aloud and fly off in little pieces. Ever since leaving General
Kashomia's hut on stilts he had burned with a great desire to go into
a huddle with Freddy Farmer. There was no longer any secret to the
Japanese menace, now. At least not to Freddy Farmer, and him. They
had heard the story of what was to happen tomorrow from Kashomia's
lips. And what the Jap hadn't said, they had been able to guess from
unnoticed looks at the maps hanging on the wall. It was to be an
all-out air blitz by the Japan air force planned to wipe out Hongkong,
Singapore, and the Burma Road all in one fell swoop. By the time
the last Jap bomb had hurtled earthward the defenders of Hongkong,
Singapore, and the Burma Road still wouldn't know what had hit them.
But the death dealing blow scheduled for tomorrow's sun was simply
Dave's biggest worry. He had smaller worries as well, and not the least
of them was General Kashomia's plan for them to scout the American
Volunteer Group field north of Lashio. That item didn't set well at
all, and little fingers of ice rippled up and down his spine whenever
he thought of it, which was almost constantly. He had sensed a change
in General Kashomia back there in the headquarters hut. It wasn't
anything that he could put his finger on, but he knew it was there. The
Jap had something up his sleeve, and Dave couldn't dispel the hunch
that it was aimed at the life-blood of one Freddy Farmer and Dave
Dawson. For Freddy and him to get aloft in the Fairey Albacore again
was just too good to be true. And knowing what they did, now, made it
seem even more improbable of ever coming to pass.
Yet, everything pointed to the fact that it was. With his own eyes
he saw the Jap mechanics refueling the Albacore. And, as a matter of
fact, he and Freddy made a minute examination of the plane to assure
themselves that it was in good order. The inspection suggestion had
been made by General Kashomia himself. But that was the point. That
was the one thing that played on Dave's nerves like a rusty file hour
after hour. Kashomia was with them every instant of the time. He ate
with them, showed them about the secret drome, inspected the rows of
Jap war planes with them, and helped them check over their own British
made ship. And that was the rub. The Jap never once left their side
so that either of them could so much as whisper a word to the other.
For all they were able to talk over events to come they might just as
well have been at opposite ends of the earth. Whether by accident, Jap
courtesy, or devil's purpose, General Kashomia was right there all the
time to hear every word that fell from their lips. And so, they had to
be constantly on their guard not to let the wrong words drop, and keep
them choked up within themselves until they felt that one more hour of
the nerve rasping suspense would find them both jibbering monkeys, and
stark raving mad.
However, they did not have to endure that one more hour. General
Kashomia finally decided that it was a good time for them to leave, and
escorted them over to where the Albacore waited with its nose pointed
down the tunnel toward the camouflage strip and the open air.
"May your wings have the speed of lightning," he said in farewell.
"Observe closely what is there at your objective, and let it be stamped
well on your memories. Now, I go to pray to my ancestors that they
grant your flight a successful one, and your return speedy."
With a half salute and a half queer little gesture that could mean
most anything, General Kashomia turned around and walked rapidly away.
Dave shot a thoughtful glance at his back, then shook himself out of
his trance, and nodded at the Jap mechanics holding the wheel chock
ropes. The little brown rats yanked the chocks clear and Dave fed Jap
gas to the Bristol Taurus in the nose, and sent the Fairey Albacore
roaring down the man made jungle tunnel. For perhaps two split seconds
jungle growth flashed by on all four sides, then the plane shot out
into almost blinding sunlight, cleared its wheel and went prop clawing
upward.
The instant he was clear and headed toward Heaven, Dave made sure
that his radio flap mike was disconnected, and then twisted around in
the seat to look back at Freddy. The English youth was sitting like
a figure of stone with a beet red face. A thousand million questions
seemed to stick right out of the English born R.A.F. ace's face. Dave
checked them by a warning gesture toward Freddy's flap mike and waited
until the English youth had disconnected it. Then he grinned, tight
lipped.
"I know all the questions you're bursting to pop, Freddy!" he shouted.
"And my answer to all of them is that we're getting too darn close to
being back of the eight ball. That runt sized Jap general is working
to pull something very smooth. And it all started when that runt pilot
busted in to spill the lingo at him. Check?"
"Of course!" Freddy cried as an agonized look flashed across his
excitement and tension flushed face. "I may be all wet, but I think I
know why. We pulled a terrible boner, Dave!"
