[A]Dave Dawson With The Flying Tigers.
[A]Dave Dawson With The Flying Tigers.
"Flight to nowhere, eh? What the blasted blue blazes did he mean by that? Is this thing going to be fitted with wings, or something, I'd like to know?"
It was Freddy Farmer who spoke the words. With Dave Dawson, and some two dozen Army, Navy, and Marine Corps pilots, he stood on the deck of an American destroyer steaming out of Sydney into the Tasman Sea at full knots. Just five hours ago they had met Colonel Welsh at H.Q., and—and learned nothing except that they were going on a flight to nowhere. Shortly after the Colonel had imparted to them that choice bit of "secret information," he had sent them on their way to enjoy the sights of Sydney for a few hours, and then to report to a certainArmy pier at such and such a time.
Well, they had seen most of the sights of Sydney in a restaurant where Freddy Farmer was at least happy, because the place was stocked with far more food than he could possibly eat at one sitting. And when it was practically coming out of his ears, they left the place and took a short walk about town. At the proper time they reported to the pier where a bunch of Army, Navy, and Marine Corps pilots were already gathered. Everybody was full of questions, but there wasn't a single answer in the whole crowd. Then presently a sleek, battle grey destroyer slid in and tied up long enough for the whole gang to be taken aboard. And now the destroyer was cleaving the night-blackened waters of Sydney Harbor and sending spray flying well back over the bridge.
"Don't ask me, sweetheart," Dawson grunted, and stared down at the black waters swirling past the destroyer's hull. "Could be they're going to take us out and drown the lot of us. How do I know?"
"Well, you could at least be helpful enough to make a sensible guess!" Freddy snapped. "Confound you Yanks, anyway! I never saw such mysterious business!"
"Listen to the guy!" Dawson hooted. "Youforget I've been to England, and served in the R.A.F. with you. For cat's sake, it usually takes a ton of TNT to get an Englishman to open his mouth long enough to admit that the sun is shining. Us Yanks mysterious? Pal, we're blabber-mouths compared with your British Intelligence Service. And don't argue with me, because I've had experience, I have!"
"Rot!" the English youth growled. "But never mind, anyway. The point is, where are we going?"
Dawson said nothing. He just leaned a bit more over the chain railing, and stared down at the water.
"Well, can't you make a guess?" Freddy insisted.
Dave started to shake his head, but on second thought checked himself. He turned and peered at Freddy in the gloom.
"Idon't have to guess, Freddy," he said quietly.
Young Farmer stiffened, caught his breath in a gasp, and leaned close.
"What's that, Dave?" he breathed excitedly. "You know? You know where we're going?"
"Yes, I know," Dawson murmured, as though it were the most natural thing in the world for him to know. "Sure, I know, pal."
Freddy Farmer waited just two split seconds before he practically exploded in a shower of small pieces.
"Then for goodness' sake, tell me, Dave!" he choked out. "Don't keep me like this, blast you!Where are we going?"
"You want to know, huh?" Dave echoed, and bent his head close to Farmer. "You want to know where we're going? Well, see where my hand is pointing? Out there beyond the bow of this tub? Well, we're going out there, sweetheart."
Freddy groaned, choked and spluttered, but before he could spit out a single word, Dawson pushed back the cuff of his jacket to reveal his wrist watch. The radium-treated dial showed that it was exactly five minutes to midnight.
"So that makes us one all for the day, Freddy," he chuckled. "I told you I'd get you to bite on something before the day was over. I warned you to keep up on your toes. Okay, and not sore, huh?"
"Just plain disgusted, you blighter!" Freddy snarled. "Man! Why I put up with you day after day, I don't know!"
"Maybe it's love," Dave chuckled, and jumped quickly as the English youth aimed a booted foot.
Freddy's foot didn't connect with certain places, however. And he didn't make a second try. He simply snorted to himself and joined Dave in staring silently down at the black water flowing past. For perhaps some ten of fifteen minutes neither youth said anything. Each seemed to be quite content with his own thoughts. Eventually, though, Dave broke the silence.
"Well, there's one thing, anyway, Freddy," he said. "Wherever we're going, we're going to get there soon, I guess."
"Would that be the beginning of another side-splitting act of yours?" Freddy growled. "And what do you mean by it, anyway?"
"It's the detective in me," Dawson replied, unruffled. "Here we are on a destroyer heading out to sea in pitch darkness, but I haven't been assigned any place to sleep, have you?"
