_Aces Think Fast_
As Dawson swung his head around the other way and stared to the south,
he saw the swarm of Jap wings prop-clawing along on a line intended
to cut him off from in front. A second glance, however, told him that
his stolen MK-Eleven held a slight edge. Told him, also, that his path
and the flight path of those other Jap planes would cross at a point
several miles out over the South China Sea.
"But those bums are going to cross our path _behind_ us, if I've got
anything to say about it!" he told himself grimly. "I've got enough
worries about whether this crate will make Kunming, without having
those bums give me grey hairs!"
With a savage nod for emphasis, he shot another look toward the Jap
planes boiling up from the south, twisted around to give Freddy Farmer
a reassuring grin, and then turned front and concentrated every
effort on getting every ounce of speed out of the MK-Eleven. Some
fifteen minutes later, when he took another look at the Jap planes, a
tight grin stretched his lips, and he gave a little nod of approval.
He had managed to gain on them considerably, and it looked now as if
the little brown men of Nippon were just wasting gas and oil. And in
addition to that helpful fact, cloud banks were beginning to form in
the heavens ahead. Just let him reach them, and the whole darn Jap air
force could try to hunt him out, if it wanted to.
"And so that is just what we'll do!" he murmured softly to himself.
"We'll beat those little tramps to the clouds, and--"
A sharp rap of Freddy Farmer's fist on his shoulder cut the rest off
short. He jerked his head around and started to bark the obvious
question, but the English youth was already talking, and pointing.
"I fancy the Japs back on Legaspi have been using their blasted radio
some _more_, Dave!" Freddy shouted. "Look up there to the north! More
of the blighters. Guess they must come from Jap air bases on Hainan
Island. Up to you, old thing. Can we still make those clouds?"
Dawson didn't answer at once because at that moment he had impulsively
glanced to the south-west. And there in the distant sky he picked
out more Jap planes racing up to join the other two enemy forces. He
studied them for a moment longer, and then turned front, eyes hard and
lips pressed into a thin grim line.
"We not only can," he grated presently, "but we're _going_ to, if this
thing'll just hold together. They figure to pull the old three-way
squeeze on us, but the bums have got another think coming. Hang onto
your hat, Freddy! This air buggy is going to go places, but fast!"
And then began a sky race against overwhelming odds. With the heel of
one palm jammed hard against the already wide open throttle, Dawson
hunched forward and kept his eyes glued on the clouds ahead. To reach
them he had to sacrifice precious speed by gaining altitude. But there
wasn't anything else he could do about it. To out-race the Japs cutting
down from the north was just plain out of the question. If they didn't
pile down into him eventually, the Japs coming up from the south-west
would. So his only hope lay in reaching the safety of the clouds ahead,
in gaining altitude, and slicing into those clouds before any of the
enemy planes could get within range.
It was nip and tuck every foot of the way. And when the most optimistic
of the Jap pilots opened up with long range fire, every crack of
their guns was like a tiny little knife of frozen ice jabbing into
Dawson's heart. Not once, though, did he take time out to glance at
the diminishing distance between the planes. He kept every bit of his
attention riveted on his own aircraft. When the Japs got too close, the
yammer of Freddy Farmer's rear guns would tell him that it was time to
forget the race, and concentrate on fighting for their lives.
However, Freddy Farmer's rear guns did not speak once as Dawson sent
the MK-Eleven ripping through the air high above the South China Sea.
And then, when it seemed that at least ten years of his life had
come and gone, the plane reached the first of the clouds and went
prop-clawing into them, and out of sight.
"Cheers for you, old thing!" Freddy Farmer cried as the fleecy
whiteness closed in all about them. "We made it, for fair!"
"But only just!" Dawson called back to him. "And don't thank me. Thank
this Nip sky wagon. Okay, start navigating, pal. We stick right to our
original course. Ten to one they'll think we'll try to fool them by
doubling back. Kunming! Here we come!"
