fellow's frame that way. Okay! We get going. There isn't a bomber
in the place. But we've got Curtiss P-Forties, and explosive, and
incendiary bullets, and.... Haul your crates out, gang! We're throwing
a party for those brown devils. And if there's all those crates there,
it's going to be some party. Come on! Shift it, you guys! _Everybody!_"
Just six minutes later by Dave's watch he was once more thundering
through the sky over Burma. But this time he wasn't in the pit of a
Fairey two seater Albacore. He was riding a lightning greased Curtiss
P-40. And just off his right wing was Freddy Farmer riding the same
kind of ship. Strung out behind were twenty-one pilots of the American
Volunteer Group; every one of them spoiling for a fight and cursing his
ship on to even greater speed.
Dave twisted his head around to look at them and his heart came near
the bursting point so filled was it with pride and joy. He still loved
the English boys of the R.A.F., and he always would, for he had lived
and died with them for over two years now. But.... But there were Yanks
back there, now. Fighting two fisted Yank eagles who didn't care how
many of the Axis foe they had to fight, just so long as they could get
into the fight.
"Yanks from the good old U.S.A.!" Dave whispered as he turned front.
"Gee! I wonder if I'll ever again get the thrill I'm getting now. Those
fellows are...."
He didn't finish. At that instant he saw the string of Jap fighters
that came darting out from the hidden drome tunnel just east of Raja.
They were all Nakajimas, and they started curving up and around the
instant they hit open air. Dave let out a war-whoop and fired a short
burst from his guns to attract the attention of the others. Then he
stuck his nose down and went thundering earthward toward the first of
those Nakajimas coming up to give battle. Two seconds later, just two
seconds later and the Japs had two Nakajimas less. Dave's guns and
Freddy's guns spoke at the same instant and two sons of Nippon went
sailing off to meet their illustrious ancestors in an awful, awful
hurry. And then, as though by magic, the whole sky over the hidden
drome at Raja became filled with twisting and turning man-made air
chariots of war. The heavens rocked and trembled with the chatter and
yammer of machine gun fire. And the air became a crazy pattern of
blazing Jap planes plunging down, and wavy ribbons of tracer smoke that
formed a lace curtain in the sky.
Yelling and shouting at the top of his voice, Dave belted and hauled
his ship all over the air. And when he wasn't pouring death into some
Jap plane, he was hurtling down on the jungle airdrome and raking it
from one end to the other with his explosive and incendiary bullets.
Perhaps bombers could have done the job sooner, but they couldn't
possibly have done it any more thoroughly. Jap after Jap tried to get
off to come up at them, but Dawson, and Farmer, and the boys of the
A.V.G. slammed them down into piles of raging flames almost before
their wheels had cleared.
And then suddenly, a blazing Jap plunging to earth, or a burst of
explosive, or incendiary bullets, found the fuel stores and bomb
stores of the hidden drome. The air quivered as a great sea of flame
came belching up out of the jungle floor. Then sound akin to that of
giants tearing off the top of the world closed in on human ears from
every side. Dave felt as though his head had been yanked clean off his
neck; as though invisible fists had reached down from, heaven to smash
sledge hammer blows against every square inch of his body. White fire
was in his chest, and his left arm hung numb and lifeless at his side.
He tried to cry out but he heard no sound from his lips. The roaring in
his brain increased, and a red haze shrouded everything before his eyes.
Seconds, minutes ... years dragged by. He knew that he was still flying
the Curtiss P-40. He knew that he was headed toward the north, and that
there were other P-40s all about him. He thought he saw Freddy Farmer's
anxious eyes staring across the air space that separated him from one
of the P-40s. But he couldn't tell for sure. He couldn't force his eyes
or his brain to function that well.
Then suddenly the A.V.G. field was below him. He had killed his
throttle and was gliding down toward it. He was leveling off and
mushing forward. The plane was sinking belly first, fast. It struck the
ground, and bounced high. It came down to strike again and bounce. And
then the gods slammed a door shut, and there was nothing but silence
and darkness all around....