"By Jove, that's right, Dave!" young Farmer exclaimed excitedly. "We haven't, have we? Good grief! Do you suppose this is taking us to New Zealand, and we've got to ride on deck all the way?"
Dawson didn't answer for a moment. He threw back his head and stared up at the trillions upon trillions of stars that glittered and gleamed in the jet black sky.
"My celestial navigation tells me we're headed more toward New Caledonia than New Zealand," he said. "But I'll bet you a pair of flying goggles that we're not going to either of those places."
"I won't take the bet, because you're too blasted lucky," Freddy spoke up quickly. "But anyway, why didn't you think so?"
"Well, I got hit by a sudden hunch, while we were waiting on the pier for this tin can to tie up," Dawson said slowly. "And I got chewing the fat with some of the others there. Know something, Freddy?"
"Well, I will after you tell me, of course," the English youth replied. "What?"
"Keep your shirt on; a guy has to take a breath now and then, you know!" Dave grunted. "Well, I didn't run into a single guy who hasn't had some experience flying off an aircraft carrier. If you want my guess, it's that this load of pilots is being taken out to some carrier force waiting way off shore."
"I wonder, I wonder!" Freddy Farmer murmured after a long pause. "Why would a carrier force be so top hat as not to come in and get us, I'd like to know?"
"Call it 'high hat' next time, Freddy," Dave corrected gently. "White folks will think you'reEnglish, if you—"
"Now, look out, my good man!" Freddy began menacingly. "I'll have you know that I'm—"
"And I don't blame you for being proud that you're English, pal," Dave broke in with a chuckle. "So would I be, if I wasn't Yank. Okay, skip the funny crack. The reason a carrier force wouldn't come in to pick us up is probably because of that one word pronouncedspies! One thing we want to keep plenty secret out here in the Southwest Pacific is the location of our carrier task forces. So we were loaded aboard this tin can at night, and are being sneaked out to one. Catch on?"
"Not definitely," Freddy Farmer muttered, and scowled in the darkness. "Seems to me that a carrier task force at sea would have its own pilots, and what not. Besides, a lot of us aboard this destroyer are Army Air Forces pilots."
"So what?" Dave said, and shrugged. "So maybe the Navy needs help in the air, and knows just where to get it."
"Better keep those remarks under cover, or a certain Army pilot may be reported lost overboard!"
Dave jumped straight up at the sound of the voice at his elbow, and whirled around in midair. When his feet came back on deck again he saw Colonel Welsh standing in front of him.
"Gosh, you scared me, Colonel!" he gasped. "I thought a Navy pilothadoverheard me!"
"Good thing one didn't," the senior officer chuckled. "Plenty of rivalry between you Army and Navy pilots. And I'm afraid there are hot heads on both sides. Well, how are you enjoying a ride on a destroyer, eh?"
"Oh, just too, too wonderful, sir!" Dawson replied with a groan. "But I didn't see you on the pier, Colonel. When did you come aboard? At the last minute?"
"No, I came aboard much earlier," the Colonel replied. "I've been up in the commander's quarters."
"Er ..." Freddy Farmer began, and faltered. "I mean," he began again, "I don't suppose he told you, sir, where we are headed?"
The colonel laughed and shook his head.
"He didn't have to, Farmer," he replied. "You see, I already knew. But hold on with your questions, because I don't mind telling you, now that we've shoved off. We're making for a rendezvous with a carrier task force a couple of hundred miles out to sea. We should contact it just about dawn. You chaps, if you want to sleep, will have to do it on the deck, I'm afraid. Iwouldn't advise it, though, the way this ship is smashing the swells. And the commander says that it will be even rougher outside."
"Thanks, I think I'll stay awake," Dawson laughed. Then, in a serious tone, "And when we reach the carrier task force, sir?"
"Why, we go aboard, of course," the colonel replied. "There are two carriers. The Hawk, and the Carson. Half of you will go to one, and half to the other."
"And then, sir?" Dave persisted.
"For military reasons, Dawson, I'm afraid I didn't hear you," the senior officer replied. "Count on it for something interesting, though. And not easy by any manner of means. Fact is, all this may be simply the beginning of a very costly waste of time, and effort."
