“Come through, big boy!” I muttered. “What’s Bert got against Jinx
Bride? Why did he tackle him that night?”
Prop jerked his helmet down over the top of his head. He looked at me
blankly.
“I don’t get you, Mac,” he stated cheerfully. “Did I seem to give you
the idea that Bert has anything against—”
“Bunk!” I interrupted. “Say, they’re putting out a ground strip for Bert
now!”
Sure enough, they were putting out the come down signal with a couple of
strips of white cloth. Bert was banking the two-place Douglas around,
gliding for the field already. I looked at Prop Owens.
“Why not come through?” I asked. “You’ve told me plenty, why not the
rest of it?”
Prop shook his head.
“You don’t want to get mixed up in this deal, Mac,” he stated. “If I
think you can do any good I’ll let you all the way in. Otherwise, you
stay dumb, see? Then, if there’s an accident—”
He broke off, watching the Douglas hit tailskid and rubber in a sweet
landing. I grunted, as he gave no evidence of finishing. I was getting a
little sore, so I decided to try and scare him.
“All right, Prop, but get this. If anything funny happens to Jinx Bride,
and you don’t come all the way through, I’ll have something to say; not
that I’m crazy about the Jinx, but I’d kind of like to see him get a
square deal.”
Prop smiled grimly. Bert was taxing the ship toward the deadline to a
spot about a hundred feet from where we stood.
“Noble, Mac,” he stated slowly. “And suppose something happens to Bert?”
* * * * *
I stared at Prop. He swore softly and walked down the deadline toward
the Douglas. I followed. So that was what was bothering Prop. He knew
that Bride was a good hater; and the fact that the Jinx had let the
C. O. and the others think a native had run amuck was worrying Prop.
The red-headed Major Duncan was grinning at Bert Allen as he climbed
down from the front cockpit of the Douglas. Beside him stood Lieutenant
Bride, polishing a pair of goggles with a handkerchief. Bert walked up
to the group as Prop and I came up.
“You’ve met Lieutenant Bride, Bert?” The C. O.’s voice was questioning.
“Didn’t see you at mess last night, when Bride came over from Manila.”
Bert’s blue-gray eyes met Bride’s. He shook his head slowly.
“I’ve heard of Lieutenant Bride, Major,” he said slowly.
I looked at the Jinx. He was smiling, too, but it was a nasty,
tight-lipped smile. He nodded his head.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, “I cracked up a ship once—and it got around.”
Some one chuckled. The C. O. frowned. His eyes went up toward the sky.
He didn’t make any attempt to go through with a formal introduction.
When he spoke his voice was Army toned, crisp and to the point.
“Take Lieutenant Bride up with you, Allen,” he ordered. “Show him how
things lay around here and give him a line on the Pasig bumps. Feel up
to it, Lieutenant?”
His eyes were on those of the Jinx. That officer nodded and jerked his
helmet over his head. Without a word he turned away, climbed into the
rear cockpit of the Douglas. The C. O. spoke to Bert.
“If he asks, let him handle the ship, Bert. She’s rigged dual control,
isn’t she?”
Bert nodded. In the rear cockpit the Jinx was patting his Irving seat
pack ’chute, before sitting on it. The C. O. nodded to all of us and
strolled along down the deadline. Bert looked at Prop.
“Meant to tell you a few weeks ago, Prop,” he said in a tone that was
meant to be casual but wasn’t, “I’ve got a couple of letters in that
steamer trunk of mine. Top tray. All addressed and stamped. If it
wouldn’t be too much trouble—”
“Get up above!” Prop cut in gruffly. “The heat’s bothering you.”
Bert turned away and climbed into the front cockpit. He handed back a
phone set to Bride. The exhausts roared and the plane rolled out from
the deadline. She’d been tested out, of course, before Bert had taken
off the first time.
I groaned as the plane climbed up into the sky. Bert had meant to tell
Prop about a couple of letters a few weeks ago. Yes he had! Two good
haters sky riding in the same plane—that’s what had made Bert remember
the letters.
Prop was wiping his forehead with the biggest handkerchief he had been
able to pick up on the Escolta. I took a deep breath of the air. At
least, at the field, it didn’t reek with Filipino and Chink odors. It
was bad enough, anyway. I watched the Douglas climb up into the sky. She
was a neat job, nicely engined and well balanced. A cinch to fly.
“Well, I’ve got a sky date with that Duval scout,” Prop announced. “See
you in—”
He broke off. We both tilted our heads. The exhaust roar of the Douglas
had suddenly broken in tone. It wasn’t smooth; the engine was skipping!
I swore grimly. One of the ground crewmen shouted hoarsely to another.
The engine roared again as Bert leveled her off; then the beat died.
Bert had her up about three thousand. He nosed her down now; she banked
slightly, tilted a wing to the clouds, a wing to the earth. We were all
watching.