When Dave next opened his eyes it was to find himself under the
blankets of an army cot. His chest was taped tight and wound around
and around with bandages. His head was also bandaged, and his left arm
was in a sling. But his brain was crystal clear, and the only pain he
felt was a dull ache in his chest. He stared upward at rough ceiling
beams made out of a kind of wood he had never seen before. Sort of
yellowish-green in color. Then he saw Freddy Farmer and the A.V.G.
Colonel standing at the right side of the cot.
"Just as I told you, Colonel Davis," Freddy Farmer's lips were saying.
"Too tough to get seriously injured, this lad. Particularly around the
head. Chances are he's been awake for hours, but has kept his eyes
closed hoping we'll go away. Always was the one to sleep late. Quite!
Lazy, shiftless. You know the type. Oh, greetings, Dave, old thing! You
awake?"
Dave glared, then looked at the Colonel.
"Brush that thing out of here, then tell me what's happened, will you,
sir?" Dave said. "I guess I crashed, didn't I? But we really finished
off those Japs, didn't we? And.... Hey! It's morning! And we went after
them just before night. Have I...?"
"Hold everything, Dawson!" Colonel Davis interrupted with a smile. "We
wiped out that nest of Japs two days ago. But you didn't crash. You
just passed out cold. And you're my sweetheart for bringing that ship
down okay. We need every one we have. And, by the by, we didn't lose
a plane on that little job. The Jap devils try hard, but they just
haven't got the stuff."
"Two days ago?" Dave mumbled as though he couldn't believe what he had
heard. "And Singapore?"
"Is still there, Dave," Freddy spoke up. "And by the by, I had a brain
wave and Bostworth was able to nab that mysterious spy at Singapore
R.A.F. Base. I remembered that Serrangi said ... 'From the very hangars
of R.A.F. Base my friend will push the plunger that will....' And he
didn't continue. Remember? So after that Jap show ... soon's I saw you
had only a couple of scratches ... I got on the radio to Bostworth.
He posted triple hangar guards and searched the hangars. Found the
detonator, and all the wires leading to buried H.E. Disconnected them
all and waited. Next day a young pilot officer was caught digging up
the detonator from its hiding place. Been at Singapore eighteen months,
mind you. Had even trained in England. Clever blighter, but he's
finished being clever."
"And you're kind of clever, too," Dave grinned. "But in a different
way. But tell me, have the Japs really gone to war, yet?"
A shadow passed over Freddy Farmer's face. He half turned and looked at
Colonel Davis.
"Yes," the A.V.G. commander said quietly. "The very next morning they
took several sneak punches at the civilized world. And one of the
places was Hawaii, Dawson. An air raid on Pearl Harbor. They did plenty
damage, but we'll weather it. But it's really a world war, now. Uncle
Sam's in it, now, Dawson."
Dave didn't say anything for a long moment. He stared off into space,
as though he were looking eastward across the thousands of miles of
land and water to the country of his birth.
"So it's come!" he said softly. "The U.S. is in it at last? Well....
Well, Uncle Sam did it once, and he can do it again, and how!"
THE END
_A Page from_ DAVE DAWSON WITH THE PACIFIC FLEET
The U.S. Navy dive bomber seemed to half stop and lurch crazily to the
side as the furious blast of fire from the enemy cruiser's guns crashed
into it. Dave Dawson had the feeling that he had been slapped in the
face with a barn door. Everything turned into spinning red light before
his eyes. He knew that he was lashed fast to the seat, that both hands
gripped the controls with fingers of steel. But he wasn't sure.
He wasn't sure of anything, any more. Was Freddy Farmer still with him?
Was the plane still with him? Or had the withering blast of gun fire
from the cruiser below sent him sailing off into thin air and death?
He mustn't die! Not now! The suicide mission had only begun. The aerial
torpedo was still in its rack under the Grumman's belly. Or was it? Had
the cruiser's gun fire touched it off ... and he and Freddy had failed?
"Freddy! Freddy Farmer! Are you with me, fellow? Are you still there,
pal?"
Was that his own voice he heard? That faint little squeak that came
back to his ears? If only he could see something besides the dancing
balls of red fire. If only he could get his muscles to
End of Project Gutenberg's Dave Dawson at Singapore, by Robert Sydney Bowen