The Chief of Combined U.S. Intelligence spoke the last while staring flint-eyed out over the rail, and as though he were repeating his own thoughts aloud to himself. A million questions piled up on the tip of Dave's tongue. And it was the same with Freddy Farmer. However, neither one of them spoke for fear it might stop the Colonel from saying more. However, they were both out of luck. The senior officer grunted, shook himself a little, and turned to them with a smile that showed his even whiteteeth even in the gloomy light.
"Well, I wish I had time, now, to get a first-hand report from you boys of that trip to Chungking you made," he said. "And your experiences with the Flying Tigers. However, I only popped out for a breath of air. There's still a lot of paper work for me to do. I'll be seeing you soon, though; don't worry. A lot of you, probably, as I'll be aboard your carrier, the Carson. Until then, good luck!"
Dave groaned, but not loud enough for Colonel Welsh to hear as he walked away.
"Even him!" Dave sighed. "Good luck to you, and good luck to you—and nuts! If anybody should suddenly say, 'Bad luck' to me just once, I think I'd keel over in a dead faint!"
"Oh, come off it, Dave!" Freddy grated. "What do you expect folks to say? Man, but you're getting to be a testy blighter! So we are going to a carrier task force, eh? Well, I'll have to admit that for once you were right. But I certainly wish he'd told us more."
"And you can repeat that!" Dave grunted. "And all this may be simply the beginning of a very costly waste of time and effort. That, my little friend, did not sound so nice to me. It didn't even sound close to nice."
"Quite," Freddy said with a little sigh. "Butnothing's nice about this blasted war, you know. So we might just as well make the best of it. And—"
The English youth choked off the rest as the alarm horn sounded aboard the destroyer, and the craft seemed virtually to spin around to port the length of her keel, and then fairly streak across the water.
"The submarine detector has picked up something, I guess!" Dave muttered, and took a firmer grip on the chain rail. "Now, wouldn't it be sweet to get torpedoed even before we get any place?"
"You say the happiest things!" Freddy got out in a slightly strained voice. "Shut up, and use your eyes. Maybe we'll sight something."
"In this darkness?" Dave echoed, and promptly leaned over the chain rail and strained his eyes at the black water beyond the bow. "Don't be silly. Not unless it's trimmed with neon lights."
For perhaps five minutes the destroyer pounded through the night sea at emergency knots. Then the all clear horn sounded again. The destroyer's speed slackened off slightly, and her bow came cutting around to the previous course. A faint sigh of relief seemed to whisper along the spray-drenched decks. And then presently everything was as normal as before.
"Probably one of ours," Dave grunted. "Or just a false alarm. But either suits me okay. There's something about getting torpedoed and drowned that I just don't like."
"Quite, oh quite!" Freddy Farmer echoed. "If a chap has to cop one, much better to cop it in the air. Definitely cleaner, you know."
Dave nodded, but didn't make any comment. And once more the two air aces lapsed into silence and stood at the chain rail peering out over the night-shrouded waters, each with the same thought unspoken in his mind. Way out there ahead were two Yank aircraft carriers waiting to take them aboard. And when that was accomplished, then where to next? A tantalizing question that only time would answer for them. And the smirking gods of war, too, of course, if the two youths could but hear their death rattle voices!
The sun was hardly a faint band of yellow white light on the eastern horizon when the speeding destroyer came within sight of the waiting task force. Despite the bucking and pitching of the craft during the dark hours of night, a good many of the Army, Navy, and Marine Corps pilots aboard had managed to curl up somehow on the deck and go to sleep. It was not the case with Dave and Freddy, however. They remained awake the whole time talking of this and that, or just staring thoughtfully out across the vast stretches of night-shrouded water.
And so they were among the first to see the faint shapes of the task force low down on the horizon. As usual, Freddy spotted them first and nudged Dave excitedly.
"There they are, Dave!" he cried, and pointed. "Right up ahead, there. Lord! A mess of them, what? Looks like the whole blasted Navy. I can count two carriers, half a dozen cruisers, and twelve destroyers!"
"Thanks, that saves me the trouble," Dave grunted, and squinted ahead. "Yup! That's a task force sure enough. And, boy, look at those destroyers skipping around! Fat chance Jap subs would have getting close to those flat-tops. I wonder which is the Carson? They both look the same to me."
"I don't care which is which," Freddy replied, and kept his gaze riveted on the flotilla of battle craft drawing closer and closer. "I'd much rather know where they are headed. After we've been put aboard, I mean."