Then we saw it—a streak of red from the engine streaming back toward the
front cockpit! A bright tongue of flame! The Douglas was burning in the
air, burning as she banked over and tried to get into a dive angle and
hit the field!
I heard Prop swearing slowly and fiercely beside me. Jake Collins’ voice
reached me in a hoarse whisper.
“The Jinx is getting clear!”
Even as he whispered the words, Bride got clear. For seconds his figure
traced a black line down toward the earth. Then the pilot ’chute opened,
jerking out the greater spread of silk. My eyes left his drifting
figure, went to the diving plane.
Red flame was streaking back over the engine cowling, twisting toward
the front cockpit. Black smoke trailed through the wing struts; the
diving ship made a trail toward earth and the field.
“Jump!” I muttered fiercely. “Why in hell doesn’t Bert—”
I stopped muttering. The Douglas was falling out of her dive, falling
off on a wing. And Bert Allen was clear of the plane, at less than a
thousand feet from the earth!
For a second I closed my eyes. When I opened them they picked up a
streak of brown, closer to earth than I ever want to see such a streak
again—with the ’chute unopened. As I stared the pilot ’chute snapped
out. Then the bigger spread crackled; we could hear it on the Field. And
then, as the downward speed of Bert’s body was checked, there sounded
the _boom-crash_ of the Douglas.
I sighed heavily. Prop reached for a pill. Somewhere near there sounded
a nervous laugh. The ambulance clattered out from the deadline, headed
toward the corner of the field into which the wind was drifting the
’chutes.
* * * * *
“What do you say, Lieutenant Owens?” The C. O.’s voice, from behind me
and addressing Prop, startled me. Prop faced the major. His face was
pretty white.
“Busted feed line, sir—that’s my guess. Gas or oil, and when it hit the
hot engine or struck an exhaust—”
Prop shrugged his shoulders. The C. O. nodded his head slowly. The
Douglas, far out on the field, was burning. The Jinx’s ’chute had let
him down at the usual seventeen feet a second rate, but Bert Allen
struck several hundred yards away, at almost the same second. There
wasn’t much wind; the chances were the drag wouldn’t hurt either of
them.
The ambulance had headed for the section of the field on which
Lieutenant Bride had landed. A motorcycle sidecar streaked out toward
Bert Allen. The C. O. walked out a short distance from the deadline and
waited. It was a cinch that the ambulance driver would see him; and the
sidecar motorcycle driver, too. The fire crew was going out toward the
burning ship. Three or four of us eased up close to the C. O.
The ambulance got back first, and Jinx Bride climbed down from the front
seat. There was a faint smile on his face, but I noticed that his hands
shook as he lighted a pill.
“Nice work, Lieutenant!”
The C. O. spoke quietly, and Bert Allen, sliding out of the sidecar
seat, caught his words. He moved to the major’s side as the C. O. half
faced him, but his eyes were on those of Eddie Bride.
“Nice work, hell!” he snapped. “You could have saved that ship, Bride!”
The Jinx stiffened. His brown eyes narrowed. He jerked his helmet and
goggles off his head and ran a hand through his reddish-brown hair. His
voice was grim.
“Think so, Allen? Why didn’t you save her, then?”
Bert Allen laughed harshly. I noticed for the first time that his khaki
shirt was scorched; there were red streaks on his face.
“She was dual control, Bride!” he snapped. “The red stuff wouldn’t have
reached you—it got me. You could have saved her. It was just a case of—”
He stopped, raised a hand to his burned face. Doc Kennerly caught him by
the arm.
“Of what?” Bride’s tone was like ice and knife edged, too.
Kennerly stepped in front of Bert, but he shoved the doctor aside. He
took a step toward the Jinx; his eyes narrowed on the other man’s.
“Of guts!” he gritted. “Jinx? A hell of a jinx you are! That’s the
bunk—always has been! Just two things the matter with you!”
Then Prop and Doc got him turned around and headed in the other
direction. I watched Lieutenant Bride. He stared after Bert Allen, his
body tense. Then suddenly he relaxed. He shrugged his shoulders. The
C. O. was moving toward the sidecar of the motorcycle. A second later he
was driven across the field toward the burning plane.
Lieutenant Bride turned toward me. I felt at the moment that Bert was
right. The ship had been dual control; it looked to me as if Bride could
have brought her down. I guess my eyes showed the way I felt. The Jinx
stared at me for several seconds, then laughed harshly.
“I’m in soft at this field, eh? Slugged from behind the night I get off
the ship; expected to set down burning ships—”
He moved off toward the barracks. Doc Kennerly was leading Bert toward
the field hospital, and Prop Owens came toward me.
“First crackup in a month!” he muttered. “And the first trip Bride’s
made up above in the same time. Jinx—I’ll say he is!”