anything like that, from the pilots. Each man simply nodded gravely and
then went up to the table to collect his sealed orders. Dave got the
envelope for Freddy and himself, and without stopping to open it the
pair hurried top-side to where their aircraft was waiting with prop
already ticking over. Settling themselves in the aircraft, they took out
their orders and read them over carefully. The course they were to fly
extended out over the water for some three hundred and fifty miles in a
dead northwest direction. They were to keep at an altitude of eight
thousand feet, unless clouds or storms interfered, and their code call
was to be Tiger, just as it had been yesterday.
"Okay, Mister Navigator," Dave said, and passed the course chart over to
Freddy. "You keep track of our position, pal. And don't bother to
explain if you get us lost. Just jump over the side and leave your
parachute behind, see?"
"Oh, really?" the English youth growled. "Well, don't worry about me, my
good man. I'll take care of my end, thank you. Just concentrate on
keeping us _in_ the air. Matter of fact, I think it's rather silly of me
to take you along. Perhaps I should speak of that to Colonel Welsh,
right now."
"Do, sweetheart, by all means!" Dawson snarled, and pointed a finger
toward the sky. "I'll be up there waiting for you when you get back!"
Freddy started to say something in return but checked himself as he
caught sight of the signal officer pointing his flag.
"Get going, Dave," he said, and winked. "Off we go, and luck to both of
us, old thing."
"Right on the old beam, pal," Dawson replied, and turned front. "You,
me, and this baby with wings. Maybe we'll all be heroes of the task
force, come sundown."
"You be the hero," Freddy laughed at him. "All _I_ want to be is
_lucky_, and to find the Jap force!"
"And you've really got something there, kid!" Dawson agreed instantly,
and then gave his attention to the flag pointing signal officer on the
flight bridge.
Just three minutes and twenty seconds later Dawson took the Dauntless
off the flight deck and nosed it up toward the early morning sky. He
kept on going up until the altimeter said eight thousand feet. There he
leveled off, set his course according to the instructions Freddy Farmer
gave him, took a last look down at the Carson that was launching her
planes at the rate of one every fifteen seconds, and then turned front
and settled himself comfortably in the seat. Minutes later the task
force was out of sight far behind and Freddy and he were alone in a
world of dawn light and limitless expanse of ocean below.
CHAPTER NINE
_Fate Is Fickle_
"How you doing, Freddy? Having fun, huh?"
As he asked the questions Dawson twisted around in the seat and grinned.
They were close to the end of their patrol "beat." Soon they would turn
around and retrace their air tracks to the carrier Carson.
"Me?" the English youth echoed with a forced smile supposed to indicate
mock happiness. "Why, I never had so much fun in my life. Such wonderful
sun-filled air. And isn't all that water down there just beautiful? I
could just sit here and look at it all day--I don't think! Man! I wish
we could get a look at something. Anything would be perfectly all right
with me."
"And how!" Dave breathed, and pushed up his goggles. "Boy! Am I sick of
looking at water. When we took off I was all hopped up and bubbling over
with expectations. But no more now. Nothing can take the starch out of
you like looking for something, and not finding it. So I guess this
isn't our day, pal. At least not this patrol. If there's any Jap force
around these parts, it's down there under water, and I can't see it."
"Quite!" Freddy grunted, and then gave a little harsh laugh. "But, after
all, why should we expect fate to play into our hands? We're just two of
many working on the job. It's quite possible that the blasted Jap force
has already been spotted by one of the other chaps, and our force isn't
going to further risk revealing its position by recalling us. Maybe--"
"Here, here, put on the brakes, pal!" Dawson laughed, and nodded his
head at the radio. "If and when that Jap force is sighted we'll all be
recalled and pronto. We'll be needed in the scrap, and how!"
"Yes, of course, you're right," Freddy said with a slightly sheepish
grin. "Still--"
The English youth cut himself off short, stiffened slightly, and blinked
toward the east.
"What's the matter, kid?" Dave asked, and turned his own head that way.
"Don't tell me you see something?"
"I'm not sure; I can't say," Freddy replied, and continued to stare
hard. "Thought I saw a flash of something out there a way. Like sun on
the wings of a plane. Or maybe it was just the sun on a wave."
"Probably," Dave grunted, and strained his own eyes. "But maybe the team
to our right has gotten off course and swung closer to us. You--"
"There it is again!" Freddy broke in excitedly, and pointed. "Right out
there. And it is a plane, though I can't tell what kind."