"Well, keep your shirt on, sweetheart," Dave choked him off. "You'll find out soon enough, and—Oh yeah! There they are. I was wondering if either of those flat-tops had any planes up. Didn't think they'd leave it all to the destroyers. The whole works is hardly making any headway."
Freddy Farmer didn't make any comment. He had followed the direction of Dave's pointing hand with his eyes, and was watching the three sections of Navy scout-patrol planescircling about high in the air above the coasting task force. And a moment or two later, as though the task force commander had heard Dave's comment and decided to do something about it, every ship picked up speed and swung from a southeasterly course to one due south.
"What the deuce, now?" Freddy Farmer breathed to nobody in particular. "Why are they heading south? Have the Jap rats put a landing party ashore on Admiral Byrd's Little America?"
"Well, they've sure got a long ways to go to reach it!" Dave said with a laugh. "But if you use your head and your eyes, little man, you'll soon catch on to the idea that the carriers are about to take their planes aboard. So they've headed into the wind, which happens to be from the south. Now, anything else you'd like explained?"
If there was, the slightly red-faced Freddy Farmer didn't ask. He simply gave Dawson a withering look and then watched the scouting planes aloft circle around and down and land aboard one of the carriers like so many soldiers on parade.
"Splendid!" he breathed. "Darn good show. Those Navy chaps are a bit of all right when it comes to flying."
"And okay in a lot of other things, too," Dave added absently. "Well, it won't be long now. We're changing course to cut down the distance. Wonder how we're going to get aboard them? Swim?"
"I certainly hope so in your case!" Freddy snapped, and let it go at that.
By now all of the sleeping pilots were fully awake, and were gathered at the chain rails to fill their eyes with the impressive sight. The air was filled with complimentary remarks by the Navy pilots aboard. And for once the Army pilots had nothing to say. They were witnessing something being done in expert fashion, and there was no room for chiding wisecracks.
Signal flags fluttered up aloft the destroyer carrying the collection of pilots, and signal flags in answer were seen to break out from one of the carriers. A moment later the task force ships maneuvered about into a change of position, and during the next few minutes too many things happened too smoothly to give either Freddy or Dave a chance to take in the entire picture. Colonel Welsh and the destroyer's commander stepped out on the bridge along with the next in command. Names were called out. The pilots were split into two groups, one group assigned to one side of the destroyer, and the other groupto the other side. Dave and Freddy were assigned to the port side, and in less time than it takes to tell about it, the destroyer ran up close alongside one of the carriers that was practically stationary in the water. The destroyer was warped in even closer, and at a command from the bridge the pilots went up rope ladders and in through an opened hull door of the giant carrier towering high above the destroyer.
And no sooner were they aboard the carrier than a young ensign took their names, and turned them over to a seaman who in turn led them to their assigned quarters. As a matter of fact, so smoothly and with precision had everything functioned, that Dave's first move when he entered the cabin he and Freddy were to share was to sit down on one of the bunks, give a little shake of his head, and expel air from his lungs.
"Boy, some navy!" he breathed. "No wonder they boast about it, plenty. Gosh! Seems like only a couple of seconds ago we were bouncing along on that tin can. And now here we are aboard this big baby that feels as motionless as the Empire State Building. Only it isn't. She's boiling off knots, now."
Freddy glanced out the port at the dawn-tinted waters sweeping past, and nodded half-heartedly.
"Quite," he murmured. "But now that we're aboard, what next, I wonder?"
The English-born air ace didn't have to wonder long. The last word had hardly left his lips when the inter-ship speaker (nick-named Donald Duck) barked forth with orders.
"All pilots report to the flight deck at once! All pilots report to the flight deck at once!"
"That's us!" Dawson grunted, and made a pass or two at his tunic to straighten out a few of the wrinkles that actually weren't there. "Hit the deck, Freddy! Top side with you, sailor!"
"Don't!" the English youth groaned, and took a quick glance at his reflection in the small wall mirror. "You talk bad enough as an Army man."
"Every day it comes more compliments!" Dawson mocked, and led the way through the cabin door.
Some twenty or so seconds later they were up on the flight deck and with the members of the group gathered just under the signal bridge. Up there they saw a lot of Navy gold, but it was Colonel Welsh who spoke to them.