"Gosh! Only one? What?"
"The fight with that Jap sub!" Freddy said with a groan. "I mean, not
mentioning shooting."
"The scrap with the Jap sub?" Dave echoed in amazement. "Are you nuts?
We'd have been dead ducks in nothing flat if we'd so much as breathed a
word about that, you dope!"
"Not the fight with the sub, you balmy idiot!" Freddy roared back. "But
we should have said that we were shot at getting away from Singapore.
Instead we said that _not a shot was fired at us_! Look out there on
the wing. They've even patched that sub's machine gun bullet holes.
Don't you suppose they wondered _how_ those holes got there? _Why_ we
didn't even mention being shot at?"
Dave looked out at the ten or twelve little grey fabric patches on the
right lower wing, and swallowed hard. So that was why the Jap pilot had
come busting in all steamed up. And that's why General Kashomia's face
had showed rage for an instant, and why he had obviously barked orders
to be carried out. That was the beginning of the change in Kashomia.
That was when Dave had felt his hunch that Freddy and he had stuck
their necks out just a little too far. That's when....
"That Jap Brass Hat beggar isn't sure of us at all, Dave!" Freddy's
voice cut in on his thoughts. "He really doesn't want to know a
blasted thing about that American Volunteer Group north of Lashio. This
is some kind of a trick, Dave. I'm sure of it. I feel certain that he's
sent us up to see if we'd head straight for Singapore. There can't be
any two ways about that."
"But what's to stop us?" Dave called back. "My gosh, Freddy, you don't
_want_ to fly toward this Pidang village, do you? The gas tanks are
full, and we can make Singapore easy, and give the alarm."
"Hold it, Dave!" Freddy shouted as Dawson started to level off the
climb and veer around toward the south. "Don't try it, yet. There's one
thing I guess you didn't notice, or did you? Four of those Nakajima
Ninety-Six single seater fighters took off awhile ago, and I don't see
them in the air any place."
"So what?" Dave grunted with a scowl. "They probably went someplace
else."
Angry annoyance flooded Freddy Farmer's face as he leaned well forward.
"Where's your brains, Dave?" he snapped. "Of course they did! And if
you want to know what I think, they went south quite a bit to hang in
the sky and wait to see if _we go south, too_. And if you don't think
that Kashomia has powerful glasses on us right now, and is in radio
contact with those Nakajimas, then you're completely out of your head.
So for heaven's sake, let's at least _start_ north toward Pidang!"
Dave gulped, blushed to the roots of his hair, and went through the
motions of tipping his hat.
"Hail to you, brilliant one!" he said. "Your humble servant is truly
one fat headed dope. Sure! You've got something there, and how, Freddy.
If we head for Singapore we tip our hand. Kashomia realizes that we're
phonies. He radioes his little boys, and the four of them drop down on
us to.... Omigosh, Freddy! You are doggone right! That darn Jap rat has
fixed us nice!"
"Done what?" the English youth echoed. "What are you talking about?"
Dave didn't reply. Instead he pointed at the empty ammunition boxes
that fed his forward guns. They were all empty!
"Good Lord!" came Freddy Farmer's hoarse exclamation a moment later.
"So are my guns back here, Dave. We haven't got a single bullet between
us!"
"So we darn well do head north!" Dave said grimly and swung the
Albacore around. "And maybe, please God, be able to slip around on
a detour and slide by those four Nakajimas that are sure as shooting
waiting for us between here and Singapore!"
"Amen!" Freddy Farmer murmured, stiff lipped.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
_Eagles Never Die_
The secret Jap drome hidden deep in the vast jungles of Burma was far
behind the Albacore's tail. Still some fifteen or twenty miles ahead
was the flat valley floor where the American Volunteer Group, helping
to fight China's battle, was squadroned. Dave stared ahead hard for a
moment but could see no sign of the flat valley yet. Turning around, he
searched the skies with his eyes, but all he could see was eye smarting
shimmering light of the burning brass ball in the heavens. Finally, he
lowered his eyes, and looked at Freddy Farmer.
"I guess this had better be far enough in this direction," he said
and jerked his head back toward the instrument board. "There's enough
gas to make it, according to the gauges, but not much more. Do we
swing to the east and cut down through Indo-China, or should we swing
west and then down south that way? Either way it's going to be close.
We.... Hey! Are we _both_ dumb this time? What's wrong with the radio?