Dawson hesitated for a split second, and then as he, too, caught sight
of sunlight flashing off the wings of a moving plane he made up his
mind, and banked the plane around.
"Maybe we'd better take a look, just in case, Freddy," he said. "Maybe
it's one of ours way off course. And then again, maybe it isn't. So
we'll go look-see."
Freddy Farmer simply nodded, and made no comment as Dawson brought the
Dauntless all the way around, and gave the Cyclone in the nose full
throttle. And during the next couple of minutes neither of them spoke.
Both were too busy trying to keep the distant plane in sight. It was
more or less between them and the sun climbing up toward the zenith,
and for that reason they kept losing sight of the other plane in the
sun's brilliance.
They quickly picked it out again, and presently they were close enough
to get a good look.
"Hey, what do you know!" Dave cried in astonishment. "That's not one of
ours, but whose is it? I sure never saw a job like that before. Did you
ever, Freddy?"
The English youth shook his head and frowned at the other plane. It was
a double pontooned seaplane with short, stubby-tipped bi-plane wings. It
was painted a light, light gray, but carried no markings or insignia of
any sort.
"No, I never have," Freddy Farmer finally replied to Dave's question.
"Rather a queer-looking thing, isn't it? A two-place aircraft, too. And
what in the world is it doing way out here, I'd like to know? A thing
that small certainly can't carry much gas!"
"Just what I'm thinking, too!" Dawson grunted, and took his eyes off the
other plane to sweep the surrounding waters carefully. "I'd bet it isn't
a land-based job. Must be from some surface ship. And, doggone it, don't
they see us coming over? Why don't they give some sign whether they're
foe or friend? Maybe I should let them have a burst to wake them up!"
"Not a bad idea, Dave; go ahead," Freddy said. "They--no, wait a bit!
They've spotted us, and are coming over. See?"
Freddy's exclamation was a waste of breath as far as Dawson was
concerned. He had already seen the seaplane bank around toward them and
came prop clawing across the sky. For some unknown reason, which he
didn't bother to fathom at that moment, the old familiar warning of
impending danger rippled across the back of his neck. And he impulsively
slid the guard off the electric firing button of his forward guns, and
got set to catch the oncoming seaplane in his sights at an instant's
alarm.
There seemed no need to be on the alert for danger, however. The figure
in the rear pit of the strange-looking seaplane stood up in the
slip-stream and waved both hands in greeting. Because of the helmet and
goggles the figure was wearing neither Dave nor Freddy could get a look
at his face. And a flying jacket covered up whatever kind of uniform he
was wearing. In short, the waving figure could well have been a
daredevil ace from Timbuktu as far as Dave Dawson and Freddy Farmer were
concerned.
"Who the heck are you?" Dave shouted just to let off steam. "Friend or
foe? And where in the world did you dig up that crate, anyway?"
Of course the thunder of the Dauntless' Cyclone drowned out Dave's
words, but a split second later it was almost as though the two unknowns
in the other plane had heard and understood. This time the figure in the
pilot's pit stood up, and waved. Then he stopped waving and pointed past
the Dauntless. Dawson frowned, then instinctively twisted around in the
pit to stare back. He saw Freddy start to twist around, and then
violently check himself as wild alarm lighted up his face.
"Dave! Look out! The blasted beggars are--!"
And that's all Dawson heard of Freddy Farmer's screaming voice, for the
rest was drowned out by the savage yammer of aerial machine guns. He
jerked front just in time to see the seaplane boring straight in at him
from the left. It was headed dead for the nose of the Dauntless, and in
the infinitesimal period of frozen astonishment Dawson saw the bullets
from the guns of the other plane hammer and chew their way through the
Cyclone's cowling. And then before he could move the control stick, or
jump on a rudder pedal, the seaplane had flashed by him, and his Cyclone
was starting to cough raspingly and spew black smoke out of its
exhaust.
"Why, you dirty, low down rat!" Dave roared, and dropped the nose of the
Dauntless. "You--you double-crossing, cheating bum! I'll teach you to
pull a dirty one like that! Come back here and take--!"
But Dawson was simply exploding words, and he ended them with a bitter
groan, as more smoke poured back from the bullet-damaged engine, and the
power plant quit altogether. He and Freddy had been tricked as neatly as
could be. There was no doubt, now, as to whether the occupants of the
strange-looking seaplane were friend or foe. They were Jap rats, and
true to their rotten race they had struck their blow under false colors.
