_Invisible Chaos_
Night was again closing down on the vast stretches of the Pacific
Ocean, but this time it found Dave Dawson and Freddy Farmer standing on
the flight deck of the Yank Aircraft Carrier Tempest cutting into the
wind through the long rolling swells some two hundred miles south-west
of the Jap-held Marcus Island. The two air aces were waiting for the
twin Wright Cyclones of their North American B-Twenty-Five to get well
warmed up, and were stretching their legs a bit before taking off on
the long flight through the night to a dawn landing on that secret
airfield at Legaspi in the central Philippines. Yes, waiting for the
B-Twenty-Five's engines to get clicking, stretching their legs, and
trying to remember if it had been a few days ago, or a few years
ago, when one Soo Wong Kai had given them a gourmet's treat in the
dining-room of the Savoy Hotel in London.
"One more landing at Legaspi, Freddy," Dawson broke the five-minute
silence. "Then we gas and hop along non-stop to Chungking. Just two
more flying laps, kid, and we're in."
"And may that be true!" the English youth breathed fervently. "I'm so
sick of water, and carrier decks, I could almost drown myself. Not that
your Navy chaps haven't been wonderful to us. But--well, I never was
one for long drawn out jobs."
"Nor me, either!" Dawson echoed the words. "Dance in and smack them,
and dance right out again. That's the kind of thing I go for. Praise
be, there's no scrapping at the North or South Poles, or we'd probably
get sent there."
"I fancy this is the longest courier job on record, no doubt," Freddy
Farmer muttered. "And--well, _it's_ safe, isn't it, Dave? You know what
I mean?"
"Could I miss catching on?" Dawson replied with a grim chuckle. "Yup!
We've still got it along. But maybe you'd like to nursemaid it for the
rest of the trip, kid?"
"No, by all means!" the English youth said sharply. "I want no part of
it. Wouldn't sleep a wink. No, you're the hero, old thing. You carry
it, and you deliver it. As a matter of fact, it really is much better
that way."
"Huh?" Dawson grunted absently.
"For me, in case we should get captured," Freddy Farmer said, and edged
along the flight deck toward the B-Twenty-Five. "In that event I can
simply tell them that _you've_ got it, and they'll cut you up in pieces
and no doubt leave me alone. At the most, keep me a prisoner for the
duration. You see?"
"Just a dear sweet pal!" Dawson growled. "Do that, my little man, and I
promise to return to haunt you in your dreams. No fooling!"
"Better think up something worse than that, old bean!" Freddy Farmer
shot right back at him. "Right now you haunt me when I'm awake! But
let's get on with it, what? The aircraft seems about ready."
"What a tough break I need a navigator!" Dawson growled as they went
down deck to the B-Twenty-Five. "If I didn't, I could toss you over the
side for that crack, and finish this thing in peace."
"And a jolly, rotten break we're in such a hurry, too!" the English
youth got in the parting shot. "It would be amusing to pretend we were
lost just to see you sweat--and beg me to locate us."
"That'll be the day!" Dave added one bit more. "And you know what I
mean, pal! Beg _you_, even for the time of day? Nuts!"
Some ten minutes later there was no longer any kidding around between
the two air aces. Their North American B-Twenty-Five was clear of
the flight deck of the Carrier Tempest, and up in the night-shrouded
heavens. As a matter of fact, they could no longer even see the
carrier. Just as soon as they had left, with the heartfelt good wishes
of every officer and man aboard, the carrier had heeled way over and
gone pounding around at full speed and onto a new course that would see
her well away from that spot, come dawn.
Yes, the Tempest was far behind them, and Dawson and Farmer were just
two steel-hearted eagles winging southwestward through night-shadowed
skies, with its canopy of a billion or more twinkling stars high
overhead. However, those twinkling stars meant far more than just
night diamonds of beauty to Dawson and Farmer. To them they were the
sign posts to their objective at Legaspi. They pointed the way along
the skyway of the gods that they were to travel. To them they were
understandable and tangible things. All else about them and below was
darkness; the darkness of the unknown.
Relaxing comfortably in the pilot's seat, but with mind and body ready
to spring to the alert at an instant's notice, Dawson fed the twin
engines a minimum of high test to maintain desired cruising speed, and
held the aircraft dead on the course Freddy Farmer had plotted out.