How about contacting Air Vice Marshal Bostworth on the emergency
wave-length, and code? The Japs might tune in, but we could at least
get things started before they had time to all clear out of there,
and.... What's the matter?"
"I didn't think it worth while telling you, Dave," the English youth
said in a sorrowful voice. "But my tubes have been removed, and I fancy
so have yours. We can't radio anybody, old fellow."
Dave twisted, whipped out his hand, and unsnapped the front of the
instrument board radio panel and let it drop down. It was true! Every
tube in his set had been removed. For a million dollars he couldn't
have broadcast anything as far as the wing tips. For a long moment he
glared at the sabotaged set, then he slammed the panel front shut, and
squared his jaw.
"Okay!" he got out savagely and booted the Albacore around in a half
dime turn toward the east. "We still go back to Singapore, and just let
any bucktoothed, throat slitting sons of Nippon try and stop us!"
Brave, determined words ... and they were good for about two minutes
only! At the end of two minutes Freddy Farmer suddenly let out a bellow
of alarm and pounded a hand down on Dave's shoulder.
"Here they come!" he screamed. "The devils have been riding top ceiling
all the time and watching us. Turning off our course was just what they
were waiting for. Up there, Dave, to the left! And they're coming down
like the blasted devils that they are!"
Dave whipped his eyes around and up just long enough to see a row of
four darkish spots against the sun flooded heavens, then he turned his
head forward, and kicked the Albacore up, over, and down in a wing
screaming half roll. But even as the British plane started to drop the
savage yammer of aerial machine gun fire smashed against his eardrums,
and out the corners of his eyes he saw the wavy grey smoke of tracer
bullets zipping past his wingtips. His heart froze solid in his chest,
and the palms of his hands became filmed by a cold, clammy sweat, but
there were raging flames of anger in his brain. Anger at himself, at
Lady Luck, and at the little brown devils of Nippon.
He should have realized that things had been breaking too good to last.
From the very instant Freddy and he had been shot off the Harkness'
catapult, Lady Luck had favored them with her brightest smile at every
turn. True they had eased into some close and ticklish corners, but
they had managed with a bit of luck to ease right out of them again,
and continue on toward their big destination ... the secret Jap
airdrome, and knowledge of what the Japs planned to do tomorrow. Well,
they had reached that secret airdrome, and they had learned of the
Jap plans ... but, so what? Dead men can't talk. Dead men can't fly a
mile. Dead men would only be buried if they ever did by a miracle reach
Singapore. The breaks had stopped, and Lady Luck had turned her face
the other way. Death was after them, now, to put an end to all they had
accomplished thus far. Death in the form of four war inflamed, conquest
crazed Japanese pilots hurtling down out of the brassy sky.
"But not so long as we keep flying! Not so long as we keep flying!"
From as though a thousand miles away Dave heard the echo of his own
voice roaring above the yammering guns of the diving Japs. Let the
confounded Japs have the guns. Sure, spot them a few guns. Freddy and
he would beat them at their own game. There was but one hope. To outfly
the Japs and somehow cut away from the rattling death they were dealing
out. Given a fair lead the Albacore might be able to keep ahead of the
Nakajimas. And with just the tiniest bit of a break....
Dave let the rest slide. Rather, metal messengers of death twanging
down through the glass cockpit hatch to practically brush his left
cheek caused the rest to clog in his throat. Slamming his strength
against the controls he skidded the Albacore sharply off to the
opposite side, and then pulled the nose up in a power zoom. For one
brief instant wild hope flooded his heart. His trick maneuver had
outfoxed the Jap pilots. Too late they tried to haul out of their own
dives, but failed and were forced to go shooting on down by the zooming
Albacore.
But that hope lived only for an infinitesimal period of time. It died
almost as it was born, for not all four of the Nakajimas had piled all
the way down. One had remained aloft, just in case. And Dave realized
bitterly that its pilot had done exactly the right thing. His three
brown rat pals having over shot their mark, he was now blasting down
to nail the defenseless R.A.F. plane before it could scoot well off
into the clear and build up a lead that could be held all the way to
Singapore.
"Lord, if I only had guns!" came Freddy Farmer's rage filled cry above
the thunder of the Albacore's engine. "I'd pick that blasted beggar
off, even if I had to throw the guns at him. Outfly the rotter, Dave.
Outfly him! You're better than a dozen of those brown devils."