And a blow they had struck, too! No doubt about that, either. Their well
placed bullets had finished the Wright Cyclone, and the Dauntless was
nosing down toward the waters of the Southwest Pacific below. And the
danger wasn't passed, either. With a dead engine the plane was just a
gliding target for those two Japs in the seaplane. They had only to
sneak up under and out of reach of Freddy Farmer's rear pit guns, and
drill the scout-bomber like a setting hen on a fence.
And as thoughts crashed through his brain Dawson twisted around quickly
to be ready to do what little he could when the seaplane came winging
back. Freddy Farmer had swung his guns around, and was waiting to catch
the seaplane in his sights if he got the chance. Not a word had he
spoken since his cry of alarm to Dave, but the look of raging anger on
his flushed face indicated that he was _thinking_ plenty.
Dave caught that look in one flashing glance and then whipped his gaze
out across the air space to where the strange-looking seaplane was
circling about slowly just out of range of Freddy's guns.
"What the heck?" Dave gasped impulsively, and scowled. "What's wrong
with those rats? Afraid to come in for the kill? Holy smokes! They've
got us cold, darn their rotten hides."
"That's what I'm wondering, too," Freddy Farmer said in a tight voice as
he spoke for the first time since the sudden attack. "They're either
afraid, or else they _aren't_ Japs!"
"Huh?" Dawson gulped. "What do you mean by that, Freddy?"
"Just crippling a chap's engine wouldn't suit Japs," the English youth
replied. "They have to slaughter, too. That's half the enjoyment for
them, blast their black hearts. So they must be afraid that I'll pick
them off, if they come in closer. Or maybe they're hoping we'll bail
out. _Then_ it would be more fun for them!"
"Yeah!" Dawson grunted, and took a quick look down at the surface of the
water now less than two thousand feet below the wings of the helpless
Dauntless. "Yeah! Or maybe they want to play target practice after we
land in the water. Maybe that would be even more fun for the dirty
killers. Gosh, I'm sorry, Freddy. I'm a sap, a dope, and I should be--"
"Don't be silly!" young Farmer snapped at him. "Cut it out, Dave! We're
both equally at fault for letting them slip in on us, and falling for
that fake pointing business. But, good grief! What else would anybody
have done in our shoes? Nothing. At least nothing, and have been human.
Man! If only they'd come in just a little closer. I'd give them
something they'd not forget, the dirty blighters!"
But Freddy was simply "shooting the breeze" to let off steam, too. The
Japs were sticking to their distance, and even if they suddenly should
come ripping in it was questionable whether Freddy would be able to stop
them from cutting the helpless Dauntless to pieces, to say nothing of
bullet riddling its two occupants.
However, the strange-looking seaplane did stay well clear, and a couple
of moments later Dave stall-landed the dead engined plane in the water.
As soon as the plane stopped mushing forward and began to settle slowly
by the nose, Dawson unsnapped his safety harness, twisted the little
valve knob that automatically inflated his "Mae West," and then gave
Freddy Farmer a hand in getting the collapsible rubber life raft over
the side. Into it they tossed the few things they could take with them
and then climbed in and shoved off from the sinking plane.
Neither of them spoke. Both were thinking the same thing, and didn't
wish to alarm the other by speaking of it. In short, both were thinking
of the strange-looking seaplane now circling about above them, and
waiting for it to come gun spitting down in its power dive of death. But
finally Dawson broke the silence as he stared up at the circling plane.
"All right, killers!" he got out hoarsely. "The stage is all set. Here
we are. Just a couple of clay pigeons named Joe. Come on down and do
your dirty work. We've got a few million pals who'll even it up for us
some day. So come on down, darn you! We can take it, see? You're darn
right we can!"
"Easy, Dave, old man!" Freddy soothed, and placed a hand on Dawson's
knee. "It isn't going to help any to rave at the beggars."
"Who says it isn't?" Dave rasped, and kept his gaze fixed on the
circling plane. "It makes me feel better, anyway. Oh, don't worry, kid.
I'm not blowing my top, or going off the beam. I just figure it's
curtains, and, by gosh, I've got a few things I want to get off my
chest. I hate those rotten--Well, for the love of Mike, maybe I am going
nuts, and seeing things! Do you see what I see, Freddy? Or am I just
looking at a sky mirage? _That doggone plane is flying away!_"
And that was the truth! The strange-looking seaplane had circled down to
some five hundred feet above the floating life raft, and then suddenly
flattened out and was now making tracks toward the northeast.