"You gentlemen have come aboard this carrier to take part in a difficult and hazardous operation against the enemy forces in the Southwest Pacific," he began. "The details of the operationwill be explained to you in full, later. Right now, though, I want to impress upon you that you are all guests of the officers and crew of this carrier, and as such will refrain from thoughtlessly interfering with the general routine of the ship's company."
The colonel paused and grinned.
"I'm including myself in these instructions," he said, "because, frankly, this is my first visit aboard a carrier at sea. And I, too, am mighty curious to see what makes one of these flat-tops tick. However, this is no time for sight-seeing, so I am asking you gentlemen to confine your movements to the officers' quarters, and the flight deck. Well, I guess that's all—except for one thing. All of you are to report to the Ready-Room, on the hangar deck, at five o'clock this afternoon. And—But there I make my first boner!"
The colonel stopped and grinned apologetically at the Admiral in command of the task force. Then he turned back to the pilots.
"Air Forces pilots will report at five o'clock," he chuckled. "And Navy and Marine Corps pilots will report at two bells, or whatever the correct number of bells it is. Anyway, all of you be there. That's all, and dismissed."
The pilots let out a cheer for the colonel andthen broke up into groups of two and three and began to wander along the smooth flat surface of the flight deck. They didn't wander about very long, however. There were few planes on deck, and the dawn sun climbing up over the horizon reminded each and every one of them that what was really in order was a little food. Particularly Freddy Farmer, and it was he who led the straggling procession down below decks to the pilots' mess room. And when he and Dave had eaten their fill of Navy chow they went to their quarters to arrange their personal belongings that had been taken aboard from the destroyer, and to chew the fat a bit. They did little of either. At least, that went for Dave. Just to "relax for a couple of shakes" he stretched out on his bunk, and the next thing he knew Freddy had him by the shoulder and was shaking him hard.
"Out of it, Dave, old thing!" came Freddy's muffled voice to his sleep-lulled brain. "Out of it, I say! You want to be late and get off to your usual bad start? Blast you, man! Out of there, or you get this whole pitcher of water, and I promise it!"
Dave blinked and blinked some more, and finally sat up on the bunk.
"Huh?" he groaned. "What's cooking? Whereare we, and what's the idea of trying to break off my arm? And—Holy smokes! Where are we, anyway?"
"You can ask the navigation officer, later!" Freddy snapped. "Right now, move yourself, and get presentable. We've just about two minutes to get to the Ready-Room. Come on, Dave! Prop-wash the sleep out of your brain, will you? Lord! You're more bother than my maiden aunt!"
Dawson blinked again, started to speak, but checked himself as memory came rushing back into his brain. Instead he let out a yell, jumped off the bunk and cracked the top of his head against the bunk above. And he let out another yell.
"Doggone it!" he growled, and rubbed the top of his head. "Why don't they build these cabins big enough so a guy can move around without killing himself? Hey! Where's my tunic? Where's my cap? Hey, Freddy! What did you do with my stuff? Oh! Here it is. Two minutes to go, huh? Then what are we waiting for, pal?"
Freddy Farmer snorted and went outside alone, but in just about less time than it takes to tell about it Dave went out and caught up with him. And together they made their way to the Ready-Room on the hangar deck. It turned outthat they were the last to show up, so when they entered the door was closed and Colonel Welsh rose from where he was sitting with the task force's commander at the head end of the room. He waited a couple of minutes for feet to stop shuffling around. Then he grinned and made a little half salute with one hand.
"Now it comes, Gentlemen," he said with a chuckle. "Now you'll get the answer to the one question that has burned holes in the brain of each and every one of you since the moment you received word to report to H.Q. at Sydney. Or could I be wrong?"
The short, hooting laugh that spread from lip to lip of those present was proof enough that the colonel had hit the nail right smack on the head. Every last one of them had thought of little else but the reason he had been summoned to H.Q. at Sydney.
"Well, here is the picture," Colonel Welsh continued, but there was no smile on his face now, nor any light note in his voice. "The Southwest Pacific Command is going to try and beat the Japs to the punch. In other words, we're pretty sure that the Jap is about set to let fly with another of his blows at us, so we're going to beat him to it. In brief, we're going to go after them in the Solomon Islands."
The colonel paused for breath, and a mounting murmur of suppressed excitement ran its course about the Ready-Room. Nobody said anything, though, not even a whispered word of comment to his friend sitting next to him. On the contrary, each man simply hitched forward a little more on the edge of his chair, and kept his attention riveted one hundred per cent upon the Chief of Combined U.S. Intelligence.