As Dave yelled the last there was a smile on his lips, and the warmth
of great happiness in his heart. The end of their journey halfway
around the world was almost in sight now. All that was left was the
small matter of sitting down at Kunming without getting shot down
for a surprise raiding Jap plane, gassing up there, and racing on to
Chungking. At Kunming he'd have word flashed ahead that they'd be
arriving in a Jap plane. Or perhaps it would be better to borrow a
Flying Tiger ship at Kunming and not run the risk of being taken for a
Jap. However, that was a minor point. Just one more landing, and then
Chungking next stop!
"And it won't make me mad to get a little rest from barging about the
sky!" he grunted with a nod. "Yeah! It will be all to the merry to feel
how it is to walk on the ground for a spell, and not crawl on hands and
knees, or wiggle around like some darn snake. Nope, I won't mind it a
bit."
And with those and other very pleasant thoughts rippling through his
brain, he sent the MK-Eleven charging dead ahead on course through
the clouds. Every so often they came to a hole in the stuff, and
they could look down through and see patches of Japanese-occupied
Indo-China. And on a couple of those occasions Freddy Farmer was able
to accurately determine their position from land marks below. And each
time it was proved that they were right smack on course.
Two, three, four hours dragged by, and then suddenly the Mitsubishi
MK-Eleven ripped out into clear blue air just as suddenly as it had
gone ripping into the clouds. The instant they were out in the clear
both Dawson and Freddy Farmer made a swift study of the rugged and most
uninviting terrain below. However, its ugliness did not beat down the
great satisfaction that swelled up in them. They were dead on course
still. Some fifty miles ahead was the China border, and about as many
miles to the left was the point where the borders of China, Indo-China,
and Burma met. A little under an hour, now, and Kunming would be under
their wings.
Yes, it was a very wonderful and soul-satisfying realization, but it
lasted just about long enough for them to stop looking at the terrain
below and make a searching sweep with their eyes of the surrounding
sky. It was then that the gods of war screamed with laughter and
the heart-stopping truth was revealed. In short, there was a swarm
of Jap planes to their right, another one to their left, and a third
one directly behind. True, all of the enemy aircraft were well out
of range, but it took only a flash study of their angle of approach
to realize that the enemy pilots would reach the China border long
before they did. Reach it and form a winged barrier of flame and
death-spitting aerial machine guns and cannon.
"Blast them!" Freddy Farmer's voice thundered in Dawson's ears. "Go
right through the blighters, Dave! We've got to. It's the only thing
we can do. Blast through them, Dave, and I'll keep the beggars at a
distance!"
Dawson heard the words, but he paid little attention to them. He was
studying the Jap planes closing in from three sides, and with heavy
heart he realized that these planes were new. That is, they were
not the ones that had taken up the chase originally. And that fact
confirmed what he already believed to be the truth. The Jap forces
in the Far Eastern theatre of war had practically gone nuts with the
radio, and summoned every Jap plane over an area of thousands of square
miles to hunt down the thieves of a single Jap MK-Eleven. But its
meaning held more than just that for Dawson. It seemed almost insane
to credit it as truth, but facts pointed to the obvious: that the
Japs here, halfway around the world from London, knew who Freddy and
he were, knew the object of their mission, and knew where they were
headed. Yes, it seemed incredible and utterly fantastic. But hadn't
that little adventure with one _Herr_ Miller in the middle of the North
Atlantic seemed equally so? And that close brush with death when they
had been ambushed on the way to Hickam Field with General Stickney?
It just went to prove for the umpty-umph millionth time that anything
can happen in war. And that the smart soldier should expect it, and be
ready.
Perhaps it took all of three seconds for those and other thoughts to
whip through Dawson's brain. And then in the fourth second he saw
something that made a decision for him. That "something" was a small
group of dots at a point in the air right smack over the Burma border.
They were several miles away, but Dawson's eyes were sharp enough to
pick them out for what they truly were, and an unconscious shout of joy
spilled from his lips.
"Lifesavers, Freddy!" he howled back at the English youth. "Over there!
See? That's a patrol of Flying Tigers! Those are shark's head-painted
Curtiss P-Forties, or I'll eat my shirt. Take a deep breath, Freddy!
Everything is going to be okay!"
