one thing we've got to lick, and lick fast, if we hope to win this war.
Of course, we _are_ flying a lot of stuff across these days. But it
still takes ships to get oil, and gas, and the heavy stuff over where
it's needed. Hold everything! Where are my manners? You two could do
with a wash-up and something to eat right now, couldn't you?"
"Oh, quite, sir," Freddy Farmer said eagerly.
And for once Dawson had to agree with the perpetually hungry English
youth that a little food wouldn't be a bad idea at all. And so, after a
quick check of the Vultee to make sure that no stray bullets had damaged
anything seriously, they walked over to the Officers' Club with Major
Parker. The commanding officer introduced them to a couple of Air
Transport Command pilots and then took them into the mess, where a good
meal was waiting for them. Major Parker had a cup of coffee while they
ate, and conversation was at a dead end for a bit.
Finally, Dawson refused a second cup of coffee and sighed in
contentment.
"I guess I was rather starved, sir," he said to the major with a guilty
laugh. "Must be that Caribbean air."
"Or the excitement," the major remarked quietly. "A little excitement
always makes me hungry enough to eat a horse. You and Farmer are a
couple of lucky fellows, you know."
"How do you mean, sir?" Dawson questioned, and gave him a searching
look.
The other smiled faintly and appeared to be very interested in something
he could see out of the mess window. Then suddenly he turned his head
and fixed his calm blue eyes on them both.
"Tiger hasn't given _me_ anything to do for a couple of months," he
said, "except this job here and orders to keep my eyes and ears open
for sabotage, and all that sort of stuff. I think a little real action
would just about save my life."
Dawson tried hard to control the start that the unexpected words gave
him, but he didn't succeed very well.
"_Tiger_, Major?" he echoed, as a little note of caution sounded deep
within him.
Major Parker smiled, and a little bit of red seeped up into his leathery
face.
"I couldn't help but see the signature, Dawson," he said. "But you have
my word of honor that I didn't read it. Because I saw that it was
addressed to you two. Colonel Welsh taught me that secret code of his
just before he sent me down to this place. I haven't been lucky enough,
yet, to have had the chance to use it."
Since their messenger-boy mission had been washed out, at least until
Colonel Welsh's arrival at midnight, there was no reason to check Major
Parker's connection with Intelligence, but Dave somehow couldn't pass it
by.
"I see, sir," he said quietly. "Well, Farmer and I were taught
something, too, before we left. We were taught to take an interest in
copper discs. Are you interested in copper discs, sir?"
"Slightly," the other said with a chuckle. "At least I'm interested in
one copper disc. It has numbers on it."
"Numbers?" Dawson murmured, and tried to look a little surprised.
Major Parker smiled, and slipped a hand into his pocket.
"That's right," he said as he withdrew his hand. "Numbers. The numbers
on the copper disc I'm interested in add up to forty-_three_. Would you
like to see it?"
A cold chill shot through Dawson's chest, and a strange dryness came
into his throat. Forty-_three_? But if Major Parker really was Colonel
Welsh's agent down here at San Fernando, the numbers on his copper disc
should add up to forty-_one_.
"Why, yes, yes," he finally got out with an effort. "I'd like to see it
very much."
"Then have a look, by all means, Dawson," the major said, and with a
slight movement of his hand he tossed a brightly polished copper disc
down on the table top.
Dawson picked it up with fingers that were trying desperately hard to
stop trembling. He could hear Freddy Farmer's heavy breathing, as the
English youth leaned over to take a look. Dave had picked up the disc
with the smooth side showing, so he had to turn it over. On the other
side stamped into the metal were the numbers 9 1 2 7 8 6 8. He stared at
them, and suddenly the truth came to him. The numbers did not add up to
forty-_three_. They added up to forty-_one_, just as they should have.
The major's soft chuckle made Dawson jerk up his head.
"Sorry I couldn't resist the temptation, Dawson," the officer said. "You
just added them up, didn't you? And reached the Pearl Harbor figure,
eh?"
"Yes," Dawson said, and handed back the copper disc with a grin. "But
you sure had my heart fluttering for a moment there."
"Frankly, I was just about to reach for my service automatic," Freddy
Farmer added.
"Well, forgive me my rather flat little joke, and let's skip it, eh?"
Major Parker said with a little wave of his hand. "I noticed that Tiger
stuff gave you a little start, so I thought I'd kid a bit. Maybe that's
what this darn sun down here does to a fellow. To be serious though--and
out of order, I guess--anything in Tiger's message that I should know?"
