CHAPTER NINETEEN
_Flight's End_
Darkness, and more darkness, and even more darkness. Constantly,forever, and eternally. And with it all the monotonous, nerve-poundingdrone of the engine in the nose of the Mitsubishi. Ten million times itwas all Dawson could do to refrain from screaming his head off, anddiving right out of the plane into the black night air. It was the sameminute after minute, and hour after hour. It was almost more thanDawson, in his condition, could bear. And as the night dragged on andon, tiny little fears began to mount up in the Yank air ace.
It had been but a few minutes after the three to one air scrap when theSouthwest Pacific night had arrived with a swoop and a rush, and closedin on all sides. However, as though the gods were favoring those twoyouths a little, there were no clouds in the night sky. Above andstretching far off to all the horizons was a solid canopy of glitteringand winking stars. And so it had been but a simple matter to plot acourse south by the stars, allowing for a slight correction either way.
And so they had headed south at cruising throttle, and with a solemn,fervent prayer in their hearts that after the seven hours of darkness inthat part of the world would come dawn and the definite knowledge thatthey were within sight of the New Guinea coast. Both realized that thenwould begin the most difficult part of the long flight. ThoughMacArthur's troops and planes were hammering hard at the Japs, thedevils from the Land of the Rising Sun still held most of New Guinea.And, frankly speaking, the two youths could expect more trouble beforethey sat down on the Yank-held base at Port Moresby.
However, they had won out so far, and against great odds, so there wasmore than a little joy in their hearts as they went winging south. For along time they chatted back and forth about this and that for no otherreason than the pleasure of companionship. Eventually, though, they ranout of words, and save for a short sentence now and then they bothremained silent.
As far as Dawson was concerned, that was perfectly okay. His chest wason fire, and it hurt him to talk. Also, there were little alarmingspells of giddiness that came to him every now and then. He didn't daresay anything to Freddy, because that would add just one more worry tothe English youth's stock. So he kept his mouth shut, clamped down hardon the knife-like pains in his chest, and flew doggedly southward,praying for dawn as he had never prayed in his whole life before.
But the darkness dragged on and on until Dawson was ready to despair ofever seeing a dawn again. A numbness had settled in his left shoulder,except when he moved it. And when he did by accident, he had to shut histeeth tight to stop from crying out from the pain. A cold clammy sweatformed on his forehead, and the beads kept continually trickling downinto his eyes to blur his vision, and caused him to imagine he saw allkinds of crazy things that didn't exist at all a split second after hehad brushed the sweat from his eyes. Particularly he was seeing thelights of ships below. Or, at least, certain he was seeing them until helooked again. Of course, every time he "saw" the lights he knewperfectly well that any boat in that part of the Southwest Pacific,Yank or Jap, most certainly wouldn't be showing so much as a speck oflight at night. However, what he imagined seemed so real that he wasconstantly sitting up straight and peering down over the right wing orthe left.
If dawn would _only_ come! If only there would come a thin pale line oflight in the east to give him hope, if nothing else! If--
"I say, old chap!" Freddy Farmer's voice cut into his thoughts, andprayers. "Would you mind raising the shade and letting in a bit oflight, what? I'm getting blasted fed up with this darkness. I swearwe've had a solid week of it. I really do."
"Me, too, pal," Dawson replied, and struggled to keep his suffering outof his voice. "It almost seems as if somebody blew out the doggoned sun.Boy, if--Hold it! Am I right, or am I right, Freddy? Could that be thefirst grey streak there to the east, huh?"
"It not only could be, but it is!" the English-born air ace shoutedhappily. "Praise be to Allah! In a few moments now we should be able toget a look at where we are. I bet you anything you like that the NewGuinea coast is just ahead of us, and that we'll see it soon."
"No bet!" Dave called back. "That's one bet I wouldn't want to win. Andhow, I wouldn't want to win it!"
