Dave Dawson on Guadalcanal Part 19

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 j.a.p officer who had conducted them to Sasebo's quarters that other time. Eyes popping, and mouth hanging open, Dawson stared at the huge j.a.p. 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 j.a.p 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 j.a.p, and nodded.

"Okay," he said. "Lead the way. It so happens that we want to see the Admiral, too."

The big j.a.p 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 j.a.p's expression more than a pa.s.sing 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 j.a.p and pile into the pit of one of those j.a.p 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 j.a.ps realized what had happened. Right! Just one little more break, and then it would be the j.a.ps' 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 j.a.p 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 j.a.p 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 j.a.p Mitsubis.h.i.+ 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 j.a.p 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 j.a.p 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 j.a.p 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 j.a.p let out a scream of rage, but if there was a scream he didn't hear it. Nor, praise be to G.o.d, did any other j.a.ps 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 rus.h.i.+ng past either wingtip.

No wild cries from the j.a.ps, and no bursts of machine gun or pistol fire? Dawson was surprised by the absence of fire from the j.a.ps for maybe a whole split second. And then he forgot all about it. The MK-11 had cleared the flight deck of the j.a.p 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 alt.i.tude would make him an even better target for the s.h.i.+pboard 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 sh.e.l.ls. 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 j.a.p planes were taking off from the same carrier. And his heart leaped up into his throat when he saw that they were j.a.p 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 gos.h.!.+ 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 j.a.p 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 c.o.c.keyed 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 j.a.p 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 alt.i.tude 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 j.a.p 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 j.a.p 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 s.h.i.+vers 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 _j.a.ps_ want to know, of course!" the English youth flung at him. "Why do you suppose the j.a.ps 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 n.a.z.i 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 s.h.i.+vers 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 j.a.ps _know_ that they planned to escape? And darn it, why did the j.a.ps let them get away without a struggle? Finally Dawson turned around and caught Freddy's eye again.