"Just what we told you," Dave replied pleasantly. "Our survey job is
held up until Colonel Welsh arrives. Which will be midnight tonight."
Major Parker looked disappointed. Then he sighed, and grinned.
"Okay," he said, "we'll let it go at that. If he had wanted me to know
anything, he'd have sent me a message, too. Well, as I said, the place
is yours. I've got some paper work to do, so I'll have to leave you for
a spell. Don't hesitate to make yourselves at home. If there is anything
you want, just yell. See you later."
"Yes, sir, and thanks for everything," Dawson said. He and Farmer also
rose as the senior officer got to his feet.
"Think nothing of it," the major said with a wave of his hand. "And have
fun, if you can find any fun around this place." With a smile and a nod,
he went through the mess door.
Freddy looked at Dawson, and Dawson looked right back at him.
"Nice enough chap, isn't he?" the English youth finally broke the
silence.
"Yes, he's okay," Dawson agreed. "I guess he is going bats down here
with nothing to do. That is, nothing in his own line of work. Say,
Freddy?"
"Yes, Dave."
"How about walking down some of this swell meal, huh?" Dave suggested.
"I could do with a walk around. And like Colonel Welsh, I'm not so keen
about four walls."
"A top-hole idea," Freddy Farmer said gravely, and brushed a couple of
crumbs off the skirt of his tunic. "I know just what you mean, old
thing. I've been thinking about it myself. Yes, definitely a top-hole
idea. Let's get along, shall we?"
"Yeah, let's," Dawson murmured, and led the way toward the mess door.
CHAPTER SEVEN
_Blackout_
The setting sun was turning the waters of Paria Gulf between Trinidad
and Venezuela to blood red as Dawson and Farmer strolled along a
footpath that skirted a huge sugar plantation close to the San Fernando
field. As neither had ever set foot on Trinidad before, the many and
strange sights that met their wandering gaze took up all of their
attention, and the thought that was in the back of each youth's mind was
not given utterance for quite some time.
Presently, though, Dawson came to a full stop, took a deep breath, and
squatted down on the ground.
"Let's rest and watch the sunset," he said. "It looks like it's going to
be something. Besides, that's plenty enough walking for these aged
bones."
"I was wondering if you were going to keep it up forever," Freddy Farmer
grunted, and sank down beside him. "Good grief! It does get your legs
when you're not used to it."
"Think of the poor infantry, and realize how lucky you are," Dawson
chuckled. "After all, pal, you and I were flying last night, not
sleeping."
"And don't I know it!" the other youth replied. "Can hardly keep my eyes
open now. As a matter of fact, when we get back, I'm going to borrow a
place from Major Parker to sleep until Colonel Welsh shows up. Blast it,
Dave! I don't think I feel very friendly toward the colonel, just now.
Heaven knows he's kept us in the dark once or twice in the past, but
certainly nothing like this. I'm just about ready to explode with
curiosity."
"Me, I'm almost beginning not to give a darn," Dawson said, and lazily
stretched his arms over his head. "Too doggone much mystery and not an
answer to a single question. Speaking of questions, Freddy--call me
nuts, but I've got an awful funny feeling."
"About what, Dave?" the English youth asked quickly, and gave him a
searching look.
"These darned sealed envelopes we're still carrying around," Dave
replied. "The four we've still got, counting Major Parker's. In the
colonel's message, he ordered us to destroy them if necessary.
Well--well, outside of that dizzy U-boat thing, it's been just an
airplane flight. Yet--darn it, Freddy--having these envelopes in my
pocket is giving me the jim-jams!"
"Yes, I know what you mean," young Farmer admitted, and frowned. "I'm
getting rather fed up with carrying them around, too. Silly, of course,
but a couple of times I've felt as though somebody were watching every
move I made."
Dawson started slightly and took a quick glance in all four directions,
but he didn't see anyone, except some people near the San Fernando base
over half a mile away. He looked at Freddy and grinned a little
sheepishly.
"You have, kid?" he echoed. "Well, me too. I've been having exactly that
kind of feeling, too. You know what I think about hunches!"
"Yes," the other replied. "And I also know that sometimes your hunches
are worth giving serious consideration."
"Sometimes, he says" Dawson snorted. "Look, pal--Oh, skip it! Now about
the four envelopes, Freddy, if you want my opinion on the matter,
it's--let's dump the acid on them and be rid of the darn things. Maybe
Colonel Welsh won't like it, but what the heck? He said, _if necessary_,
and the funny feeling I've got right now, and have had ever since we got
his message, makes me think it _is_ necessary! What do you think? Or am
I going off half-cocked?"