"No, it's no mirage, Dave," Freddy said in an awed voice. "The blighters
are certainly leaving us. But why, I wonder? Dave! Maybe they've sighted
one of our planes, or one of our ships, or something!"
Dawson didn't make any reply. Wild hope choked up in his throat, and he
eagerly searched both sky and water. However, that's all he saw. Just
sky and water, save for the seaplane that was fast becoming a
disappearing dot in the northeast. Freddy helped him look, and for ten
minutes neither of them spoke. Then Dave groaned and gave a little shake
of his head.
"Well, if it was a ship or a plane, it's gone now," he grunted. "So it
looks like we'll have to keep each other company for a spell longer,
pal."
"Oh, yes, quite," Freddy Farmer murmured, and nodded absently. "A
blasted funny business this, though. I still can't make up my mind if
those seaplane beggars _were_ Japs. Why did they just force us down, and
then let us alone? That's definitely not Jap style. And to say that that
seaplane was--But, man! That's impossible! Definitely!"
"What is?" Dave wanted to know.
"That it was one of our planes, and they shot us down by mistake,"
Freddy said. "But that couldn't be. Our markings were as plain as day
for anybody to see."
"Yeah," Dave said, and sighed. "But maybe we _look_ like Japs, and they
figured we'd swiped the Dauntless."
Freddy Farmer's comment on Dave's wisecrack was a pronounced snort. Then
both lapsed into brooding silence and stared more or less unseeingly out
across the limitless expanse of ocean.
CHAPTER TEN
_Steel Sharks_
The sun was a shimmering ball of brass that seemed to hang motionless in
the high heavens forever and ever. At least it seemed forever to Dawson
and Farmer, huddled down in the small rubber life raft that rose and
fell with maddening monotonous regularity under the urging of the long,
rolling swells of the Southwest Pacific. Brassy sun on high, all about
them, and even dancing up off the waters straight into their eyes.
"Oh, for a shack about six miles this side of the North Pole!" Dave
groaned, and licked his cracked lips. "What I wouldn't give for a spot
like that, right now!"
"Yes, quite," Freddy answered listlessly. "And, of course, during the
six months of night they have up there. You know, Dave, I--I say! Look!
Look, Dave! To starboard. Way out where the blasted sky meets the
blasted water! Do you see something?"
For a couple of moments Dawson refused to turn his head. It seemed as
though he had spent his entire life in this raft squinting hopefully at
imagined objects, only to be slapped in his burning, stinging face by
lost hope. For twenty-six heart-crushing long hours Freddy and he had
been floating about in the raft on the crest of the Southwest Pacific.
Twelve of those hours had been spent in the darkness of night, hoping,
hoping, hoping that dawn's light would bring them a sight of one of
their own planes, or one of the task force ships. Just to see something
besides sky, water, and darkness would have been something, even if it
hadn't meant rescue for them. But it had been only sky, water, and
darkness. Then sky, and water again, and a blast furnace sun that seemed
to pierce the top of their heads and burn their brains to a crisp.
But presently Dawson did turn his head, cup his hands to his tired eyes,
and peer in the direction Freddy Farmer was pointing. At first he saw
absolutely nothing. Then, suddenly, his heart leaped high in his chest.
There _was_ something way out there! Something on the surface of the
water, or just over it. He couldn't tell for sure. And he definitely
couldn't even guess at what it might be. The dazzling rays of the sun
dancing up off the surface of the water were like hot needle points that
drew blood in his eyes. But there was something way out there on the
horizon. Yes, definitely something, but did it mean life, or death?
That last question pounded around and around inside Dave's head as he
strained his eyes at the distant horizon.
"Do you see it, Dave?" Freddy Farmer's voice broke into his thoughts.
"Yeah, I see it, but what?" he replied. "A ship, a plane, or maybe just
some kind of a bird?"
"My guess is a submarine," Freddy said. Then, an instant later, he
exclaimed, "Yes, I'm sure of it! I can make out the conning tower. Good
grief! Dave! _It's a Nazi U-boat!_"
"Huh?" Dave gasped, and sat up so violently that he rocked the raft.
"You're nuts, Freddy. This is the Pacific, not the Atlantic!"
"That may be!" the English youth shot right back at him. "But that thing
out there is a Nazi U-boat, or I never saw one. See? It's coming toward
us now. It must have sighted us!"