With luck they should sight their objective at the very first sign of
dawn light. And even then, it wouldn't be any too soon. This was the
longest hop of them all to be made in the B-Twenty-Five. And no matter
how careful and frugal Dave was with the fuel aboard, it was going to
be close. So close, in fact, that they hadn't even considered a direct
flight to China, though the coast line was not much farther away than
the Legaspi airfield. But that was exactly the point. A landing on the
China coast wouldn't do them any good at all. And it could well do
them all kinds of harm. At Legaspi there was a field where they could
sit down. There was fuel there, and Yanks to help them with the plane.
But on the China coast? No such thing! Even though they managed to
land still in one piece, it would be dollars to doughnuts that they'd
probably land right smack in the laps of the occupying Japs. So it had
to be Legaspi next. Legaspi, or bust.
"You mean drown, kid!" Dawson corrected his own thought. "If you run
out of fuel, or overshoot your mark, or Freddy gets us lost, some
sharks are going to have a swell meal. And no kidding, either!"
And with that not too pleasant thought he lapsed into silence again,
a silence broken only every so often when Freddy gave him a change
in course. In between times the seconds piled up to form minutes,
and the minutes added up to total one hour, two hours, three hours,
and four hours. And then, at the end of four hours, the gods of war
seemed suddenly to decide that those two daring young sky eagles had
been receiving too many good breaks. At any rate, one of those sudden
and unexpected Pacific storms swept down on them. And swept down
so fast that the B-Twenty-Five was almost stood up straight on her
twin-ruddered tail before Dawson realized what was happening.
True, he did receive a slight warning in advance. An invisible hand
seemed to sweep away the stars, and leave a roof of pitch darkness.
But it was done in a flash, and as a warning of what was to come it
was just about as helpful as seeing the flash of a lightning bolt
headed your way. In short, one instant the B-Twenty-Five was rolling
along through calm air as nice as you please. And in the next instant
invisible forces were trying to tear it apart and throw the pieces all
over that section of the Pacific.
Dawson thought he heard Freddy Farmer shout something from his
navigator's nook, but he had no time to turn around and yell for a
repeat of whatever it was. All the rain in the world seemed to be
flooding down on the B-Twenty-Five. And terrific blasts of air were
thundering in on it from every conceivable direction. Twice he would
have sworn that the aircraft whipped through a full roll. And twice he
was as sure as he was that he was over a foot high that the bomber was
completely upside down and whanging along on its back. Aches and pains
were shooting through every cubic inch of his body, and hanging onto
the control wheel, that was whip-sawing back and forth, was just about
as easy as trying to hang onto the broken stub of a spinning propeller.
In fact, it was all he could do to stop the control wheel from driving
back and caving in his chest. It took every ounce of his strength to
hold it forward so that the wind-rocketed plane wouldn't go whanging up
into a stall. And he was just about spent when Freddy Farmer scrambled
forward to lend his strength to the job.
Neither of them spoke a word. In the combined roar of the engines and
the raging storm it was all they could do to hear themselves think.
Besides, there was no use for words now. Nothing that either of them
could say would help any. It was just a question as to whether their
strength would outlast the storm, _and_ whether the strength of the
plane itself would last through the terrific beating it was taking
from the storm. A question of man, and man-made things, against the
raging fury of the storm gods. And while the great struggle went on,
time stood still. For Dawson and Farmer time ceased to exist. They were
conscious of nothing else save the use of their combined strength to
hold the aircraft as steady as they could. Conscious of that, and of
their prayers that this night might _not_ be the end of everything for
them.
And so it is quite possible that the gods of misfortune looked down
from their high places, and were forced to admire the do or die efforts
of those two air aces, and were willing to slacken off their fury. Then
again, perhaps it was just one of those things that happen to every
airman sooner or later. Just one of those freak storms out of nowhere
that can not be predicted, or explained after they hit. At any rate,
the raging storm was gone just as quickly as it had arrived. Dawson's
lungs were burning, his head was pounding, and spots were milling
around in a red haze over his eyes. And then suddenly the B-Twenty-Five
had shot out into calm air, and there overhead was the canopy of
twinkling stars again.
"Take a look, Freddy!" Dawson managed to squeak out past his lips.
"Those are stars, aren't they? And we're still right side up, huh?"
"Don't ask me!" the English youth gurgled, as he slumped back in the
co-pilot's seat. "If they aren't stars, and we're not right side
up, then it doesn't matter. Doesn't, because I haven't one ounce of
strength left to do anything about it. Good grief! That was all the
storms I ever saw rolled into one!"
"You're telling me!" Dave gulped. "Boy! What rain! And what a breeze.
