Dave Dawson on Guadalcanal Part 2

"That makes two of us," Banks said quickly. "Anyway, my job is to get these babies to Australia for other guys to use, so I'll just stick to my knitting, I reckon. Okay, fellows, hang onto your hats. I'm going to cut that twenty minutes to fifteen, at least. And again, thanks for that job on those Zeros."

The Flying Fortress commander not only called the turn, but made good.

Just ten minutes later the west coast of Australia was sighted. And five minutes after that the big four-engined job, being ferried out to the South Pacific to play its part in the war, was tooled down to an expert landing on the Air Forces constructed field on the outskirts of the city of Broome. Dave and Freddy gathered up their small and compact kit bags and climbed out with the rest of the crew onto the ground. There they intended to bid goodbye to the others, but before either one of them could open his mouth a jeep streaked out from the hangar line and a staff major popped out of it like a pea out of a split pod.

"Captains Dawson and Farmer?" he barked, and looked hard at Dave.

"I'm Dawson, sir," Dave replied with a nod. "And this is Captain Farmer."

"Very good!" the senior officer snapped. "Come along, then. Get into the car quickly! Your plane is waiting. Maps and weather charts are in the pits. Come on; snap it up!"

A flash of resentment pa.s.sed through Dawson. The major was a ground officer. He wore no wings on his tunic, nor any decoration ribbons, either. As a matter of fact, he looked to Dave like one of those well known forty-eight-hour soldiers. In other words, a man who gets a commission while en route to Was.h.i.+ngton, and comes back wearing his brand-new tailor-made uniform.

"Something up, Major?" Dave asked quietly. "What's all the rush about?"

"What would you suppose?" the major came right back angrily. "There happens to be a war on. Also, lots of things to do. H.Q. has ordered for you to report in a hurry, and that's what you're to do. Now, let's get going, you two!"

Dave knew that he was letting his anger get the better of him, but he couldn't help himself. This staff major was the type of officer that always gave him a pain in the neck. He'd met up with more than one during his war career. Put an officer's insignia on their shoulder straps and they went sky high with importance. And the higher the rank they held, the higher went their belief in their own importance. Maybe that was okay around training camps or induction centers. But that sort of thing didn't go with shot and sh.e.l.l-seasoned veterans. So naturally it didn't go with Dave.

"Just a minute, Major," he said. "I think first I should report the engagement."

"What's that?" the other gasped, rising to the bait. "Did you say engagement?"

"That's right, Major," Dawson a.s.sured him. "Half a dozen Zeros attacked us about ninety miles off sh.o.r.e. We got them all, but they must have been carrier-based. I heard a report that there is a huge j.a.p attack force heading for this coast. Of course, it may be only a rumor, but--"

"Heading for _here_?" the Major gulped, and his face tightened. "Are you sure?"

Dave shrugged and gestured with a hand.

"Well, I didn't actually see them, Major," he replied truthfully. "But the j.a.ps have pulled a lot of fast ones in this war. You never can tell, you know."

"No, you never can, that's right," the other said, and glanced nervously toward the west. "Well, your plane is waiting. I'll run you over, and make the report _myself_ to the commanding officer. A huge j.a.p attack force, eh?"

Dawson didn't say anything. He simply nudged Freddy Farmer's arm, and the pair stepped into the jeep. The major stalled the engine twice before he got the jeep going. And then he made a dash down along the edge of the field as though j.a.p troops were actually rus.h.i.+ng up from the other side. He braked to a screaming halt in front of the field office, waved a hand at a waiting plane some fifty yards farther on, and then leaped out and dashed inside.

"Good grief, the blighter is in a hurry, isn't he?" Freddy Farmer breathed as they walked over toward the plane, a Wright-powered Vultee attack bomber. "But why did you fill him with all that junk about a huge j.a.p attack force?"

"Well, you said you heard on good authority that there was one, didn't you?" Dawson chuckled. "And, I just don't like efficient stuffed s.h.i.+rts like him. I like to see them get their whiskers burned. Anyway, I'm hoping that the C.O. of this field is the kind of a bird who'll do it.

We'll know when Major Importance comes out. Well, anyway, we've got a nice job to fly. And we should see quite a bit of this down-under continent by the time we hit Sydney."

"You take the scenery," Freddy Farmer grunted, and stowed his kit in the Vultee's pit. "I'll take Sydney as fast as I can get it. Lord, Dave! Do you suppose General MacArthur himself wants to see us?"

"Nope," Dawson replied instantly, and tossed his kit aboard. "If the orders had read for me to report _alone_, I'd say probably. But we are both to report, so meeting the general is definitely out, if you get what I mean?"