As Dawson spoke the last a sudden thought came to him, and he caught hisbreath. The thought was: What if they didn't sight land within an houror less after dawn? Supposing their drift during the night hours hadbeen double or even triple what they had allowed for, and they wereactually lost somewhere above the broad expanse of the SouthwestPacific? What if they were lost, and remained lost until the engine inthe nose sucked up the last drop of high test, and then quit cold? Therewas a rubber raft in the MK-11, but Dawson knew in his heart that hewould never survive a single day drifting helplessly on the sun-floodedwaters. Yesterday, sure, or the day before--but not now. Not during thisday that was now dawning. And so, please, God! Please!
The silent prayer remained on Dawson's lips as he watched the pale lineof light low down in the east grow broader and brighter, until, asthough invisible doors in the heavens had been flung open, the light ofthe new day came rushing westward, driving the shadows of night on aheadof it. In a matter of less than fifteen minutes the two youths hadperfect visibility in all four directions. First, though, they peeredsouthward. And to Dawson it was like receiving a mule's kick in thestomach. Nothing but dawn-tinted water as far as the eye could see. Nota sign of land. Not a sign of anything but water; endless rolling swellsof it. A great sadness, a great bitterness welled up in him until hecould hardly breathe. And there was the sting of hot tears at the backsof his eyeballs.
"No land--not a darn sight of it!" he heard himself mumble. "And I hadhoped--oh gosh, how I had hoped! Darn it, there _has_ to be land, or wejust can't possibly make Port Moresby. And I can't--"
He let the rest trail off and stared bleak-eyed at the limitless stretchof water to the south. He wanted to turn around in the pit and saysomething cheerful to Freddy Farmer in back. Say any old thing thatwould take the sting out of what his pal must be thinking, too. Butsomehow he couldn't turn around. Somehow he couldn't even think ofanything to say. He felt absolutely powerless to move. It was as thoughhe were a dead man looking out across a dead world.
And then, suddenly, a bunched fist came down on his left shoulder, andhe almost fainted from the pain in his chest as Freddy Farmer's wildlyshouted words smashed against his ear drums.
"Dave, look! Off there to port! Dave, look, look, old chap! A lot ofships. A carrier task force. _It's Jackson's force, Dave! Jackson's!_There's our task force. Dave! It's a miracle, a blessed miracle! There'sthe task force!"
For one brief instant more Dawson couldn't move. Then he managed to turnhis head, but he could see nothing but swimming lights and shadows. Thepent up emotions within him had broken their bonds, and hot tears thathe couldn't check filled his eyes and blurred everything. That made himangry at himself, and at everything else. And with angry motions herubbed and brushed the tears from his eyes. And then when he tookanother look he saw what Freddy Farmer's sharp eyes had seen first. Far,far off to port, and so low down on the horizon that they looked like nomore than a cluster of bugs on the water, were the two carriers, thedestroyers and the cruisers and supply ships of Admiral Jackson's taskforce. Even though the distance was great, he could recognize them forwhat they really were. And a happiness such as he had never knownflooded throughout his entire body.
"Jackson's force?" he heard himself echo weakly. "But what the heck?What's it doing over there? That's a night's steaming from the searcharea! Or--or have we been flying in circles all night long? It's--it'slike a dream. A mad, crazy dream! I--"
"Dave, snap out of it, for Heaven's sake!" Freddy's voice cut short hismumbling. "Fly over to them. Fly over to them. _That's our task force!_Don't you understand, Dave?"
"Sure, sure!" Dawson called back, though every word seemed to burn holesin his lungs. "I see them, and I'm heading over. Just--just taking acouple of minutes out to enjoy life again."
&
nbsp; "Wait, jolly well wait until you get aboard!" the English youth yelled."Maybe you like being in this confounded aircraft, but I don't. Get usover there, quickly. The sooner we give our report to Admiral Jacksonthe better it will be for everybody concerned. Man, Dave, just think ofit! We found Sasebo's force, and _now_ we've found Admiral Jackson's.Imagine that!"