Freddy Farmer didn't reply for a moment. He sat staring out over the
Gulf of Paria that was now changing from blood red to midnight blue
since the sun had gone down behind the headlands of Venezuela. Finally
he reached a hand up inside his tunic and nodded abruptly.
"If you're going off half-cocked, then we both are, Dave," he said
quietly. "I'm all for getting rid of them. If you alone had the funny
feeling, I'd say no. But I've got a queer feeling, too. So--well, here
go my two, anyway."
As young Farmer spoke, he took out his two sealed envelopes and dropped
them on the ground. Then, moving back a bit, he unscrewed the cap of his
little vial and poured the brownish-colored contents over the envelopes.
There was a small flash of flame as the stuff came in contact with the
envelopes which seemed to melt away into the ground, leaving nothing but
a black smudge where they had been.
"Boy, does that do the trick!" Dawson breathed, and dropped his two
sealed envelopes on the spot where Freddy's two had been. "Drop that
vial, Freddy, and kick dirt over it. Just a smell of that stuff would
most likely take the soles off your shoes. Okay, here go mine, too."
A few seconds later there was another dark smudge on the ground, and not
so much as a shred of any of the sealed envelopes, or their contents.
Both Dawson and Freddy dropped their empty vials, kicked dirt over them,
and stamped the little mounds flat. Then, as if by mutual agreement,
they relaxed and heaved deep sighs of relief.
"Maybe I was wrong," Dawson said thoughtfully. "Maybe Colonel Welsh will
hit the roof when we tell him. Just the same, though, I feel a hundred
per cent better."
"Quite!" Freddy Farmer murmured, but with emphasis. "I feel as though a
terrific weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I swear, Dave, I
haven't got a strong enough heart to stand much of this sort of thing.
Frankly, this is the first contented breath I've taken since we left
Washington."
"Yeah, I know," Dawson agreed. "The colonel certainly did pour on the
old caution stuff this time. So I guess it was--or still is--something
pretty doggone important. But there I go again, wondering what it's all
about. I sure wish the colonel would hurry up and get here!"
"Know something, Dave?" Freddy asked after a couple of moments of
silence between them.
"_Know_ something?" Dave groaned, and rolled over on his stomach. "Maybe
you haven't been listening to me, pal. _I_ don't know from nothing. Do
you?"
"Not exactly," Freddy replied. "Just the old guessing game again. I am
guessing, though, that somebody found out about those sealed envelopes.
Also, they found out that you and I were acting as the messenger boys.
Also, they arranged that balmy life-raft and U-boat business this
afternoon. And also, Colonel Welsh is a very worried man, right at the
moment."
"All of which means nothing," Dawson added, "and will continue to mean
nothing until the colonel gets here, and explains. _If_ he does."
"Most naturally!" Freddy said with a slight edge to his voice. "I've
been doing some extra thinking about this thing, in case you don't
realize it."
"Well, go right ahead and think yourself black, blue, and sky-pink in
the face, if it makes you happy, little man," Dawson said with a laugh,
"but you still won't know from beans until the colonel gets here. And if
he--"
"I know, _I know_!" Freddy interrupted with an impatient gesture of his
hand. "Save your breath, old thing. However, you might give this a bit
of thought, if your brain can stand the strain. We've been flying part
of the air transport route to North Africa."
"No kidding?" Dawson said with a mock gasp. "Why, I always thought the
air transport route to North Africa was by way of Salt Lake City and
Alaska!"
"Very, _very_ funny!" Freddy snapped. "If I'm not boring you, Major
Parker said he was sent down here to keep an eye out for sabotage. He
also said nothing has happened in all the time he's been here. Colonel
Welsh admitted that his special agents were acting as C.O. of the points
where we've stopped and were going to stop. Why, Dave? _Why_ should
Intelligence have a sudden interest in this air route to North Africa?"
Dawson started to make another wisecrack, but the deadly serious look on
young Farmer's face stopped him. He gave the question a moment or two of
thought and then shook his head.
"I don't know, Freddy," he replied. "I really don't know. You can search
me. If it isn't because of possible sabotage, then what?"
"I guess I've asked myself that question a thousand times," the
English-born air ace said slowly. "I can think up but one answer that
might make sense. This is it. All these arrangements are being made to
make absolutely sure nothing will happen to something very special that
is soon to be flown to North Africa."
