_Beware The Sharks!_
"The dirty swine! Blast their rotten hearts! Gosh! What I'd give to
lead a patrol of bombers right now! Dash it all! I'd even be willing to
settle for Hawker Hurricanes!"
The words spilled softly and tonelessly off Freddy Farmer's lips. His
eyes fixed on the captured field were bright and brittle, and he was
unconsciously thumping one clenched fist into the palm of the other
hand. Dawson glanced sidewise at him, grinned, and nudged his arm.
"Check, and double check, pal!" he whispered. "But wishing for the
impossible won't help a bit. Besides, we haven't got time to jaw around
on such things. Take a look at that spread of Jap planes, Freddy. Which
one do you figure should be our baby, when we get it?"
"_If_ we get it!" the English youth muttered grimly. "Of course, I'd
much prefer one of those Zeros. But we couldn't both ride in the same
plane. Besides, they don't even carry enough gas to get us across the
China Sea, to say nothing of up to Chungking."
"Not a chance in a Zero," Dawson grunted with a shake of his head. "And
those Mitsubishi bombers over there are out, too. Take too long to get
one of them off. So that brings up the important fact, pal."
"Only _one_ important fact?" Freddy Farmer groaned.
"For the present, anyway," Dawson whispered with a grin. "In other
words, with what we manage to steal from these little rats, we wouldn't
be able to make Chungking non-stop. Our best bet, and the shortest hop
possible, is to skip across the northern part of Indo-China, and reach
Kunming."
"Suits me perfectly!" breathed Freddy Farmer, his eyes lighting up.
"Kunming is H.Q. for those Flying Tiger chaps. We may spot a few of
them on patrol to escort us in. Also, to send the Jap johnnies on their
way. The ones chasing us, or ones we're bound to run into, I mean."
"Sure, easy as pie!" Dawson snorted. "When we meet Flying Tigers on
patrol we simply yell at them that the Jap ship we're in doesn't
mean a thing, huh? And they'll catch on, quick? Listen, pal, those
Flying Tigers are hot stuff. They don't bother asking Jap pilots for
their names and addresses. They just sail in guns blazing. And, bingo!
Hirohito has a few less. See what I mean?"
"Well, what do _you_ plan, then, Master Mind?" Freddy growled.
"Nothing," Dave came right back at him. "Once we're in the air, all we
can do is hope that we can outfly the Japs chasing us. _And_ that we
don't bump into any of the Flying Tiger boys on the prowl. So I guess
that baby over there is the one for our money. It's the closest, and
those Jap mechanics wheeling that gas dollie away means that it's just
been fueled up. What do you think?"
Freddy Farmer peered in the direction of Dawson's pointing finger
and silently eyed the plane indicated on the near side of the
triangular-shaped field. It was a Mitsubishi "Karigane" MK-Eleven
two-place, low wing monoplane fighter. It was powered with an eight
hundred horsepower radial engine of copied American design. And it was
reputed to be one of the fastest, and longest ranged two-place planes
in the Far Eastern theatre of war. And so Freddy had only to take a
good look to be satisfied.
"We should just about make Kunming in it, with luck," he said to Dave.
"However, there's the small detail of stealing her, you know. There's
plenty of Nips standing around over there. And they all look armed to
me."
"They are," Dawson grunted. "But this isn't any walking stick I've got
in my hands, pal. Seriously, though, Freddy, I think we can _surprise_
those bums out of that plane without much trouble. Look at how cocky
they're acting, will you? Well, it's my guess a few well placed bursts
from this machine gun could throw the place into a panic. You fast on
your feet, kid?"
"Fast as you are if I have to be, I guess," Freddy replied gravely.
"But just what do you plan to do? Rush them from here? It's sixty
yards, if it's an inch."
"You think I'm that dumb?" Dawson growled, and shook his head
vigorously. "No, not rush them from here. Get _them_ to come rushing
_over_ here!"
"Eh, what's that?" the English youth gasped as his eyes popped and his
jaw sagged.
He started to say more, but Dawson stopped him by pointing at the
little path that turned sharp right and skirted that side of the
airfield, just inside the jungle growth. It had obviously been used
by soldiers on guard duty. In short, they had used it to reach their
posts, instead of crossing the field in the face of planes landing or
taking off. It could also be used during a bombing raid when it wasn't
good sense to show oneself out on the open field.
"There's where we run, Freddy," Dawson said. "_After_ I've blasted a
few bursts _back_ in the general direction of that Jap sentry we hauled
down. My guess, or my hope, is that those over there on the edge of the
field will come a-running, figuring his post has been attacked. Well,
when they start cutting across the field we'll start down that path,
but fast. The jungle growth will hide us, and we can get to a point
right behind that two-seater before we'll have to break out into the
open. And then--"
Dawson paused, and a tight, hard smile stretched his lips.
"Maybe even then we'll have to knock a few of them off," he said
grimly. "But so what? That'll make just less Japs, that's all. Well,
okay by you?"
Freddy Farmer shrugged, and gestured with his hands, palms upward.