But haul it out of here, Freddy. Get back and check on our position,
will you? Heavens knows where that storm tossed us. And--Sweet tripe!
Look at that dash clock, will you! That thing lasted an hour and forty
minutes!"
"Forty years!" Freddy shouted as he went aft to take their position
from the stars. "And I know blasted well that I've got a grey hair for
every one of them. Be right back, Dave."
Dawson held the plane at low cruising throttle, and on a general
southwesterly compass course for the next ten minutes. Then Freddy
Farmer came back with his findings.
"Not too bad, Dave," he announced. "It might have been a whole lot
worse, considering. The blasted thing blew us about sixty-five miles
east of our true course. Here's your new course."
Dave took Freddy's new course instructions with a heavy heart. True,
he was glad that they had survived the terrible storm, and that that
howling wind hadn't driven them even farther off course. However,
it was bad enough as it was. They were still a good two hours' calm
weather flying from their objective, and as close as he could figure
it, they had just about an hour and three quarters supply of fuel left
in the tanks. Perhaps if they eased up gently for altitude they might
make that last fifteen minutes with gliding. But it certainly wasn't a
chance for even a fool to bet on.
"Oke, and thanks, pal," he said aloud in a cheerful voice. "Be there
presently, I figure. We'd both better keep our eyes skinned, now that
it's starting to get light. We're in a Jap-infested part of the world
now. And if those rats that have taken the northern sections of the
Philippines have got any air patrols out, we may have to do a wee bit
of detouring."
"That's quite all right, Dave, old thing," Freddy Farmer said quietly.
"Don't try to be a liar, old chap, just to make me feel good. I've done
a little figuring myself, Dave. Unless we have the good fortune to pick
up a tail wind, we're going to have a very touch and go fifteen minutes
at the end of this trip."
"But we'll make it, kid," Dave said grimly. "And that's a promise from
me to you. Count on it. Sure wish we had a load of bombs along, though."
"A load of bombs?" the English youth echoed. "Why in the world bombs?
You plan to blast out a spot to land? Say in the water, if our gas
doesn't last?"
"I was thinking of MacArthur's boys on Bataan, and Corregidor!" Dawson
said grimly. "I'd certainly give plenty to lay some eggs on the little
brown rats pestering those fellows. What a scrap they've put up.
History that will never die. And even if the darn Japs do finally push
them out, it'll be a mighty hollow victory. I bet it's one big surprise
to those pint-sized butchers that the Philippines are no push-over."
"No place would be a push-over with General MacArthur in command, I
fancy," Freddy murmured. "He's one of the finest generals of all time."
"Check and double check!" Dawson echoed instantly. "And could we do
with a dozen like him. But--Hold it! Hold everything, Freddy! Dead
ahead, there. Is that landfall, or just a trick of my eyes?"
"It's land, Dave!" Freddy replied in an excited voice. "Land, just as
sure as you're alive. And if these charts and maps they gave us at
Pearl Harbor are correct, we've hit it right on the nose. That land is
the Catanduanes Islands just north of Legaspi. We'll know for sure in
another ten minutes!"
Another ten minutes? In ten minutes nations have fallen into the dust.
In ten minutes half the world has changed face. In ten minutes a
million and one things can happen which normally should take months or
years to come to pass. And so, at the end of ten minutes, Dawson and
Farmer were suddenly "treated" to a sight that chilled their blood, and
sent their hearts dropping down into their boots.
In the pale light of early dawn they saw a flock of birds come
sweeping up from that bit of the Philippines known as Legaspi. Only it
wasn't a flock of birds. It was a flock of war birds. A flock of Jap
Zeros up on early dawn patrol. True, they had half expected to see at
least a Jap plane or two, but to see them come up from the ground on
Legaspi was like a mule's kick in the stomach. There was no need to
wonder, or to ask each other unanswerable questions. There was only to
observe, and realize the terrible truth. The truth that Legaspi had
fallen to the Japs during the last forty-eight hours, and that the Yank
emergency airfield was unquestionably in enemy hands.
And, as though to add a final touch to horrible reality, the port
outboard engine of the B-Twenty-Five began to cough and sputter from
the lack of fuel in the tanks. And a couple of seconds later the
starboard engine took up that soul-chilling song that no pilot ever
wants to hear.
"Would you care to get out and walk the rest of the way, sir?" Dawson
asked in a strained voice that belied the crooked grin on his lips.
"No thanks," Freddy Farmer came right back at him, with an equal
attempt to crack wise. "Just turn about and take me back to Honolulu,
please!"