"The assault upon the Jap-occupied Solomons," he went on presently, "will be a two part affair with land, sea, and air forces cooperating throughout. The first part will be the capture and holding of an airport on Guadalcanal Island. And the second part, which will be carried out simultaneously with the first part, will be the capture of Tulagi on Florida Island some twenty-two water miles north of Guadalcanal. That is what we have made plans and arrangements to carry out. However, a good part of whether we do it or not will depend upon you pilots."
The senior Intelligence officer paused again and for a moment let his keen eyes roam over the collection of faces before him.
"I doubt that any of you will be taking any active part in either of the two surprise attacks of which I've spoken," he suddenly hurled thethunderbolt at them. "Your job will be to find, checkmate, and stop cold Jap forces that could prevent us from carrying out either of these attacks successfully. To put it bluntly, we have information and data which indicates that a large Jap sea, land, and air force is forming at their Truk Island base in the Carolinas preparatory to moving south against our positions on New Guinea, if not directly against Australia itself. In fact, we believe that this huge Jap force is already on the move. But just exactly where it is, we can only guess. Your job, and the job of those aboard the other carrier in this force, will be—to find that Jap forceat all costs!We have got to find that force and either destroy it or make it turn back. If we don't then thousands of American soldiers, sailors, and airmen will be forced to give up their lives in vain. No matter what, you have got to find this Jap force that is somewhere between Truk Island and the New Guinea coast!"
As the colonel paused again, not a man moved. Not a man hardly so much as breathed. Everyone sat motionless, eyes on the colonel's grave face, and thoughts fixed squarely upon the do or die order that had been issued!
The Chief of Combined U.S. Intelligence seemed purposely to allow three or four moments for the importance of his statement to have its effect upon his listeners, and then he made a little gesture with one hand, and flashed them a brief smile once more.
"And the reason you gentlemen have been selected for this job," he said, "is because your commanding officers consider you best fitted and equipped to tackle it. To put it another way, you pilots are the cream of the crop. Perhaps some of you may be wondering why you were not asked to volunteer for the job. Well, the answer to that is easy. In the first place we would have been forced to reveal somewhat the nature of the job, and it was our desire to keepeverything a secret right up to the last minute. And in the second place, and just as important, asking you to volunteer would be just a matter of routine. Your war records show that no matter whether you volunteer for a job, or receive orders to perform it, you go at the job all out just the same. However, before I go any further, just for the sake of the record I'd better say right here that any pilot who does not wish to take part has my full permission to withdraw right here and now. No questions will be asked, and his withdrawal will not be held against him in any way."
The colonel stopped talking and let his eyes wander about the Ready-Room again. Nobody said anything. Nobody even so much as moved. They all just sat there in their seats waiting patiently for the colonel to continue. He did, with a grin and a little hunch of his shoulders.
"See what I mean?" he said. "Just a waste of time finding out if you fellowswanta crack at this thing. Incidentally, I'm very proud of all of you, and very grateful in the name of your country. But to get on with this thing. As you've probably come to realize by now, we've not only picked crack pilots for this job, but also crack flying teams. By selecting pairs that have had considerable experience together against theenemy, we believe that we will get far better results than if we had simply picked a crack pilot from one squadron, a crack pilot from another squadron, and put them together in the same plane. There isn't enough time for you to get to know one another in the air. And so we have selected teams instead of individuals."
The colonel paused, half turned to glance at the commander of the task force, and then faced the pilots again.
"You will probably not take off on the first phase of this vitally important Jap hunt until tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest," he continued. "However, I want all of you pilots to remain on constant alert, just in case the unforeseen does happen. Right after I finish this little talk you will be assigned to your planes, and you will also be given instructions about take-off orders, take-off rules and signals, and communication code-words to be used while in flight. And, of course, before each patrol the team of each plane will be given complete instructions as to the patrol course to be flown,andexactly what is to be done in the event any units of the enemy are sighted. Admiral Jackson, here with me, and the executive flight officer, will have charge of those details. My job—"
The colonel paused and half grinned.
"Call me the team coach, if you wish," he said. "I'm the coach giving you the old pep talk before the big game. And believe me, itisthe big game. If we don't find this Jap force reported moving southward; don't find it and do something about it, our initial offensive against the Japs in the Southwest Pacific can easily be turned into a most disastrous defeat for our forces. That possibility you must not forget for a single instant, and act accordingly."
