faintest note of relief in his voice. "I'm afraid we are wasting time
way up here. And I'm mighty sorry, sir, about Dawson and Farmer. I
sincerely hope that they will pop up again, just as you have told me
they have done so many times in the past. At least it's some
satisfaction to know that those two will take some beating before
they'll give up. And a pair like them will never give up."
"Never!" Colonel Welsh echoed grimly. "And we can both hope, and pray.
But may I ask you something, sir?"
"Why, certainly, Colonel," the other replied instantly. "I don't think
you and I have any secrets aboard this ship. Go right ahead and ask."
"Your plans," the Intelligence Chief asked bluntly. "Just what do you
plan to do now, sir?"
The Admiral didn't answer at once. Yet it was not because he was
reluctant to speak. It was simply a case of wanting to choose his words
first.
"The Solomons," he said, and glanced at the huge naval chart of the
Southwest Pacific that covered all of one wall in his quarters. "By
pushing things we can get within striking distance by early dawn. I
think that's the thing to do. The only thing we can do. Get right down
in there and do what we can to help the land forces."
"Yes, I guess that's best," Colonel Welsh said, and glanced sadly out
one of the ports at the red ball of fire that was the dying sun balanced
on the western lip of the wall. "But what if we get down in among those
islands and that Jap force comes up on us by surprise? You'll be in
mighty tight waters. And they're bound to send dive bombers over from
their Lae base, too."
"Do?" the task force commander echoed in a harsh voice, as his chin came
out in a fighting pose. "I'll slug it out with them until I haven't a
plane left or a deck under my feet, sir! And I can tell you, sir, that
my ships and planes will not be the _only_ ones lost, if the Japs catch
us with our bows to those islands. Our forces have _got_ to take
Guadalcanal! And that's all there is to that. We can't let them trim us
this time. By God, no, sir!"
Colonel Welsh smiled, nodded, and lifted his coffee cup and held it
poised in midair.
"To whatever happens, sir," he toasted. "And may we have all the best of
it!"
The task force commander lifted his own coffee cup, and nodded, too.
"And we will, by God, sir!" he said through clenched teeth. "Just as
long as we've got a ship floating or a plane flying! Amen!"
And the two high ranking officers drank silently.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
_Luck of the Doomed_
"And now, the sixty-four dollar question," Dave Dawson got out in a
bitter, puzzled voice. "What in thunder is the big idea? Go ahead and
answer, Freddy."
"I can't even make a guess," the English youth groaned, and turned from
staring out the empty cabin port. "All I can say is that I am absolutely
and completely baffled. I don't understand it at all. What the deuce
suddenly caused that Sasebo to have us herded back to this empty cabin
again? After the way you raved at him, if he had drawn his samurai sword
and chopped off your thick head, I could have understood. But to not so
much as bat an eye, and then obviously order that big chap to bring us
back here...? Well, it's quite beyond me. Quite!"
"You can say that again for me!" Dawson grunted. "But where do you get
that chopped off your thick head stuff, huh?"
"Definitely!" Freddy snapped, and gave him a withering glare. "In future
kindly remember that though you may wish to get killed on the spot,
because you rile up some blasted cut-throat, _I_ haven't the same desire
to die!"
Dawson grinned and let it grow into a chuckle.
"Boy!" he breathed. "I kind of told him a thing or six, didn't I, huh?
Oh, heck, Freddy, I'll admit it was taking a chance. But between you,
me, and the flight deck of this tub, I've got a hunch I put a little bee
in that guy's bonnet."
"I hope so, but I sincerely doubt it," Freddy Farmer said. "That bloke
is nobody's fool, even though he may look like one. However, I sincerely
hope you are right, Dave. You mean, about trying to make him believe
that Admiral Jackson's force is up north off the Japanese coast?"
"Yes, that's what I meant," Dave nodded. "And I think he swallowed the
bait, too. I'm almost willing to bet that before long he'll swing this
task force about and start high-balling back up north. And send out some
of his long range scout-bombers, too."
"But maybe he won't," Freddy Farmer argued. "So where does that leave
us? I'll tell you! Penned up in this blasted cabin while Jackson's force
is hunting for something that isn't there. And, good grief, Dave!
Tomorrow at dawn is the time for the Guadalcanal attack. If this force
goes sliding right on down by Jackson's position, there'll be the deuce
to pay. You'll remember what Colonel Welsh kept pounding home to us? If
he doesn't drive off this force, at least, the Tulagi and Guadalcanal
attacks may turn out terrible flops. And at a terrible price, too. Gosh!
Things are so blessed well mixed up I don't know what to think. Fact is,
I can't think of anything but that we're prisoners here on this
confounded vessel. If there were only some way we could escape and get
in touch with Admiral Jackson's force."
"Yeah, if only!" Dawson grated with a frown as he twisted one clenched
fist into the palm of his other hand. "I'd give my right arm, and maybe
a couple of legs, just for a fifty-fifty chance to get out of this jam.
And I've been thinking, too, Freddy."
"Thinking of what?" the English-born air ace demanded as Dawson lapsed
into sudden silence.
Dave stared at him for a moment as though he hadn't heard, so engrossed
was he with his own thoughts. Then suddenly he snapped his fingers and
nodded abruptly.
"About where we are, right now," he said. "And where Admiral Jackson's
force should be, if they've been carrying out the search according to
schedule. Freddy! If we could only get away in one of those Jap crates
up on the deck, I think I could find Jackson's force before the fuel
gave out. And, of course, if we failed first to raise the force on the
Jap radio in the plane. Freddy, pal! You and I are wasting precious
time, cooling our heels in this place. Remember what I said? If we don't
get a break, it's up to us to _make_ one. Well, it's up to us, and now,
Freddy!"
"Now that you've brought up the subject, I fancy that I could find our
force, too," the English youth replied with a nod. "It would be blasted
close, but I think I could find it if I _had_ to. But so what, Dave, old
thing? It all boils down to the same problem we've faced since that
two-faced blighter shot us down. How in the world are we going to
escape?"
"_Make_ the break, as I just said," Dawson came back quickly. Then,
looking steadily at his pal, he continued, "Make a break for both of us,
I hope. But maybe it'll turn out a break for only _one_ of us. Get what
I mean, son?"
"Yes, and go on," Freddy said quietly. "That doesn't worry me a bit.
I'm a very lucky chap, you know."
"Thanks, and it's been nice knowing you, you bum!" the Yank air ace said
with a grin. And then in a deadly serious tone he went on, "It might be
curtains for one of us, Freddy, though I hope and pray not. However, you
never can tell, you know."
Dawson ended the last with a faint hunch of his shoulders, and an
adequate gesture with both hands. Freddy Farmer looked at him for a
moment, and then snorted softly.
"All right, old chap, all right!" he finally got out. "What do I have to
do? Get down on my blasted hands and knees and beg? What in the world
are you driving at, anyway?"
"Just this, pal!" Dawson came right back at him, and stuck out his jaw.
"Both of us, or one of us, anyway, has got to grab one of the Jap crates
up on the flight deck, and scram. Now, hold everything a minute, and let
me finish. I know that we are locked up here, and no way to get out. So
we've got to make a way, such as this. We bang on that door, there, and
shout our heads off. Somebody is bound to come. We tell them we want to
make a deal with Suicide Sasebo. In short, if he guarantees that we'll
be taken to Japan as special prisoners of war, then we'll--"
"Definitely, no!" Freddy Farmer snapped. "I wouldn't give that blighter
the satisfaction of--"
"Clam up your yap, will you?" Dawson hurled at him. "For cat's sakes,
let me finish, dope! I'm simply telling you what we're going to say,
_not_ what we're going to _do_! So just keep your shirt on, mug, and let
me finish. Okay! We bang and thump on the door there. Some guy comes,
and we give him a song and dance about how we're willing to swap
military info for a square deal from Sasebo. It stands to reason that
the guy will either go tell Sasebo on the run, or take us there. Okay.
Remember that last trip?"
"What do you mean, do I remember that last trip?" the English-born air
ace asked.
Dawson groaned and made the motions with his hands of twisting an
invisible neck.
"What do I mean, he says!" Dave grated. "I mean this, pal. To go see
Sasebo we have to walk along the flight deck, and weave in and out among
all those planes, okay. Supposing we suddenly duck under a wing, leap
into a cockpit, and kick the engine into life, and--and away we go,
huh?"
"I'm with you all the way, old thing," Freddy Farmer said quietly. "Of
course you know that, what?"
Dave grinned, reached out a hand and slapped the English youth on the
back.
"My pal, always!" he said, and meant it. "Well, that's what I mean, kid.
Maybe we both wouldn't make it, but--doggone, it, Freddy! One of us has
just got to make it. The way those planes are parked up there we could
get off before they knew what the heck was going on! Am I right, or am I
right?"
"Don't bother asking me," Freddy replied, "because I'm all for the idea.
But there's one thing I think we'd better check, Dave, just in case we
don't make it together."
"Shoot, pal," Dawson said instantly. "What's on your mind?"
"The approximate location of Admiral Jackson's force," the English youth
replied at once. "I think we'd better agree where it is, or at least
where we think it is. You see what I mean?"
Dawson nodded, and started to speak, but at that moment he experienced a
crazy, daffy feeling. He felt as though there were a third person in the
room, and as if that third person were listening to everything that was
said, and--and chuckling up his sleeve.
"I don't think we have to worry about that, kid," Dawson replied. "I
think we both know just about where Admiral Jackson's force should be.
The big idea is, can we grab a plane and scram away from this tub? In
other words, are you game, Freddy?"
The English youth didn't reply at once. He just stared at Dawson, and
smouldering fires glowed in his eyes.
"And to use a thoroughly Yank expression," he eventually said,
tight-lipped, "what do you think, eh?"
Dave grinned, and nodded happily.
"Okay, kid," he said, "I was only asking. Well--what are we waiting for,
huh?"
The English-born air ace seemed to hesitate a brief moment, and then he
smiled and nodded.
"I'll bite," he said. "Just what are we waiting for? Go ahead, old
thing. Anything is better than this, what?"
Dawson hesitated, and shot Freddy a keen look, as though he was trying
to check up and make sure that his pal was definitely in favor of the
plan. Then he nodded silently, turned and walked over to the cabin door
with one fist raised to pound against it.
But, miracle of miracles, before his knuckles had so much as touched the
cabin door, he heard the key grate in the lock, and the door opened in
his face to reveal the huge Jap officer who had conducted them to
Sasebo's quarters that other time. Eyes popping, and mouth hanging open,
Dawson stared at the huge Jap. The son of Nippon smiled, nodded, and
made a faint gesture with one hand.
"Come with me," he said. "Honorable Admiral desires to talk with you
again. Come please."
For a moment Dawson could hardly believe his eyes and ears. He gaped at
the Jap and then looked at Freddy Farmer. A look of astonished disbelief
was stamped on the English youth's face. Dawson looked back at the big
Jap, and nodded.
"Okay," he said. "Lead the way. It so happens that we want to see the
Admiral, too."
The big Jap smiled, and a funny look suddenly gleamed in his
double-lidded eyes. It struck Dawson as though the man were enjoying
some little secret--at their expense. However, he didn't give the Jap's
expression more than a passing thought. Lady Luck was indeed smiling on
Freddy Farmer and him. Things were working out even better than he had
hoped. Just one more break and everything would be perfect. Just the
chance to suddenly duck away from this big Jap and pile into the pit of
one of those Jap planes up on the flight deck. Once Freddy and he were
in the pit the rest would be a cinch. They'd go scooting down that
narrow take-off lane before the dumbfounded Japs realized what had
happened. Right! Just one little more break, and then it would be the
Japs' turn to receive some knockout surprises.
And so, with a fervent prayer in his heart, Dawson shot a last second
warning look at Freddy Farmer, and then stepped through the cabin door,
and out into the companionway. A couple of minutes later he was leading
the way up the ladder to the flight deck. His heart was doing wild
outside loops in his chest, and the blood was racing through his veins.
And as he neared the top of the ladder he heard the glorious sound of
Jap aircraft engines warming up. That made it better and better. Maybe
ten minutes more and Freddy and he would be streaking away on a bee-line
course toward where they believed Admiral Jackson's powerful task force
to be!
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
_Satan Laughs_
When Dawson reached flight deck level he slowed up his pace as though
waiting for the big Jap to give him the order to continue on toward the
flight bridge. As a matter of fact, though, that was not his real
intention. He slowed up a little to give Freddy Farmer time to catch up
closer, and, also, to take a quick furtive look around. What he saw
caused his heart to pound harder than ever. Not thirty yards away, and
right smack in take-off position, was a Jap Mitsubishi two-seater, long
range "Karigane" MK-11. And what's more, its prop was idling over! And
if that wasn't enough to make Dawson's heart sing with wild happiness,
there was not a single Jap anywhere near it. Not even a member of the
deck crew.
"Hot dog, hot dog!" Dawson whispered inwardly. "Almost as though we'd
requested these slant-eyed rats to set the stage for us, and they had
done it. An MK-11, no less. Boy, oh boy! Do Freddy and I know that Jap
crate, and how! Lady Luck, you're my dream girl for life, and I don't
mean perhaps!"[B]
Hardly daring to risk it, Dawson shot a quick glance at Freddy Farmer
just the same. And that one quick look was enough to tell him that
Freddy had spotted the MK-11, and was simply waiting for him to make the
break. In fact, Dawson was positive that he had seen his English-born
pal give a faint nod of his head in a signal as their eyes met.
"You will walk toward the flight bridge, please!" the big Jap snapped
and pointed. "The Honorable Admiral is waiting."
Dawson nodded, shrugged, and turned forward to start walking a little
faster. But he took only six or seven steps; then he suddenly half
whirled, ducked down fast, and went under the wing of a parked plane. As
he came out on the other side of the wing he shot a quick glance back
over his shoulder and felt like yelling with joy. Good old Freddy Farmer
was so close behind that the English youth was practically running up
his back.
But even as he snapped a glance back to make e that Freddy was right
there with him, Dawson was in high gear again. Like a broken field
runner going absolutely haywire he dodged this way and that, and ducked
under wings, or around parked planes. Every split second of the time he
expected to hear the big Jap let out a scream of rage, but if there was
a scream he didn't hear it. Nor, praise be to God, did any other Japs
pop up in his path.
As a matter of fact nothing popped up to stop either of the youthful air
aces as they zigzagged through the parked planes at top speed, and then
reached the MK-11 and virtually hurled themselves into the pits. No
sooner was Dawson in the plane than he kicked off the wheel brakes, and
hand heeled home the throttle. The one thousand horsepower engine in the
nose roared out its song of mighty power, and the two-seater fairly
leaped forward along the narrow lane on the deck that permitted room for
taking-off. With every revolution of the prop the plane picked up more
and more speed, so that in no time at all the parked planes that formed
the two sides of the take-off lane were little more than blurred streaks
rushing past either wingtip.
No wild cries from the Japs, and no bursts of machine gun or pistol
fire? Dawson was surprised by the absence of fire from the Japs for
maybe a whole split second. And then he forgot all about it. The MK-11
had cleared the flight deck of the Jap carrier and was prop clawing
upward. However, Dawson checked the climb instantly. In fact, he
actually nosed the aircraft downward until the belly of the plane was
practically kissing the tops of the long blue-green rollers of the
Southwest Pacific. To climb for altitude would make him an even better
target for the shipboard anti-aircraft guns that were bound to go into
action in another second or two. Also, to climb would mean to sacrifice
speed, and speed with which to get away from the whole darn task force
in a hurry was what he wanted most. And so he hugged the wave tops,
headed straight for an escorting cruiser, and went past it with his
wingtips almost kissing the cruiser's mast top.
"Hey, not so close!" Freddy Farmer shouted in a moment of wild alarm.
"Don't spoil our luck by ramming into one of these cursed things!"
"Just hold onto your hat, pal, and don't worry!" Dawson shouted back
happily. "Pretty good we are, huh, kid? Guess those slant-eyes are
still wondering what the heck happened. They haven't fired a single shot
at us. Boy, we _are_ good, I guess!"
"Well, don't make too much of it, old thing!" the English youth shouted
with a new note of alarm in his voice. "Three of the blighters are
taking off from the very same carrier we did. Fancy they think they can
get us in the air, and save gun shells. So keep right on going, old
thing!"
Dawson gulped at that announcement and took a second or two off from his
flying to sneak a quick glance back over his shoulder. And, sure enough,
Freddy Farmer hadn't been kidding him! Three Jap planes were taking off
from the same carrier. And his heart leaped up into his throat when he
saw that they were Jap carrier Zeros. And the reason his heart leaped
into his throat was because he knew that a Zero can catch up with an
MK-11 any day in the week.
"Hang on, Freddy, hang on!" he thundered, and turned front again. "We've
just got to get away from those Zeros. If not, then you've got to keep
them at a safe distance with your rear guns. So I'll fly for us, and you
fight for us. That's the way it has got to be."
"Right you are, Dave!" the English youth called forward to him.
"I'll--Oh, good gosh! Dave! How about your radio? Has it got a mike?"
Impulsively Dawson switched his gaze to his radio in the front pit. And
it was then that he had the queer feeling of lumps of cold lead bouncing
around in the pit of his stomach. There were earphones for the radio,
but no mike. The little hook at the side was empty. And the wire that
ran down into the set wasn't there. It had been removed completely.
"Sweet tripe!" he gasped. "This darn set's no good for sending. Not even
a mike. Hey, Freddy, have--?"
Dawson didn't bother to finish the rest. He choked off his words and
twisted around in the seat instead. And when he saw the look on Freddy's
face, and saw his pal sadly shake his head, little fingers of ice seemed
to clutch at his heartstrings. Freddy's radio set was the same as his.
Okay for receiving, but not a darned bit of good for sending.
And so it was Satan's turn to laugh now. They had stolen a plane, and
had managed to get away from the Jap carrier, but what they had hoped
and prayed for most had been denied them. They had been denied the
chance to raise Admiral Jackson's task force on the radio and reveal to
the Admiral the position and course of Admiral Suicide Sasebo's carrier
force.
Yes, that hope was gone now. Their only chance of making any kind of a
success out of this cockeyed venture was to find the Yank task force
wherever it was in that vast corner of the Southwest Pacific. They had
to find that Yank force somehow, but--but what about those three Jap
Zeros that had taken off in pursuit of them? Yes, what about _them_?
As that heart-chilling question pounded and hammered around in Dawson's
head he turned in the seat again for another look at those three Zeros.
They were in the air, now, but _climbing_. Yes, instead of coming
straight after the MK-11 the three Zeros were heading up for altitude as
though they were actually setting off on some routine patrol.
Incidentally, were it not for the fact that the three Zeros were heading
in the same direction as the MK-11, Dawson would have believed that
Freddy and he had made their escape one hundred per cent successful. He
knew differently, however. He knew darned well that the Jap pilot in
each of the three Zeros had his double-lidded eyes fixed on the MK-11,
and was keeping them fixed on it, too. But why the thunder were they
climbing? Why didn't they come flat out so as to catch up with the
stolen MK-11 as fast as they could?
"There's something blasted funny about this, Dave!" Freddy Farmer's
voice cut into his thoughts. "We neither of us can use the radio, and
those blighters back there are making no effort to catch up with us. I
don't like it at all. In fact--but, good Heavens, that couldn't possibly
be, I'm sure!"
Dawson took his eyes off the climbing Zeros long enough to look at his
pal.
"What now?" he barked. "What do you mean by that last, huh?"
Freddy Farmer didn't reply at once, and the dark frown on his face told
clearly that he was struggling with some very disagreeable thoughts.
Eventually the English youth bit his lip and pointed at the little hook
in his pit that should have a broadcasting mike hanging on it, but
didn't.
"I--I wonder if the beggars _let_ us escape, Dave?" he finally spoke in
a hesitant voice. "Yes, I wonder very much if they didn't let us get
away. After all, not a shot was fired. Fact is, I didn't see a single
Jap on that flight deck try to head us off from reaching this plane. And
it _was_ square in position for a quick take-off, too!"
Dawson gulped, and his mouth seemed full of sawdust, and little cold
shivers rippled through his body. He stared at Freddy, and then shook
his head angrily.
"Don't be nuts, Freddy!" he snapped. "Why in thunder _should_ they let
us escape? You're crazy, pal!"
"Possibly," Freddy Farmer replied. "But you're forgetting that there are
two sides to this business."
"And so?" Dawson echoed when Freddy stopped talking. "Out with the rest
of it! What do you mean, two sides?"
"What the _Japs_ want to know, of course!" the English youth flung at
him. "Why do you suppose the Japs let us stay alive so long? Because
they knew we were from some Yank carrier task force, and because they
wanted to find out from us _where it is_. We made that thick-headed Nazi
U-boat commander believe something that wasn't the truth. But Sasebo
didn't swallow our story, Dave. Not one bit of it. So they tried a trick
_to find out for themselves_. You see?"
Dawson didn't. In fact, he didn't see any part of it. But he didn't say
anything for a while. He turned front, and gave half of his attention to
his flying, and mulled over Freddy's most unpleasant words. A couple of
times he glanced back at the Zeros. They had leveled off at around five
thousand feet, and seemed to be coasting along a couple of miles behind
the MK-11. And each time Dawson turned front a few more cold shivers
rippled through his body. And the lumps of lead in his stomach did some
more bouncing around.
And so little by little he was forced to admit that maybe there was
something in what Freddy Farmer had said. Yet it still didn't make sense
to him. Heck! How did the Japs _know_ that they planned to escape? And
darn it, why did the Japs let them get away without a struggle? Finally
Dawson turned around and caught Freddy's eye again.
"Okay, okay, maybe," he said. "But tell me this, kid? How the heck did
they know we would plan to escape? And why?"