"Such as?" Dawson prompted.
Freddy seemed to hesitate for a long time. Then he shrugged, and made a
little gesture with his hands, palms upward.
"Blessed if I know, or can guess," he said. "However, I feel absolutely
sure that all this business is taking place because something highly
important is to be flown to North Africa."
"I don't think I agree with you there, Freddy," Dawson stated with a
frown. "This is one of the Air Transport Command routes to North Africa,
but if something special was to be flown across, the plane carrying it
certainly wouldn't land at all these points. Heck, Freddy! Air Transport
Command has lots of planes that could make the run down here to Trinidad
non-stop, and hop from here to Natal the same way."
"Oh, quite," Freddy Farmer agreed, and waved his hand as though brushing
aside the undisputed point. "Non-stop all the way to Natal, if you want
to make an issue of it. However, the points in between are being given
just as much attention. Presumably this is being done _in the event of
trouble and a forced landing_; emergency fields, so to speak, all along
the route the plane, or _planes_, will fly."
"Okay, okay, Master Mind!" Dawson laughed, and threw up his hands.
"Maybe you've got something there. And if you have, it means that what
we've been delivering, and what we just destroyed, are instructions in
case your mysterious cavalcade of the air happens to sit down on one of
the fields. Okay, that's that, then. Now all you have left to figure out
is _why_ this mysterious flight?"
Freddy Farmer nodded but made no reply. He sat watching the swiftly
approaching shadows of night. Glancing at his face, Dawson saw that the
English youth had something very absorbing on his mind. When young
Farmer continued to maintain silence, Dawson's curiosity got the best of
him.
"Okay, out with it," he said. "What's the heavy thought that's weighing
down your brain at the moment?"
"A very definitely insane one," Freddy Farmer replied, with a little
apologetic smile. "But taking it all and all, I'm blessed if I can think
of anything better."
"Thanks," Dawson said sarcastically, and rolled over on his side. "That
makes everything clear as mud. What do you want me to do--get up on my
hind legs and beg?"
If Freddy Farmer heard the remark, he ignored it. He turned to Dawson
and held up one hand with the fingers stiff and extended upward. Then he
started counting them off with the forefinger of the other hand.
"_One_: Two F.B.I. chaps followed us all over New York," he said.
"_Two_: Colonel Welsh told us that a list of names compiled by the War
Department had been turned over to the F.B.I., and that it had the
approval of the President, the Secret Service, the Army, Navy, and Air
Forces. _Three_: The colonel refused to give us so much as a hint as to
what's behind this flight of ours. _Four_: He told us to guard those
sealed envelopes with our lives. _Five_: He said that one of his agents
was in secret command of every point where we were to stop. _Six_: The
route is the Air Transport route to North Africa. _Seven_: The colonel
said that the sealed envelopes contained the most important secret of
the war so far. And _eight_: He said that he would have another special
mission for us when we met in Natal."
"And _nine_?" Dawson queried when young Farmer stopped talking and
lapsed into brooding silence.
The English youth hesitated, chewed on his lower lip for a moment, and
then leaned over toward Dave and whispered, "_Nine_, is that all these
arrangements are being made because--because President Roosevelt and the
Yank High Command are being flown to North Africa, and perhaps beyond,
for a war conference with Prime Minister Churchill, Premier Joseph
Stalin, and their High Command Staffs. And there you have what _I_
think!"
Dawson whistled softly, sat up straight, and stared hard at his flying
mate and dearest friend.
"And _I_ think you are strictly nuts, Freddy!" he said. But scarcely had
he spoken the words when he frowned and gave a little twist of his
head. "Jeepers, I wonder!" he mumbled.
"Yes, no doubt I am quite nuts," Freddy agreed, and got up on his feet.
"Personally, I can't think up a better guess. It's started my brain
swimming, though. So what say we start on back, eh? Don't want to miss
evening mess, you know."
"What a guy! _What a guy!_" Dawson groaned, and stood up. "Here in one
breath he has perhaps figured out the biggest secret in the war so far,
and in the next breath he's sounding off about that stomach of his. Did
I mention a moment ago that I think you _are_ nuts? If I didn't, then
consider it said right now!"
"The difference between us, old thing!" Freddy Farmer explained with an
airy wave of his hand as he started back along the path. "The food you
eat helps your body. The food I eat helps my body _and_ my brain. If
you'd only eat more, maybe some of the nourishment would have a chance
to get up that high! I say! I didn't half realize that it was this
dark."