The Chief of Combined U.S. Intelligence took another couple of moments out, and Dawson, watching him intently, saw the corners of his mouth tighten, and a hard, steely look come into his eyes.
"And let's not try to kid ourselves either," he suddenly said in a low, quiet voice that contained just a faint ring of steel against steel. "It is going to be the hardest job any of you have yet tackled. And some of you, only a few I hope to God, will not be coming back. We are playing for surprise one hundred per cent, but we've got to remember that the Japs have not thus far shown themselves to be stupid and dumb when it comes to the question of pulling a fast one. For that reason, we've got to be on the alert against any surprises they might pull out of the hat. Frankly, nobody knows where thiscarrier force is right now, or where it's headed. Not even our own Navy Department. This maneuver is strictly hush-hush. And that's just as it should be, everything considered. We have a tough job ahead, and there's no sense making it any tougher through being careless and not on the alert. And now, just one more thing. You can consider it an honor to be selected to take part in this maneuver, but don't let it go any farther than that. I mean, there are pilots, and air crews aboard this carrier, and the Hawk, who will not take part in your work. That, however, doesn't mean they won't have a job to do, and a mighty important one, too. So just don't get the idea that you are something special—even if you are. See what I mean? All right, then. Thanks for listening, and a million in luck. Very good, sir. Your turn."
The colonel spoke the last to the carrier task force commander seated beside him. The high ranking naval officer rose to his feet, spoke a few words of greeting to the pilots, assured them that they were most welcome aboard the ship, and expressed the hope that they would find their stay aboard pleasant for themselves, and profitable for the cause for which they were fighting. Then the Naval officer turned them over to the executive flight officer. He in turn led them out intothe deck hangar, and with the aid of a few junior officers assigned the planes to be used on the Jap hunt.
The plane given to Dawson and Farmer was a Wright "Cyclone" powered Douglas "Dauntless." That suited them both right down to the ground. Or rather, right down to the deck. It did because they both had flown that type of carrier-based plane quite often. And in their combined opinion it was the very latest thing in long range scout-bombing planes.
"Nice, very nice!" Dawson breathed happily, as he ran his eyes over the sleek, yet powerfully built aircraft. "I was worrying a little about what they were going to give us to fly. But I'm not worrying any more. This baby is all that I'd ask for."
"Quite; me, too!" Freddy Farmer echoed. "It's got the range, and the power."
"Also, it has the what it takes, in case we bump into Zeros and such," Dave reminded him. "Gee, I wonder if they're going to let us try out the ships before they send us off on the hunt job?"
"Naturally," Freddy Farmer replied, as though he considered such a question quite unnecessary. "After all, you know, even aircraft of the same type are different in lots of littlethings."
"Yes, I know," Dawson grunted. "But—"
And that's as far as he got. It was almost as though his question about test flying the Douglas Dauntless had been overheard, because at that moment a junior officer came up with the announcement that most of the aircraft were about to be taken up onto the flight deck so that they could be test flown before darkness set down for the night.
And just twenty-five minutes later by Dave's watch he was seated in the pilot's pit of the Dauntless buckling his safety harness, and making the one hundred and one last minute preparations for flight. Seated in the pit in back of him was Freddy Farmer, making ready himself. The Carrier Carson had turned slightly into the wind and was rushing through the Southwest Pacific at full knots to give the pilots every take-off advantage possible.
"Okay, Freddy?" Dave called back. "All set?"
"Been waiting for hours!" the English youth shot back at him "Right-o! Any time you get the signal."
Dave grunted and fixed his eyes on the flight bridge. The officer there suddenly turned and pointed his flag at Dave. Dawson gunned his engine slightly, and with the aid of a crew manon each wing he wheeled the Dauntless forward and into take-off position. The flight officer raised the flag, looked at Dave, and then brought the flag down fast. Dawson's hand on the throttle shoved it forward. The Wright Cyclone in the nose roared up in its song of power and the Dauntless moved forward down the deck. It picked up speed with every rev of its three-bladed steel prop, and Dave had it clear of the deck in no time at all. He went cutting up and off to the left to make room for the next plane taking off.
"Well, pal, how's it suit you?" he called back to Freddy when there were some five thousand feet of air under the wings.