Freddy Farmer glared and stuck out his tongue.

"Too bad you were wearing those wings at the wrong time!" he snapped.

"But pardon me, old thing, for stirring that brain of yours. You aren't wondering about the future any more, are you? Well, let's get on with it. Half a moment, though. As I recall, it's my turn to pilot. So get into the gunner's seat, young man. Up with you!"

Dave shook his head, and grinned.

"Let me sky-steer her this time, as a favor, Freddy," he pleaded. Then, as he looked past Farmer toward the field office, he added quickly, "There isn't time to explain, but be a good guy and let me take her off.

I'll remember you in my will, if you do."

The English youth started to shake his head, but something he saw in Dawson's face suddenly caused him to change his mind. He let out a resigned sigh, and shrugged.

"Right you are, then," he grunted. "But I think I'm a fool to let you.

You're up to something!"

"Me?" Dave murmured innocently, and strapped on his parachute pack.

"Perish the thought, sweetheart. I just like to pilot. Oh-oh! Somebody got choked off plenty, but is trying not to show it!"

That somebody was the staff major. He came over to the plane very flushed in the face, and with an ugly look in his eye.

"You reported that rumor to the commanding officer, sir?" Dave asked politely.

"I did!" the other snapped, and let it go at that. Then, suddenly pointing a stiff finger at Dawson, he barked, "And just what do you call _that_, Captain?"

Dave didn't catch the meaning of the question for a couple of seconds.

He was enjoying the mental picture of this band box officer rus.h.i.+ng into a hard bitten C.O.'s office with a scare rumor that a huge j.a.p attack force was _less_ than a hundred miles off the Australian coast. And of how he came out with his ears burning from the officer's words about what he could do with his crazy and utterly impossible tale! And then Dave realized that the Major was stabbing a finger at his bullet-smacked wings.

"Why, they're my pilot's wings, sir," he replied. "They met with a little accident."

"And they certainly look it!" the Major rasped. "A fine thing to wear on a Government uniform! A lot of you young officers certainly need to be taught a bit more respect for your uniforms, and the insignia you wear.

I'd advise you to obtain a new pair before you report to H.Q. in Sydney. Now, go ahead and take off! You're late enough as it is! Get going!"

"Yes, sir, very good, sir," Dave said as meekly as he could, and climbed into the pilot's pit with anger seething in his soul.

The engine had already been warmed up, and it was now just idling over.

Strapping himself in, Dave looked back to get the nod from Freddy, and to snap a quick glance at the major. The senior officer was standing a few feet off the right wing tip in the perfect att.i.tude of an old crank waiting to make sure that a couple of trespa.s.sing kids got off the property. Turning front, Dave smothered a grin and released the wheel brakes, and inched open the throttle enough to get the Vultee rolling forward. Then when the tail came abreast of the major, Dave opened up the throttle wide and tapped the left wheel brake just enough to swing the tail over to the right. Then he banged the throttle the rest of the way open and took off in a hurry. As he cleared the ground, he looked back and hooted. The major was flat on his back in a cloud of dust, with his feet straight up in the air. And his officer's cap was spinning along the edge of the field like a runaway spare wheel.

"Oops, so sorry, Big Shot!" Dawson shouted. "Darned if I didn't forget you were there. Better go wash your neck. The Army must always look clean and tidy, you know, Major. So long, chump!"

"And the Military Police will probably be waiting for you, old thing, at Sydney!" Freddy Farmer sang out between spells of laughter. "There's such a thing as radio, you know."

"And that'll be okay, too!" Dave chuckled. "They can bring me back here, so's I can do it all over again. Make cracks about my wings, huh? Too had he wasn't a captain, or I wasn't a major, too. I think I would enjoy very much pasting that make-believe in the nose. Well, here we go again.

On again, off again--as usual!"

CHAPTER THREE

_Flight To Nowhere_

The sun was sliding down over the western lip of the world in a hurry when Dawson sat the Vultee down on the Sydney field after a trans-Australia flight from Broome. As soon as they taxied into the line and mechanics took over, a sergeant of the Military Police came hurrying over to them. For just a brief moment Dave's heart floated up to the region of his throat. It was just a wasted sensation, however. The M.P.

was simply doing his duty of informing all pilots landing from other bases to report first to the operations office.

Dave and Freddy legged out, collected their stuff, and went over to operations. They were obviously expected, for the officer on duty greeted them with a grin and a nod, and jerked a thumb at the motor transport building next door.