"Yeah, imagine that!" Dawson mumbled, as a spell of cold shivers startedtaking charge of his body. "Just the way you see it happen in themovies. Only--"
He let the rest die because the effort cost him too much, and banked theMK-11 around until it was heading full out for the Yank task force farahead. And then it was he woke up to a fact that had been in the back ofhis brain for some considerable time. And what woke him up to the truthwas sight of three Navy Grumman Wildcats streaking up off the flightdeck of one of the carriers, and coming up and around toward them at topspeed.
"Get set to wave and signal those guys somehow, Freddy!" he choked out."We're in a _Jap plane_, you know. Only those guys _don't_. So stand upand wave, or hold your hands up in surrender, or something. Navy Wildcatpilots don't take chances. They've learned you can't against the Japrats. So, for cat's sake, wave, or do any old thing to get them to holdtheir fire. Here, I'll help you!"
Dawson started to stand up in his pit of the MK-11, but before he washalf-way up invisible steel claws seemed to tear his chest wide open,and he fell back into the seat gasping and choking for air. Andcountless dancing red and black dots filled his eyes. It seemed yearsand years before he could get air into his burning lungs, and drive thered and black dots away. By then the first of the three Wildcats waswithin shooting range, but Freddy Farmer was standing up straight,waving his arms, pointing at his American uniform, and yelling bluemurder at the top of his voice.
The leading Wildcat, however, came boring in at terrific speed, andDawson died a thousand deaths as he expected with each new split secondto see the leading edges of the Grumman's wing start spitting outstabbing tongues of flame, and to feel the Wildcat's bullets and aircannon shells smash and pound their way into the MK-11.
However, the Wildcat pilot did not open fire. Instead he went sweepingpast the Jap two-seater, staring at it hard. Then he circled around andcame tearing up from the other side. As he drew abreast Freddy Farmerpractically fell out of the MK-11 in his frantic efforts to signal thetruth to the Yank Navy pilot. Dawson managed to lift his right hand, andwave, too. And then the two other Wildcats came up and took up positionsclose to the MK-11. And Freddy Farmer promptly went into his dance fortheir benefit, too.
Eventually the Wildcat pilots either recognized Dawson and Farmer, orelse they spotted the Yank Air Forces uniforms that the two youths wore,and could see that at least no Japs were wearing them. Or maybe it wasfor some other reason. At any rate, the section leader nodded his head,motioned for Freddy Farmer to stop trying to throw himself out of theJap plane, and then pointed over toward the carrier task force. Thatwas all Dawson and Freddy wanted, and they both nodded vigorously inacknowledgment. Then, with a Wildcat on each side, and one just behindand a little above, Dawson guided the MK-11 straight for the task force.As he reached the flanking cruisers and destroyers, he saw the countlessupturned faces on the decks, and also the Pom-Pom guns and the "ChicagoPianos" trained dead on the Jap plane. He grinned down at them happily,but just the same a nervous shiver or two rippled through his burningand pain-filled body.
And then, finally, Dawson had the MK-11 banked around and sliding downtoward the stern of the Carson as the carrier knocked off knots into thewind. That glide downward was the greatest agony of his life. Huge asthe Carson was, the confounded thing seemed to dance and skip aroundbefore his eyes. Countless times the landing officer, with a signal flagin each hand, blurred right out of his vision. And once he almostfainted with fright when he got the cockeyed impression that he washeading the MK-11 straight for the Carson's superstructure.
The one thousand years passed by, however, and the Jap two-seater wasdown on the flight deck, trundling forward while deck crews hung ontothe wingtips. And finally they managed to drag it to a halt. A chokinggasp of unbounded relief burst from Dawson's lips. And tears ofinexpressible joy made his eyes smart as he caught sight of ColonelWelsh and Admiral Jackson racing across the flight deck toward the Japplane. Laughing and choking in the same breath, Dawson heaved himself upout of the pit, stepped out on the wing but missed his footing and fellsprawling on the wing. He slid off it feet first, so he was standing onthe deck when the Colonel and the Admiral came up.
"Here we are again, sir," Dawson cried. "Just like a couple of badpennies that--that--"
His tongue seemed to stick in his mouth, and the Carson seemed to spinlike a top.