"What suits me?" the English youth echoed back. "This plane, or your flying, or what? Of course, if you mean your flying, why—"
"Save it, sweetheart, save it!" Dave growled. "No. This pip of a plane, andmyexpert flying, go without saying. What I meant was, how does this Jap hunt shape up to you?"
"Could be worse, I fancy," Freddy replied. "Truth to tell, though, I could do with a whole lot more details. The colonel didn't say very much, you know."
"Well, for cat's sake, what else could he say?" Dawson demanded. "Somewhere in an area ofabout a hundred thousand square miles is supposed to be a big Jap force on its way south to make plenty of trouble. Maybe it isn't going south. The colonel doesn't know. Or anybody else, for that matter. However, the colonel can't take chances on our Guadalcanal and Tulagi attack going haywire. I mean, having this Jap force bump into them right at the beginning of the attack. See what I mean?"
"Rot!" Freddy snorted. "As if a ten-year-old child couldn't reasonthatout? Certainly! Of course, you silly blighter. Naturally the colonel doesn't knowwherethis Jap force is. But I meant, more details on how, and when, and how long we're to patrol, and stuff? He only touched on that part by saying that we're to find the Jap force."
"Okay, okay, fire horse!" Dave grunted. "Just be patient. I promise you, I'll refuse to take off on a single patrol until your craving for details is completely satisfied. Will that be all right, fussy pants?"
Freddy Farmer made some remark, but Dave didn't hear it. He didn't because at that moment he heard the call signal from the carrier in his earphones. He answered at once, and his heart started hammering against his ribs as the crisp spoken orders came through from the carrier farbelow and several miles to the north of his position.
"Proceed due east from your position, Tiger!" the carrier officer said, using the Dauntless' code name. "Scout for unidentified aircraft. Proceed at full throttle. If it is an enemy aircraft, attack and destroy at once. Repeat! Attack anddestroyat once!"
"Orders received and understood, Swordfish!" Dawson called back instantly. "On course, now!"
As Dave had spoken the words he had heeled the Dauntless around on wingtip, opened up the Cyclone wide, and was now streaking across the Southwest Pacific sky toward the east. Their headphones being connected, Freddy Farmer had heard the orders at the same time. And so, naturally, he asked no questions about Dave's sudden and violent maneuver. As a matter of fact he said nothing. He simply sat tight in his pit, and like Dave riveted his eyes on the eastern sky ahead.
The east was a little smudgy because night was approaching. Also there were some cloud banks hanging in the sky that cast all kinds of crazy shadows. As a matter of fact, half a dozen times Dawson was dead sure he spotted the shadow of a moving plane hugging close to the clouds. But each time he opened his mouth tocall out to Freddy Farmer the "shadow" just melted away into nothing.
Eventually, though, Freddy Farmer's eagle eyes scored a hit on something that wasn't just a shadow that melted away the next time he looked. He called out sharply to Dave, and pointed with his hand.
"A lone aircraft ahead and about ten degrees to starboard, Dave!" he announced. "See it? Just under that cloud that's shaped like a pear. See it? See...? By Jove, Dave, get us more speed! That's a blasted Jap snooper! Good grief! And this far south? Wait! Yes, Dave, yes! It is one of their four-engined Kawanishi flying boats, just as sure as you're a foot high. Blast them! Way down here snooping on us!"
For some four or five seconds Dawson didn't make any reply. He leaned forward in the seat, as though that would aid his vision, and stared hard at the heavens ahead and ten degrees to starboard. But for those number of seconds he couldn't see a single thing that increased his heart beat. Then, suddenly, he did see it. He saw the huge four-engined long range flying boat type of craft that the Japs had copied from the type of flying boat that the French had used before the war on the mail and passenger run between Dakar and Brazil. Now that he couldsee it he was amazed that he hadn't seen it much sooner because of its tremendous size. The wing span was a good one hundred and thirty-two feet, and the hull made him think of a good sized destroyer. And as he peered at it and impulsively tried to force the Dauntless on to even greater speed by pressing the heel of one palm hard against the already wide open throttle, he realized without getting any closer that the huge flying boat was well armed.
"Don't you see it yet, Dave?" Freddy Farmer's voice cut into this thoughts. "It's just under—"
"Don't worry; I spot it, eagle eyes!" Dawson cut him off. "I'm just selecting which part of it to smack first. Come snooping down here on us, huh? Not today, my little Jap rats. At least, not any more. Just another couple of shakes, now, and you're going to only have eyes that are blind! And how!"