“Don’t make any difference to me, Bride!” I came back. “The field is
tricky.”
He looked surprised. I got my pills and went away. An orderly came up
along the deadline and told me that the C. O. wanted me over at the
headquarters shack. When I got there Billy Grace and Bert Allen were
ahead of me. Prop came in right behind. We went into the C. O.’s office
and he grinned up at us.
“Know you men will be glad to hear the news,” he said slowly and in a
peculiar tone. “Colonel Greene is flying over from Panay to see what
we’ve got here. The natives are starting some little fracas down there,
and he thinks we may have to send down some more ships. So we’ll
maneuver a bit for him—at four. All ships up, and all pilots.
“Lieutenant Allen, you take the first flight. Lieutenant Owens will take
the second. Mac, you handle the scouts. Work out something pretty nice.
By the way, Lieutenant Bride will go up, too. Let’s see—” the C. O.
hesitated, then went on—“he’d better ride with you, Bert.”
Prop coughed. I sucked in my breath sharply. The major’s eyes were
narrowed; they seemed to be looking at nothing in particular. The C. O.,
I decided, was wise to something.
“Lieutenant Bride just nosed over, Major,” I said slowly. “He got a
goggle cut.”
The C. O. nodded.
“Saw him crack up,” he stated grimly. “He won’t have much to do, riding
in the rear cockpit of the Marlin.”
Prop uttered a low explanation. Bert Allen stiffened. The C. O. smiled
cheerfully.
“That’s all, men!” he said. “The adjutant will give you any other
details I may decide upon. Four o’clock sharp.”
We piled out of the office. Bert Allen’s face was set grimly. Prop
whistled a few bars off key. I groaned. Billy Grace passed the pills
around and we lighted up. Just two on a match, we were careful about
that.
“Well,” Billy spoke slowly, “he’s been up twice and there’s been two
crashes. You know how these things go.”
“Bunk!” I muttered, but I wasn’t at all sure that it was bunk.
It’s funny, but crashes around an air field do go in threes. Not all the
time, of course, but enough of the time to make you sit back and think.
Prop had started whistling again, and Bert turned on him suddenly.
“For heaven’s sake, cut that out!” he snapped. “It’s hot enough and bad
enough without—”
He turned away abruptly. Prop stopped whistling, looked at me. Nerves.
Bert was in just the wrong sort of humor to get up above and fly the
Marlin. She was a tough ship, anyway, a two-place biplane with too much
engine. She landed fast and handled sluggishly. But she was the best
bomber we had in the Islands. And Colonel Greene liked plenty of action
in the air. When you put on a show for the Island chief of the Air
Service, you put on a good one—nothing half way.
Bert Allen had stridden off without saying another word.
* * * * *
We walked back to the barracks together, Prop and I. We didn’t talk
much. Bert Allen came over to my coop just as I was getting set for a
short nap. Island heat makes the midday siesta almost necessary.
“Mac,” he said abruptly, “you think I tackled the Jinx and sent him to
the hospital, don’t you?”
That gave me a jolt, but I managed to nod my head. I thought of the
button that Prop had picked up. That made me pretty sure of it.
“I didn’t,” Bert said slowly. “Intended to go after him, but I got there
too late. There was a scrap on and I butted in. Bride went down and out
as I mixed it, and the funny part of it is—I was trying to help him!”