It was a nice compliment but Dave hardly heard it. His body was
drenched with nervous sweat, and his heart was a battering-ram trying
to force its way right out through his ribs. Every instinct of
self-preservation within him cried out to wheel away and dive again,
but he knew better than to yield to such an instinct. It might spare
his own life for a little bit longer, but it would surely spell doom
for Freddy Farmer. If he wheeled the plane around he would present
a perfect broadside target for the Jap, and Freddy wouldn't stand
a chance in the world of surviving the withering fire that would
instantly rake the Albacore.
And so, instead, Dave grimly held the Albacore in its power zoom. He
sent it thundering straight up into the spitting guns of the Nakajima,
until the Jap feared a head-on crash and lost his nerve and broke away.
No sooner did the Jap maneuver off than Dave whipped off the top of his
zoom, and banked around toward the north. The action brought a startled
cry from Freddy Farmer.
"The other way, Dave!" the English youth cried frantically. "We're
headed wrong. Singapore is the other way. It's to the south."
"I know our direction!" Dave snapped over his shoulder, and stuck the
nose down a shade to pick up all the extra speed he could. "But we'd
never make it to Singapore, Freddy. That last burst got the emergency
tank feed line, and it's leaking dry. Also those three others would be
up to cut us off. Pidang is our only hope, Freddy. We've got to reach
that American Volunteer Group, and get them to help."
"Help?" Freddy echoed. "How in Heaven's name? They've only got single
seaters in that crowd. Not bombers, Dave!"
"I know that, too!" Dave shouted. "But, they're Yanks. I've got a
feeling that'll be the difference. But we've got to get there, anyway,
and make a safe landing. Darn these Japs. Whoever said they didn't have
anything with speed? Look at them come! Duck, Freddy boy! Keep the old
head down!"
As Dave spoke the last he took one last look at the four Nakajimas
that were coming after him at comet speed, then turned front and
automatically hunched himself down low in the seat. The future was in
the lap of the gods, now. Or, perhaps it would be better to say that
the future lay in the thundering Bristol Taurus in the nose. If the
Japs ever got close again it would be curtains. They had been fooled
once, and it was mighty doubtful that they could be fooled again.
They were out for blood; out to crush two brave R.A.F. aces valiantly
fighting a desperate battle against almost insurmountable odds.
The future? Dave savagely closed his brain to the merest thought. It
wasn't the future. It was the present! This very second a lucky burst
from those guns yammering like sky wolves right behind the Albacore
might snuff out Freddy's life and his own. Might send them hurling
down in a ball of flame with the terrible secret of what was to happen
tomorrow locked in their brains forever.
"To the left, Dave! To the left and just ahead! There's the flat
valley. There's the A.V.G.s'. Base. Just a little bit longer, Dave.
Just a little bit longer, and we'll be there!"
Dave heard Freddy Farmer's screaming voice as a distant echo. He had
already spotted the small flat valley where nestled the little native
village of Pidang, and where the famous American Volunteer Group was
supposed to be located. But even as he stared at it hope seemed to die
within him. There was not the single sign of a plane, or a hangar on
the level floor between the rock studded mountains. Nothing but the
cluster of native huts that represented Pidang. Still there must be
something else there. There had to be the A.V.G. boys. There just had
to be!
Hardly conscious that he was doing so, Dave shouted aloud the words
over and over again. And he shoved the nose down to an even steeper
angle of dive in a desperate effort to gain an extra foot or so on the
gun snarling Nakajimas that were drawing closer and closer for a cold
meat kill. If he could only get down and land before they got close
enough, maybe Freddy and he could....
He never finished the rest of the thought. At that instant hissing
nickel jacketed lead sliced into the cockpit, and a white hot spear of
flame ran across the top of his left shoulder. Too late! The Japs had
caught up well within range. The next burst would be one that really
counted. But in that split second of time before the next burst left
the muzzles of Jap guns, Dave put every ounce of his flying skill
and daring into savage, furious action. Without so much as a yell
of warning to Freddy, he yanked the stick all the way back into his
belly and snapped the nose upward so fast that the fuselage seemed to
actually bend in the middle and groan in protest against the terrific
strain. But that aircraft was English built, and she stayed together.
Like a bolt of lightning the plane streaked upward on the first half
of a gigantic loop. But before Dave reached the top of the loop he
sent the Albacore corkscrewing over to a rightside up position. A half
roll off the up side of a loop that brought him out flying in the same
direction.