"Nuts again!" Dave replied. "We'd only be a speck at that distance,
even in glasses. It just happens that it's heading our way."
Freddy shrugged and made a little gesture with one hand.
"Have it your own way, old thing," he said. "It's heading right for us
just the same. And if they haven't sighted us, they certainly will soon.
There! See, Dave? Men are climbing out of the conning tower hatch onto
the deck!"
"Yeah, I see," Dave replied gloomily. "Which means they must be pretty
sure they've got this neck of the woods all to themselves. I wonder just
how far we've drifted in twenty-six hours? I wonder where the Carson is?
And how the others made out? I--Oh, nuts! What good does it do to wonder
about anything right now? Heck! We couldn't change anything, anyway.
That confounded seaplane, and the rats in her! Boy! Does that burn me
up! I could kick myself all over this here Pacific Ocean!"
"Easy, old chap," Freddy said gently. "Don't let it get you down so,
Dave. Good grief! What else could you have done?"
"Plenty!" Dawson said with an angry nod of his head. "I could have kept
my eye on the ball, for one thing, and not let them get so close they
could cut in with a few snap bursts. But no! I had to fall like a ton of
brick for that moss-covered trick of getting a guy to look the other
way when you're about to slug him. So help me! I'll feel like a chump
for that if I live to be a million."
"Well, go ahead then!" Freddy said in exasperation. "But you're
definitely silly to feel as you do. Besides, what does it matter now?
There's a U-boat coming toward us, and they certainly see us, now."
Dave looked and saw the U-boat now less than a mile away.
"Too bad we didn't strip off one of your guns and take it with us,
Freddy," he said. "With a machine gun we could dust off quite a few of
those apes on the deck there. And--Hey! What gives now? That's a U-boat,
sure enough, Freddy. But those guys on deck aren't Jerries. They're
Japs, what I mean!"
"Yes, I know," the English youth replied. "Which proves the rumors that
I've heard: that Hitler has loaned some of his U-boats to the Japs, some
of his old ones."
"Well, that one's not old," Dave declared, and stared hard at the
approaching undersea craft. "That's a new one, or I'll eat my shirt.
That's a big baby, Freddy, very big. If it wasn't for the conning tower
you'd almost take it for a destroyer. No wonder we could spot it way
over on the horizon. And--Oh-oh! And _how_ they spot us! Look at the
rats!"
The last was caused by quick movements on the bow deck of the
approaching U-boat. A machine gun had been set up, and the man behind it
was training the gun on the floating raft. For a couple of seconds
Dave's heart came up to jam hard against his back teeth, as he half
expected to see fire spurt out from the muzzle of the machine gun, and
to feel the hot sting of bullets biting into his flesh.
The gun did not fire, however, and presently the U-boat was practically
on top of the raft. Dark blue garbed Japs seemed to be swarming all over
the place, and Dave's hatred for them mounted to white fury as he
watched them, agate-eyed. Then suddenly the head and shoulders of a
bull-necked officer of the Nazi Navy appeared up out of the conning
tower hatch. He put a small megaphone to his lips and bellowed the words
across the water.
"Make any effort to resist, and you will be killed where you are!" he
thundered. "Be sensible! We are taking you aboard. I warn you to keep
your hands in sight!"
The man spoke almost perfect English, and both boys blinked in surprise.
"Yes, I would, if I only had a machine gun!" Dave grated under his
breath. "Nothing I'd like better than to knock you and your little brown
pals kicking."
"Shut up, Dave!" Freddy ordered him: "Stop trying to play blasted
soldier. You know perfectly well you wouldn't shoot, even if you did
have a gun. You'd be too thankful for the chance to get out of this
raft, just as you are now. And you know it!"
"Okay, okay, let me up; I'm all cut!" Dave grunted at him. "Just the
same, pal, I never did care much for U-boat rides."
"Well, I'm afraid we have no choice in the matter, old thing," Freddy
sighed, and let the subject drop.
The U-boat was close to the bobbing raft now. And just as a matter of
precaution both Dave and Freddy made very sure that they kept their
hands in full view of all those aboard the undersea craft. The two Japs
behind the deck mounted machine gun leered at them over the bead sight,
and it was easy to see they wouldn't mind at all an order to pull the
trigger. No such order was given, however, and a couple of moments later
one of the Jap sailors caught hold of the raft with a boat hook, pulled
it close, and the two youths clambered up onto the wet deck of the
U-boat.