"Why not?" he grunted. "It's just as insane and foolhardy as anything I
could think up. Right you are, then. But let's get on with it. I don't
fancy hanging around here any longer than I have to."
"You think I'm in love with the place?" Dawson snorted, and slipped the
safety catch off the machine gun's trigger. "Okay, kid. On your mark!
Here goes!"
Dawson's last whispered word hadn't even been swallowed up by the
jungle silence before he had pointed the sub-machine gun back along the
path in the direction of the dead Jap sentry, and pulled the trigger.
Three, four silence-shattering bursts leaped out from the gun's muzzle,
and a bit of the jungle growth in the line of fire promptly looked as
if it had been whizzed through a fine meat grinder. But Dave didn't
pause to admire the fire power effect on the jungle target. As the last
bullet sped clear, he spun around and snapped a quick gaze out across
the field. And for a crazy instant it was all he could do to stop from
laughing out loud. Every blessed Jap on the field had frozen stiff, and
some of them in the queerest, most unnatural positions.
However, they did not remain that way for long. A high-pitched
sing-song voice hit the air, and it was as though many invisible
strings had been jerked. The Japs snapped up straight, grabbed
for their side arms, or caught up their rifles or machine guns,
and came tearing across the field, screaming at the top of their
hideous-sounding voices. But by the time the first of them had taken
one step, Freddy and Dave had taken two steps along the hidden path.
And they kept right on adding more and more driving power to their legs.
In almost less time than it takes to relate it they had covered those
sixty odd yards of jungle path, and were directly behind the two-seater
Mitsubishi MK-Eleven that they figured on "borrowing." Yes, directly
behind it, but they still had some fifteen yards more of open ground
before they could reach the plane's cockpit. Just the same they didn't
hug the ground and waste time contemplating that final dash across open
ground. They simply waited long enough for Dave to sprint in front with
the sub-machine gun, and then off they went on the final lap.
Final lap? It was only fifteen yards to that MK-Eleven. Four good
running broad jumps would cover the distance easily. But to Dave
those fifteen yards seemed more like fifteen hundred. As he had half
expected, and half feared, not all the Japs in that corner of the field
had gone tearing over to investigate the mystery of the firing machine
gun. A half dozen or so of them, all mechanics, had remained where they
were. And it so happened that their sharp eyes caught sight of Dawson
the very instant he broke out into the open. Blood-curdling screams
of rage smote the air, and were instantly punctuated by rifle fire.
But also in the same instant Dawson had dropped to one knee and was
sweeping his bullet-spitting machine gun to left and right.
A couple of the Japs instantly went flat to the ground, and right out
of the war and the world forever. And the others spun around and leaped
for the protection of a nearby bomber's fuselage. That was okay by
Dawson. It was just what he wanted. He slammed a short burst under the
bomber's belly, and yelled to Freddy.
"Jump for it, Freddy!" he cried. "Into the rear cockpit, and be ready
to catch this gun and cover me as I pile in. Get going!"
The last two words were quite unnecessary. Freddy Farmer wasn't taking
precious split seconds out to do any arguing this time. As a matter
of fact, he had already leaped past Dave as the Yank ace shouted the
order. And in another couple of leaps he had reached the side of the
MK-Eleven and was virtually throwing himself into the rear cockpit.
Dawson saw Freddy make it out the corner of his eye, and slapped one
more burst to kick up dust under the bomber's belly. Then he sprang to
his feet, and dived for the MK-Eleven himself. As he reached its side
he threw the sub-machine gun straight at Freddy. The English youth
caught it in his hands, and was pumping bullets over at the bomber,
behind which the Japs were attempting to hide and fire, in the single
bat of an eyelid.
In what was practically a continuation of a wild leap into the
pilot's cockpit of that Jap MK-Eleven, Dawson whipped out one hand to
knock up the ignition switches, and stabbed the other thumb on the
starter button, and kicked off the wheel brakes with his foot. As the
Jap-copied American aircraft engine caught on the first time over,
and roared up in a full throated song of power, he blessed the odd
simplicity of Jap instrument panels and engine gadgets. There were not
more than six or seven of them, and though they were printed in Jap
sign writing, it was easy enough to guess their uses and functions. And
so as the MK-Eleven quivered and trembled for a brief instant and then
went rocketing out across the field like a comet gone haywire, he did
not jab or pull one wrong thing and put an end to their little bit of
war thievery right then and there.
On the contrary, he was able to nurse the last ounce of maximum power
from the roaring engine, and Jap-fired bullets had hardly begun to
twang and whine past his ears before he had the wheels clear and was
hauling the speedy little craft straight up toward the sun-flooded
Philippine sky. And he kept it going right on upward until he had more
than enough altitude under him. Then he whipped over and around onto
even keel with the nose pointed diagonally across the northern reaches
of the Philippines toward the South China Sea beyond.
Then he turned around and grinned happily at Freddy Farmer.
"Just like robbing the cradle, hey, pal?" he bellowed.
The English youth made a wry face and flung a pointing hand toward the
south.
"Not quite over yet, old thing!" he shouted back. "Here come some
of the blighters, for a starter. Too bad we didn't also steal their
blasted radio station!"