"Yeah," Dawson agreed as he stumbled over a root. "A good thing that
talking box of yours ran out of words, or Major Parker would have to
send out a searching party. I--Hey, Freddy! What's the matter?"
Dawson shouted the last because young Farmer, some ten or fifteen feet
ahead of him in the gloom, had suddenly buckled at the knees and had
fallen slowly to the ground. Dave leaped forward toward his prostrate
pal and had started to kneel down beside him when suddenly there was a
rustling sound in the sugar cane to his right. He turned his head and
caught a fleeting glimpse of bare feet and trousers. Then the Trinidad
sky seemed to fall on top of his head with a thunderous roar of sound,
and a great shower of red, yellow, orange and purple sparks.
"Hey! What--"
From a million miles away he heard the hoarse whisper of his own voice.
Then the hands of an invisible giant seemed to grab hold of him, lift
him high, and fling him spinning head over heels out across a world
composed of booming sound and flashing light.
CHAPTER EIGHT
_Eagles Can Take It_
A death-like stillness was everywhere. In that total absence of sound,
Dawson was aware of a throbbing, pounding pain in his head that made him
feel as though somebody were chopping it apart. Silence, darkness, and
somebody chopping his head to pieces. These three things Dawson's
sluggish brain could grasp, or at least grasp for a moment at a time.
All else, though, was just a great big blank. He didn't know where he
was, or what had happened. He scarcely remembered who he was.
Suddenly a prickly pain all over his face seemed to speed up the
functioning of his brain. That, and the dull realization that he could
barely breathe because something was clamped hard against his nose and
mouth. Realization, yes; but there was not yet enough strength in his
body to do anything about it. For that matter, he felt as if he had no
body. He was aware of nothing but the pain in his head. Maybe his body
was gone, and only his head was living on. Did such things happen? Was
it possible for--
"Dave! Dave, old man! Oh--_Dave_!"
Sound? Yes, that was the sound of a voice! But whose voice? Dave
couldn't see anything because of the darkness, shattered every now and
then by pin-points of glittering light, like falling stars in the night
heavens. He--The thought dribbled away as a sense feeling returned to
his "absent" body. He suddenly realized that he was being picked up, or
rolled over on his back. The prickly pain left his face at once. In the
next instant he knew that his eyes were open, because he was conscious
of many shadows. The shadows moved, but no objects were clearly
outlined.
"Dave! Dave, old thing! Can you hear me?"
An arm was about his shoulders, and a hand was brushing his face. The
brushing seemed to remove every trace of the prickly pain. It also
seemed to cause the shadows to stop moving and gradually take on shape
and outline. He know he was looking at treetops outlined against a pale
grey sky that grew darker and darker as he looked at it. A head came
into view. He saw wide, fear-filled eyes and lips that moved but made no
sound, save dry sobs. Suddenly, as though a button had been pressed
inside his head, his sluggish brain started to speed up, and in a flash
complete consciousness returned. Memory too, came flooding back like
waters pouring through a broken dam.
"Freddy!" he heard himself gasp. "You--you okay, Freddy?"
The arm about his shoulders tightened, and Freddy's choking voice
answered, "Thank goodness, Dave! I thought--I could hardly feel your
heart beat. You can thank God for your helmet, and I for mine, too. Our
heads would have been caved in but for them. No, Dave! Don't try to sit
up. You got it worse than I, or maybe my head is harder."
"I'll feel better sitting up, Freddy," Dawson mumbled, and sat up in
spite of Farmer's plea for him to lie still.
For the first couple of seconds, though, it didn't help at all. The
throbbing pain doubled in intensity, and he thought his head was going
to fly off his shoulders. After the first couple of seconds the
throbbing pain died down, and he could feel new strength surging through
his body. It was then that he took a good look at Freddy Farmer, let out
a little startled cry, and impulsively reached out a hand.
"Jeepers, Freddy!" he gasped. "You look like you've been through a meat
grinder, and--Holy smokes! Look at me, will you? I look even worse. My
tunic's in ribbons, and--"
Dawson stopped talking and stared wide-eyed at young Farmer. The
English-born air ace returned his look and nodded slowly as he wet his
lips with his tongue.
"Quite, Dave," he said in a strained voice. "Some dirty beggar chopped
us down and searched us from head to foot for something he _didn't_
find."
An icy chill swept through Dawson, and he swallowed hard. It was a
second or two before he could speak.