But for only the length of time it would take you to bat an eyelash.
Heaving the stick over and kicking rudder, Dave deliberately half
rolled again and went plunging down at the vertical. Not until that
instant did he release the air clamped in his lungs that seemed to have
been locked there for long, long minutes. And he did so with a wild,
roaring challenge at the cluster of four Nakajimas starting to zoom up
after him.
"Who gives air, you brown rats?" he bellowed. "You or us?"
To the credit of the Japs it must be said that they stuck it out for
perhaps one tenth of a second. Then in the face of the flying madman
hurtling straight down at them they broke and cut wildly off to the
side. One Jap, however, picked the wrong side. One of his own planes
was too close to permit room for the frantic maneuver. Two Nakajimas
crashed together, locked wings about each other, and exploded in a
great fountain of flame. In the nick of time Dave kicked rudder hard
and skidded out just barely enough to miss the mass of flaming debris
and plunge on down by.
"No guns, huh?" his echo roared back at him. "Brother! We don't need
guns!"
Curiosity fought with him to twist around and look back up at the
sky, but he held himself in an iron grip and kept right on plunging
downward. Two Japs were out of the picture, that was true. But two more
still remained. And to look back to see where they were would be only
wasting precious seconds. If they were close again, then that would be
that. Looking back up into their flame spitting guns would only do harm
and no good. It....
"We'll make it, Dave!" Freddy Farmer's joy sobbing voice came to his
ears. "We'll make it! You left the two other beggars fanning thin air.
They haven't even started down, yet. _We'll make it!_"
Dave didn't give a single sign that he had heard. He was too busy with
the diving plane. And the ground was rushing upward at terrific speed.
Bracing himself he eased up the nose a few degrees, and gently angled
around until he was headed toward the long side of the level floor of
the valley. He saw figures rush out into the open, but he had only
time for a quick glance, and could not tell whether they were natives
or not. Then suddenly he had the plane mushing forward not three feet
off the ground. Another moment and the wheels touched, and the Albacore
rolled forward to a full stop. Not until that moment did Dave hear the
bark of anti-aircraft guns. Not until that moment did he realize that
anti-aircraft batteries located in the jungle growth that bordered the
edge of the valley were hammering shrapnel up at two Jap pilots trying
to get up the nerve to come down and strafe the field. As a matter
of fact, even as he threw back his head and looked up he saw the two
Nakajimas wheel and go streaking off to the south.
He lowered his gaze to see suddenly the group of sun bronzed American
pilots at the side of his plane. One of them was tall and slightly
grey, and wore the rank of colonel on his sun bleached shirt. Dave took
one look at him, leaped to the ground, and rushed up to grab the man
by the arm. Like a man who expects to die in the next five seconds and
must get many words off his lips before he does, Dave babbled out the
story, all in practically one breath.
"So we've got to smash that hidden drome!" he finished. "Those two
Japs will give the alarm to Kashomia, and he may pull out with the
whole works for some other place before R.A.F. bombers can get up here.
Listen to me! I tell you we've got to do it ourselves. Your gang, and
Farmer, and me!"
The Colonel commanding the A.V.G. had continually blinked in amazement
as Dave poured out his story. But when Dave stopped talking the senior
officer's eye grew cautious, and he stared hard at the two youths.
"That's quite a story," he grunted. "Maybe it's true, but maybe it
isn't. You sound a little Yank, but how do I know, huh? And this
wouldn't be the first time those slimy Japs had tried to lure us into a
trap. About three hundred of their ships hidden down Raja way, you say?
Listen, Mister, that's a lot of ships. I...."
Something seemed to snap in Dave's brain, and all went red before his
eyes. He reached forward with his two hands, grabbed the Colonel by the
shoulders and shook him savagely.
"Listen, you dumb witted fathead!" he ranted. "I don't care what you
think I am, but what I told you is truth. _God's truth._ And by this
time tomorrow, if you don't do something about it, the whole world will
know that you shouldn't even be in charge of flying a kite. A Colonel,
huh? You don't seem to have the brains of a private in the rear rank.
For the love of God, believe me! But if you won't, you thick headed
ape, then for Heaven's sake loan Freddy and me some ammo, and we'll go
tackle it alone. Do you hear me?"
The Colonel had pushed Dave's hands free and had them pinned in his
own. There was fire in his eyes, but he was grinning from ear to ear.