"Yes, I see them!" the English youth shouted back. "But _they_ don't
know who _we_ are, you know. Head for them and they'll blow us to bits
before we can even flash them a sign. Good grief! What are you doing
now?"
The last was because Dawson had deliberately hurtled the MK-Eleven
around toward the south and was tearing full out straight for the
nearest of the Jap planes roaring up from that direction.
"Our best bet!" he yelled at Freddy. "Get set with those rear guns.
We'll give those Flying Tiger boys a sign that'll leave no doubts that
we're not Japs. We smack one of them down, Freddy. Make it two. That'll
tell the Flying Tiger boys as plain as writing them a letter. Okay,
pal! Make it perfect as I tear in and out. Here we go!"
To any unsuspecting observer, that lone MK-Eleven racing straight
toward a swarm of Jap Zeros must have looked like a sheer suicide
maneuver. At least, it must have looked that way to the Zero pilots
who knew who was in that MK-Eleven. At any rate, the suddenness of the
mad attack threw the slow thinking Japs off balance for a few split
seconds. And for two sky warriors such as Dave Dawson and Freddy Farmer
a few split seconds is sometimes as good as a whole lifetime. And that
was so in this particular case.
While the brains of those slant-eyed sons of the Rising Sun groped for
the true meaning of this unexpected maneuver, Dawson cut the MK-Eleven
in at the leader at rocket speed. In the last second allowed he feinted
as though to bank around and retreat. And that little act was curtains
for the already befuddled brain in the leading Zero's cockpit. Its
pilot started to pull over, but Dawson cut right back in again and
jabbed the trigger button on his stick. The savage bursts from his guns
caught the Zero broadside, and the Jap probably never even knew that
he was dying for his so-called Heaven-born Emperor. At least he didn't
know it until he was dead, and was falling earthward in a ball of
raging flame.
Nor did a second Jap Zero pilot who happened to "get in the way" of
Freddy Farmer's rear guns. The only difference was that he didn't go
earthward in a ball of flame. Freddy's first burst caught his fuel
tank. There was a sheet of mounting flame, and great belching gobs of
black-smudged white smoke. And then there was just a shower of pieces
going downward.
The time it took for all that to happen was perhaps no longer than
the time it would take you to blink one eye. In fact, almost before
both planes started down out of the war, Dawson had sheered off at
lightning bolt speed, leaving the rest of the Japs still brain-groping
and automatically fanning their guns at thin air. As a matter of fact,
practically all of them had unconsciously swerved off in the opposite
direction, and so when Dawson finally straightened out they were no
longer to the south of him. They were behind, and well out of range.
And six Curtiss P-Forties with their shark-painted noses were less than
a mile dead ahead.
"Start waving, just to make sure, Freddy!" Dawson roared, as he booted
the MK-Eleven toward those gallant American eagles who had come
thousands of miles to fight and to die for China's great and worthy
cause. "Stand up, and start waving. They might think it was just some
dizzy Jap trick."
"Not a chance, I fancy!" the English-born air ace shouted back. "Those
Jap yellow beggars have seen _them_! Take a look for yourself!"
Dawson gulped, "Huh?" as he jerked around in the seat. But that's all
he said, because in the next second he was bursting with laughter.
He was, for the very funny fact that every Jap-flown plane in the
surrounding skies had about-faced and was making tracks for any place
that would be far away from those dead-aim pilots who flew those
terror ships of the Chinese Air Force. At least a hundred Jap pilots
were streaking for safety from six hard-eyed, steel trigger-fingered
knights of the air. Just one more proof that though Jap pilots fly in
bunches, they know they will die the same way if they make the mistake
of getting too close to the guns of the Flying Tigers!
"Boy, oh boy! Look at them scoot, will you!" Dawson chuckled. "Praise
be to Allah for the Flying Tigers. It's just about all over but the
shouting, Freddy. Better start brushing up on your Chinese, pal, if you
know any!"
The English-born air ace laughed at that remark. But so did the gods of
war up in their unseen high places. Not, however, for the same reason.
They laughed because they knew that Death was only taking a breathing
spell; that Death would return again, and soon, to claim its victims!