"_Dave!_" he heard Freddy Farmer scream. "Somebody--quick--catch him!"
"Here, Dawson, steady!" he heard Colonel Welsh shout.
"Good grief!" cried a third voice. "Look at his chest! Good grief. Theman's hit bad. Here, somebody...!"
But Dawson didn't hear any more. The Carrier Carson turned upside downand smashed him on the head with its flight deck. Then there was nothingbut complete silence and utter darkness.
* * * * *
It was a beautiful pink-tinted cloud that was carrying Dawson through abeautiful world filled with soft and soothing music. Never had he feltso rested, and so comfortable. So much so that he just couldn't bebothered trying to figure out where he was, or what had happened to puthim there. Maybe it was Heaven. He didn't know, and he didn't care. Ifit wasn't Heaven, then it was certainly the next best thing. Whatever itwas it suited him perfectly, and he was quite willing to stay where hewas indefinitely.
However, that was not to be!
The pink cloud faded away and became a white bunk in some ship'swhitewashed sick-bay. And the soft, soothing music faded out, and becamethe quietly coaxing voice of a human being. In other words, he slowlyregained consciousness to find himself staring up into the face ofFreddy Farmer, and into the face, also, of Colonel Welsh. And it was theChief of Combined U. S. Intelligence who was speaking to him.
"Easy does it, son," the colonel was saying. "Try and hang on this time,Dawson. You're all set, son. Everything is fine and dandy. Not a thingto worry about. Just try and relax and be calm, son."
"That's right, Dave, old thing," Freddy Farmer echoed with a catch inhis voice. "Gosh, but it's good to see your eyes really clear. You lookfine, really. Feel a fair bit better, what?"
Dawson blinked, started to mumble a question, and then gasped ascomplete memory came flooding back into his brain like water over abroken dam.
"Hey, hey!" he got out. "What am I doing here? What are you doing here,Freddy? Sasebo's task force! Holy smokes, Freddy! Didn't you--?"
Dawson would have said more, but Colonel Welsh gently put a hand overhis mouth, and shook his head from side to side.
"Now, now, son," he said with quiet firmness. "Try and realize what I'mtelling you. _Everything_ is all right, see? That Jap task force isspread all over the ocean, and a good many of its ships sunk, too. Now,try hard, Dawson, and really get hold of yourself. You've been ravingout the complete story of what happened to you and Farmer for two daysnow. I'm trying to tell you that everything has been taken care of.Everything is fine!"
Dawson blinked again and tried hard to absorb the full meaning of thecolonel's words. But there was one part that just didn't seem possible.
"Two days, Colonel?" he echoed. "You mean that I've been like this, outcold for two days? Jeepers!"
"That's right," the senior officer said, and smiled. "Now, just relaxand I'll bring you up to date, briefly. You went cold right after youlanded that Jap plane on the Carson. So it was up to Farmer, here, toexplain everything. When he had told the story we got busy at once. Wefigured out the course that Sasebo must have followed after you andFarmer took off. Well, our scout-bombers found him. We caught him withhis planes on the flight deck. Thanks to you and Farmer, we were able todo a good job on him. One of his carriers sunk, and t
he other two badlydamaged. The last seen of one of them it was on fire. Two troop shipswere sunk, and the rest of the force sent flying for bases where theywould be safe. In short, we certainly ruined him for a while. By thetime his force can put to sea again there won't be a Jap left onGuadalcanal for him to reenforce. And by the way, _that_ attack went offaccording to schedule. The Marines landed, and as usual they have thesituation in hand. And now you're aboard a cruiser bound for Australiaand a good spell in a hospital. Frankly, you haven't any right to bealive, Dawson. Did you know that?"
"And that's definitely true, old thing!" Freddy Farmer spoke up. "Goodgrief, Dave, why didn't you tell me you had been hit? And to think thatall during that terrible night flight I didn't know a thing about it.You must have suffered something awful!"
