy
managed to hoist the unconscious von Khole up onto the top center
section of the wing between the mangled engines, and then scrambled up
there themselves. No sooner were they up there than they stretched out
flat and panted for air, and fought back the waves of black oblivion
that tried to engulf them.
The roar of aircraft engines came faintly to Dave's singing ears. He
turned his head as much as strength would allow and looked up through a
whirling mist at a brace of British planes circling around overhead. He
saw a hand waving from one of the planes, and he tried to raise his own
hand to wave back. But the strength just wasn't there. His hand fell
down on Baron von Khole's limp figure. He curled his fingers in water
soaked uniform cloth, and then the half sunken Catalina was lifted
skyward on the crest of a swell, and Dave had the crazy belief that he
was flying again.
When he next opened his eyes it was to find himself in a hospital bunk.
There was a strange motion to the bunk. Then suddenly he knew that
he was in hospital bay aboard ship. He turned his head to see Freddy
Farmer in the next bunk. The English youth's eyes met his and they both
grinned broadly. Then Freddy Farmer heaved a deep sigh.
"Well, thank goodness you've regained consciousness!" he exclaimed.
"Now, perhaps you'll shut up and not talk so much. Man, what a gabber!
I couldn't get a word in edgeways, and mind you _I_ was conscious
every minute after they took us aboard."
"Talking?" Dave mumbled. "Me? What do you mean, took us aboard? Where
are we?"
"Aboard the cruiser Hampden," Freddy replied. "She came up and lowered
a boat and took us off the Cat-boat just in time. But every blessed
minute you've been aboard you've done nothing but babble out all the
details of the show. Thank goodness a German ship didn't pick us up, is
all I can say!"
Dave started to gulp a question, then saw Freddy Farmer look up and
grin toward the other side of his bed. He turned over to stare up into
the smiling face of Air Marshal Manners.
"You, sir?" he gasped. "How did you get here?"
"By plane, of course," the Air Ministry official said with a chuckle.
"Heard you two had done the job and had been saved. I couldn't wait for
you to come ashore. Flew out in a Cat-boat to give you two my blessing,
and all that sort of thing. Don't let Farmer pull your leg too much,
though. You didn't rave much in your sleep. Mostly about von Khole,
anyway. You...."
"Hey, von Khole!" Dave yelped and sat up straight in his bunk before
anybody could stop him. "What happened to him? Last thing I remember I
had hold of him!"
"And from what they tell me, here aboard," Manners said with a chuckle,
"it must have been quite a hold! Took two sailors to pry him loose
from you. But don't worry. He's safely aboard, and put on ice, as they
say in the States. And still alive, of course. To tell you the truth,
Dawson, I've never received such a welcome present in all my life. I
owe you a debt I'm sure I'll never be able to repay."
"Maybe it would have been okay to let him drown," Dave murmured. "But
somehow I think it would be better to let the whole world know about
his trial, and what comes after. Particularly for Adolf to know. Funny,
but I guess maybe that's the real reason I did save his hide. Just to
let Adolf know for sure that we got his ace rat."
"Well, we've got him, and he'll do no more damage in this world,"
Manners said grimly. "Now, if there's anything...?"
"Say, there _is_ something!" Dave blurted out. "Maybe you can tell
me, sir? How in heck did the ships of the Fleet and the Fleet Air Arm
planes show up so unexpectedly? Things popped so fast that we didn't
have a chance to contact them. But there they were, Johnny on the spot.
I don't understand that."
Air Marshal Manners chuckled and looked at Freddy.
"Farmer understands perfectly," he said. "I know he can explain."
"_Freddy?_" Dave shouted and turned around to stare at his pal. "Hey!
What's all this about?"
The English youth blushed to the ears, and looked as though he wanted
to sink right down thorough the bunk out of sight.
"Well, good grief, I had to do a little something to help!" he said
in a fussed voice. "You were doing practically everything, you know.
So ... Well, remember when I said, 'Ouch, my arm'? That was to cover
up what I was trying to do. The second radio under the seat. When von
Khole wasn't looking I simply slipped my hand down and tuned the set to
the directional finder wave length. The Fleet operators picked it up,
and came a-steaming. And got there in time, thank goodness!"
Dave blinked, gulped and then grinned broadly.
"If that doesn't beat anything I've heard!" he cried. "And me sitting
there dumb as an ox, not even guessing. I ... Aw, gee! And I thought I
was the great hero. Doggone it, guy! You've got to cut out making me
come in second all the time. You've got to let me be the big noise, at
least just once, or I'll quit and find me another pal who really _is_
dumb!"
"Well, I fancy there's no choice between you two heroes!" Air Marshal
Manners said as they all stopped laughing. "The convoy is safely on its
way to port. Nothing can harm it now. England will never forget what
you two have done today. Not only England, but the entire civilized
world. And if there is any request you want to make, state it and I
give you my word it shall be granted."
Dave scowled thoughtfully for a moment, then brightened and looked at
Freddy.
"I've got one, but go ahead and state yours first, Freddy," he said.
The English youth looked blank and shook his head.
"Can't think of a blessed thing," he said. "What's yours?"
Dave grinned at Air Marshal Manners.
"It's a request you can grant easily, sir," he said. "Me, I'd like to
be assigned to a land plane squadron for a while. I'm sure fed up with
falling into the water."
"Me, too!" Freddy cried. "Oh, but definitely, sir!"
THE END
* * * * *
_A Page from_
DAVE DAWSON, FLIGHT LIEUTENANT
Suddenly, without the slightest sign of warning, the inky darkness of
night was shattered apart by a thunderous roar of sound and a seething
ocean of red, yellow, and orange flame that came boiling upward from
the ground. The plane bucked, and shivered, and lurched crazily
forward. And for one horrible second a mighty invisible force tore
Dave Dawson's hands from the controls. Head whirling, and his lungs
seeming to burst out through his ribs, he fought with every ounce of
his strength to keep the plane from plunging wildly downward.
Freddy Farmer! Where was Freddy? Did he get through? Was Freddy all
right? The radio! Was it working? Would that secret signal come through
in time? Darn the blasted thing! Would it never speak, and....
At that instant a planet of fire rushed up out of nowhere. It seemed to
crash straight into the nose of the plane and explode in a roar that
split the very heavens apart. Dave felt as though unseen steel claws
were tearing strips of flesh from his bones, and hammering his brains
to pulp. He didn't know what it was. He didn't know what had happened.
He only knew that he was spinning head over heels down into a limitless
void of roaring thunder and boiling flame.
End of Project Gutenberg's Dave Dawson on Convoy Patrol, by R. Sidney Bowen