"Well, it wasn't very pleasant," Dawson replied in a voice so weak thatit surprised him. "I knew that I had caught a good one, but it wouldn'thave helped any to tell you, Freddy. There weren't any controls in yourpit. And we couldn't have changed seats in that crate. So the only thingI could do was to stick it out. But, boy! I was sure glad to sit down onthat carrier. But, hey! How come we bumped into the task force, Colonel?We were trying to get south to Port Moresby, and--"
"And you were headed in the right direction, Dawson," the colonelinterrupted with a nod. "In another twenty minutes you would havesighted land. But you ran across us because we had given up the hunt forthe Jap force and had steamed full knots for the Solomons to slug it outas best we could _if_ the Jap force did show up. It--well, maybe we cancall it an act of God that you sighted us, and gave us the informationthat we so desperately needed. And--What's the matter, Dawson?"
Colonel Welsh cut himself off short, and anxiously asked the last asDawson groaned, and made a face.
"Matter?" Dawson echoed. "Plenty! One of the best sea and air scrapsthere's been in the Southwest Pacific, and I--and I slept through thewhole thing! Why, doggone it, I--"
"And that'll be just about enough out of you!" Colonel Welsh said withmore sternness in his voice than there was in his eyes. "You and Farmerhad done your job, and a magnificent job you did, too, thank God! It wassomebody else's turn to take a crack at the Japs. And, of course, I meanAdmiral Jackson's pilots. So stop feeling that you were cheated, youyoung fire eater. Farmer, here, didn't take part in the scrap, either,so you've no complaints. In fact, Dawson, you can give thanks for amiracle every night for the rest of your life. Give thanks for this!"
The colonel paused, slipped a hand into his tunic pocket and took out agleaming chunk of metal. And that's just about all it was: a gleamingchunk of metal.
"What's that, sir?" Dawson asked.
"All that's left of your pilot's wings," the colonel replied, andtwisted the chunk of gleaming metal between his fingers. "It was drivenby a Zero bullet right into your chest to within a fraction of an inchof puncturing your left lung."
"Huh, huh, sir?" Dawson gasped out. "You mean--? Holy smokes! A _second_time?"
"The second time, Dawson," Colonel Welsh said gravely, and placed thetwice bullet-battered pilot's wings into their owner's hands. "For thesecond time they saved your life. Frankly, I'll never tell this story toanybody else because nobody else would believe it. But it's true. Andthere you are. A war souvenir you couldn't duplicate, not even if youlived to be a billion."
The colonel said some more words, but Dawson was only half listening. Hewas staring at his bullet-battered wings, and living over in memory allthose terrible hours when his chest had been filled with searing flame.Then presently his vision blurred, and without realizing it he slippedoff into blissful, contented sleep. And Freddy Farmer and Colonel Welshsmiled down at his peaceful face, and slipped silently out of thecruiser's sick-bay.
---- THE END ----
_A Page from_
DAVE DAWSON AT CASABLANCA
For the umpty-umph time Dawson checked his position and made absolutelysure that he was where he was supposed to be. And for the umpty-umphtime countless fears shot through his brain to taunt him and jeer athim. He wasn't at the agreed rendezvous. His navigation was allcockeyed. He was a hundred miles north of the point. He was a hundredmiles south. He was--
"Cut it out, fellow, cut it out!" he rasped aloud at himself. "This is afine time for you to go haywire! You simply got here ahead of time. Yourwatch tells you that, sap. Freddy was held up, that's all. Maybe he raninto a bit of weather, or something. Maybe--"
Or something? But just exactly _what_? That was the question. FreddyFarmer could fly through the toughest weather made. He was that kind ofa pilot. It was crazy to say that weather had held up Freddy. No. It wassomething else, not weather. But what? _But what?_ Why wasn't FreddyFarmer here?
Dawson groaned, and shook his head as though to drive away thetantalizing thoughts. But that didn't do any good. He started stuntinghis plane all over the empty sky to take his mind off his thoughts. Butthat didn't do any
Transcriber's Notes: Page 41: Changed someting to something Page 52: Changed come to some Page 188: Changed Inteligence to Intelligence Page 199: Changed Frdedy to Freddy
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends