Some Fighters Stayed With the Carrier
Some Fighters Stayed With the Carrier
Some Fighters Stayed With the Carrier
But Scoot searched in vain through the skies as the afternoon turned to evening. TheBunker Hill’sown planes came back for the last time but still no Japs appeared. Scoot was raging—all day long without a crack at a Jap! And they were right in the heart of what the Nips considered their private ocean!
“Is there anything left of Truk for us to get?” he asked that night. “Didn’t everything get blasted off the map?”
“There’ll be plenty left for everybody,” the squadron commander replied. “We’ve got half the ships in the harbor and we’ll get most of the rest tomorrow. Some of them scattered and ran but the boys from the carriers to the north are catching them. There are emergency airfields around that will be in use tomorrow, and you can be sure that there’ll be planes from other Jap garrisons in this area. You boys will have a fight on your hands tomorrow all right.”
“We’d better have!” Scoot exclaimed. “Imagine! Not a lousy Jap showed up today!”
It was with grim anger that Scoot took off the next morning, reveling in the almost unlimited power of his Hellcat as it roared up into the blue skies and circled, heading for Truk. Scoot was in the squadron leader’s group, and their objective was the big airfieldsouth of the city. The Japs would have been working on it all night, despite constant attacks by the bombers, and they’d have at least one landing strip in shape for their planes to get off. The fighters were to strafe the field, then go up as protective cover for the dive bombers. These would be coming into the harbor right after them, to get the rest of the ships that still lay there.
Roaring low over the choppy waters of the Pacific, the speedy planes raced toward the tiny group of islands that the Japs had made into a great naval fortress, a fortress that was being knocked to pieces by American planes.
As they approached the island, Scoot saw ahead several American ships—two cruisers and half a dozen destroyers.
“They’re doing it, boys,” his squadron leader’s voice came over the radio. “The surface ships are moving in close to shell the island!”
Scoot almost laughed in happiness. It was daring enough for American carriers to penetrate supposedly Japanese waters and give a pasting to their impregnable fort. Carriers could stay a couple of hundred miles out while their planes flew in to the attack. And they were fast ships which could get away in a hurry if they needed to. But here were the big-gun ships moving to within fifteen or twenty miles to shell the island. And the Jap Navy was either hiding or running away—in its own back yard!
The fighter planes gunned their engines in greeting as they passed the American ships, and Scoot could see the crews waving and laughing happily on the decks of the ships.
“They’ll start their shelling just about the time the dive bombers finish the first part of their job,” Scoot guessed. “And when they’ve pounded away a couple of hours the bombers will come back in again for another attack.”
Up ahead lay the island. At better than three hundred miles an hour the huge flight of fighters went over the shore, heading straight for the airfield. They paid no attention to the twenty or thirty Jap fighters high above them, did not even notice the bursts, of ack-ack shells that puffed around and ahead of them. They were too low and traveling too fast for ack-ack to be very effective or accurate—and as for those Zeros, the American planes would take care of them in just a few minutes.
Scoot saw the airfield up ahead, saw Jap planes on the runways ready to take off. And the next minute he was roaring over the field, not thirty feet above the runway, watching the Jap ground crews running for cover, seeing a few firing rifles futilely into the air at the speeding planes. He pressed the machine-gun button and felt the slight backward push to the plane as the battery of fifty caliber machine gunspoured out its converging fire of destruction. Jap after Jap, fleeing toward the hangars, was cut down in his tracks. Scoot concentrated a terrific burst of fire on the plane directly ahead of him, saw a flash as it caught fire, then pulled up and away with a shout that could have been heard half a mile away had not the air been filled with the roar of powerful engines.
He circled and came back over the field the other way, this time dipping to pour a hail of lead into the open doors of a hangar.
“How did the other boys happen to leave that one standing?” Scoot wondered. “The others are all down in ruins.” It was not easy to demolish a big hangar with a fighting plane, so Scoot left that for the bombers, knowing that he had taken care of a few Japs huddling inside the building and had put forty or fifty holes in the plane standing near the front.
After one more sweep over the field, he pointed his Hellcat’s nose at the sun and climbed. But there was something up there on the sun, he thought, looking intently. Sunspots? What a funny thing to think of at a moment like this. He’d hardly be noticing sunspots—but hewouldalmost instinctively notice Jap Zeros when they were diving at him out of the sun.
“That’s what they are!” Scoot exclaimed. “But they made one big mistake. They thought we were going to strafe the field a couple more times and they’dcome down on us out of the sun while we were busy doing it. I’ll bet they’re confused now, seeing us coming right up at them head-on.”
The first groups of the fighter squadrons were all aiming for the clouds after their attack on the field, while the next groups were carrying on the strafing job. And Scoot knew, too, that two groups were high in the air, serving as cover for just such a Jap attack.
“Those Nips may not know it,” he muttered to himself, “but I’ll bet there’s a flock of Hellcats coming out of the sun right behind ’em.”
The Zeros were larger now, growing larger every minute as they dived down at the formations of American planes trying to climb away from the field. It looked as if all the planes were determined to crash head-on into each other at the greatest possible speed.
Scoot heard a short command come over the radio from his squadron leader. He grinned.
“Just what I thought he’d do,” he told himself, and then shoved the stick hard to the right, as he pulled back on the throttle. The American group split, half going to the right, half to the left, in a maneuver so sudden and sharp that the Japs in their Zeros could hardly believe their eyes at seeing planes which had been almost in their gunsights disappear so quickly. They still thought that their lightly armored Zeros were the most highly maneuverable planes in the world. They’d not had much experience yet with the new Hellcats.
Scoot’s wing tipped sharply, and the craft seemed to stall. Then, giving her the gun again, he flipped completely over. He knew that the Japs, in that part of a second, would have roared past the spot he had just been in and now the American planes could chasethemon down toward the field, coming in from the side and rear.
“There they are!” Scoot cried. “Just about set up in position!”
The first Jap planes were pulling up desperately from their dive, attempting to get back in position to meet the attack of the Americans. Scoot picked the leading Jap plane, got it in his sights and roared up on it from a little below. He held his fire, held it a fraction of a second longer, then pushed the fire-control button with a vicious jab that almost drove it out of its socket.
Black smoke crept back from the Zero, then flame which fast grew into a huge sheet of fire enveloping the entire craft. It slowed, seemed to stagger a moment in the air. Losing power at once because of its climbing position, it twisted and turned.
As Scoot pulled up and away, he kept his eye on the blazing Zero as it fell—at first lazily, then faster and faster—toward the ground.
“Is it going to—Yes, by golly!” Scoot cried as the flaming plane crashed into the huge hangar still standing at the edge of the Jap field below. There was a roar of fire, a great cloud of black smoke and Scoot threw back his head and laughed loud and long.
“Who said a fighter couldn’t take care of a hangar?” he demanded. “Why did I think I had to leave it for the bombers? Boy, oh boy, is that good?”
“That’s puttin’ ’em in the right pocket, Scoot!” It was the voice of his squadron leader over the radio. “But watch out behind you! A little sneak attack coming!”
Yes, there were two Japs coming in on him. Now where did they come from, Scoot wondered. But he didn’t spend much time on that question for he had other things to do. If these Japs weren’t familiar enough with what the new Hellcats could do he’d show ’em. So, instead of diving to get away, as he knew they expected, he put his fighter into a steep climb that pulled him up toward the clouds as if a giant hand had reached down and grabbed him.
That took the first Jap by surprise, as Scoot hoped, but the second had just enough time to meet the maneuver. As Scoot closed in on the first, he knew that the second was coming in behind him. He concentrated on one thing at a time. Maybe, he thought, he could take care of the first one fast and get away quickly enough. With a roar of speed, he brought the first Jap into range, opened fire, sawsmoke, and waited no longer. He plunged into a diving turn, looked back over his shoulder and saw the second Jap ship already plunging earthward in a cloud of smoke.
“Who did that?” Scoot demanded, almost to himself.
“I did, my friend!” It was Turk Bottomley’s voice.
“What are you doing here?” Scoot demanded.
“No Jap planes showed up at the carrier,” Scoot said, “so the Old Man let a few of us come over to have some fun. I just got here.”
“And just in time, lad,” Scoot said. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Turk laughed. “The pleasure was all mine.”
So that is how Scoot managed to paint two little Jap flags on the side of his plane the next day, as theBunker Hillsteamed westward, away from a smoking and flaming Truk.
“That’s something like it!” Scoot exclaimed to himself. “I’ll bet poor old March isn’t having any fun like this, cooped up in that stuffy submarine.”
It was at that moment that March was listening with pleasure to the explosion of theKamongo’storpedoes against the sides of a Jap tanker at Wake Island.
CRASH LANDING
CRASH LANDING
CRASH LANDING
Kamongowas ranged with fourteen other submarines alongside the tenderDavidat the little island base in the southwest Pacific. The crossing after the sinking at Wake Island had been uneventful, since they had run submerged most of the time during daylight hours. Always on the lookout for enemy ships, officers and crew alike had been disappointed to run into nothing but an American task force, consisting of a carrier, a cruiser, and three destroyers racing north at full speed.
March had tried to make out the name of the carrier, and he would have been delighted to know it was theBunker Hillcarrying Scoot and his companions from their Truk attack to a small action against another Jap-held island farther north. But even American subs submerged and ran deep and quiet when American ships were near by. The destroyers would have started to toss depth charges like snowflakes if they had sighted a periscope of any kind.
At the sub base, all pigboat Skippers and their seconds were at a meeting aboard the tender. Captain Milbank, the Intelligence Officer, was speaking to them.
“You’ve all heard about the blasting of Truk,” he said. “Now, it’s certain that the Japs will try to reinforce that important post as quickly and as fully as possible. In fact, word has reached us through the Chinese that a large convoy has already left Japan for Truk, with troops, oil and gasoline, ammunition, more antiaircraft guns, food and supplies, and with almost every deck covered with Zeros. They’ve got to replace what we knocked out there and, even further, increase their defending force. They know we’ll hit it again.”
He looked around the room at the quiet, serious faces of the men who listened intently.
“You may also know,” he went on, “that we have found Chinese Intelligence to be very reliable. It’s amazing how they get word through the Jap lines so quickly and efficiently. Well—the Chinese report that there’s something special about this convoy for Truk. They weren’t able to learn exactly what it is, but they believe it is in the route to be followed. The Nips know our submarines are roaming the seas out here and will be on the lookout especially for this convoy. Having knocked Truk half out, we want to keep it in that condition. It’s you men—with some help, I must confess, from the air service—who will do that job.”
There were smiles in the room as the Captain, joking, grudgingly recognized the usefulness of the flying sailors. Then he continued:
“Our patrol planes are ranging over the ocean on the lookout for the convoy, of course, but their distances are limited and it’s a mighty big ocean to cover. So, for a while, our submarines must also act as scouts. Later we can get together and sink the ships, but first we have to act as a team to find them.
“We’re all going to leave here at the same time, and fan out to cover the main routes from Japan to Truk. And we want to catch them as far from Truk as possible. The earlier we can find them, the more subs and planes we’ll have time to get to the attack so we can wipe the whole thing out.”
The Captain turned to a chart behind him on the wall.
“Later I shall go over with you the routes to be followed by each submarine,” he said. “If and when any one of you sights the convoy he isnotto radio that information. The Japs would certainly pick up that broadcast. They’d know we had discovered them and they’d be ready for us. We want the attack to come by surprise. So we have arranged certain spots for each of you to arrive at on certain days and at specific hours. A patrol plane will visit each of those spots, clearly marked so that you will not mistake it for an enemy plane. He will land on the water and pick up any information you may have. This same procedure is to be followed twenty-four hours later at another spot further away.
“If by that time not one of you has found the convoy, you are to go your own ways, looking for whatever you can find on this patrol. And by that time, if you find anything like the big convoy, the only thing to do will be to surface and radio us so we can all close in for the kill. We’ll lose the element of surprise but we’ll get them, anyway.”
Next, the Intelligence Officer went over the details of routes and rendezvous spots for each submarine. March saw at once thatKamongowas taking a westerly course from their base, then heading northwest. It seemed to him that this should be one of the most likely routes for a convoy to take from Japan to Truk, and he was pleased.
Then Larry Gray asked a question of the Intelligence Officer.
“Those rendezvous spots,” he said. “They appear to be in open sea, but I know there are little atolls all over the place. Are they near such islands?”
“No, they are not,” the Captain said. “Purposely. The Japs have little garrisons on a great many of those tiny islands that look no more than bumps on the sea. Some of them have radios. If they saw the contact of an American sub and an American patrol plane so far from our bases, they’d report it. That wouldn’t tell the Japs much, but the less they know the better we like it, no matter how unimportant it may seem. No, the meeting places are in open water. The navigators have a little work to do on this patrol.”
Larry glanced at March and smiled. March knew it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to find one exact spot in the middle of a big ocean by dead reckoning.
After going over all details of the complicated plan thoroughly, the skipper and their execs returned to their own submarines to see that everything was ready for getting under way. Fuel and supplies and torpedoes had been loaded into all the pigboats and there remained only a final check before they could depart.
In the night they slipped away from their tender one by one and, traveling on the surface under the protection of night, they headed out to sea silently, on the alert, eagerly looking forward to the task ahead. The crew of each pigboat felt thattheywould be the ones to find the convoy, the first to go in for the attack.
But on the second day not a sign of the convoy had been seen by any of the submarines.
“Must be coming more slowly than we thought,” Larry suggested. “We’ll catch up with it before the next patrol stop.”
At the time Larry spoke they were on the surface in the late afternoon, watching the big American flying boat slide down out of the clouds and circle above them. March had felt a thrill of satisfaction when hesaw it, knowing that it meant he had found his particular spot in the wide Pacific, but Larry just seemed to take it for granted that his navigator would have brought them where they were supposed to be, no matter how difficult the job.
They gave their negative report to the patrol, learned that no other pigboat contacted had had better luck, then submerged as the flying boat took off from the choppy waters.
They ran submerged at periscope depth for two hours until darkness began to fall, with one of the officers having his eye glued to the little rubber piece on the ’scope every minute. Then they surfaced and went steadily forward on their prescribed course. Two officers and three lookouts stayed constantly on the bridge, and the sound detector man below concentrated on his listening as never before. It might well be that he could pick up the sound of a convoy’s propellers long before the lookouts would sight anything, especially on a moonless night.
But dawn came and found them with nothing to report.
“You’d think there wasn’t even a war going on out here!” McFee complained. “Don’t the Nips haveanyships in these waters?”
“Not in the waters we’ve been sailing on, anyway,” Stan Bigelow replied. “I feel cross-eyed from looking so hard for the last four hours.”
The bright sun sent them under the water again, but only to periscope depth so that a constant lookout could be maintained. Still—late afternoon found them filled with discouragement, waiting for the patrol plane. The patrol had found nothing.
“Maybe one of the others—” March suggested, but Larry shook his head.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “I think we’re in the best spot. We’re furthest west of the whole bunch. That’s certainly the most likely route for the convoy, keeping as close to the Philippines, to land protection, as possible. If they were attacked they’d have support from land-based planes there for quite a while. If anything, I think they may even be further west than our route.”
March and Larry talked as they stood on the bridge waiting for their patrol plane to come out of the west. Suddenly the lookout shouted, “Plane coming out of the sun!”
“Can’t be ours!” Larry shouted. “Rig for dive, March.”
As March barked out the orders to take the ship down, the lookout reported that the plane was a two-motored flying boat.
“Must be a Jap all right,” Larry said. They all knew that their own plane was four-motored, one of the longest-ranged flying boats in the world.
A Two-Motored Flying Boat Came at Them
A Two-Motored Flying Boat Came at Them
A Two-Motored Flying Boat Came at Them
In two minutes March had slid down the hatch, to be followed by Larry, who dogged the hatch cover tight.
“Take her down to a hundred and fifty,” he said.
Kamongoturned her nose down and slid forward. As they leveled off at a hundred and fifty they heard the roar and felt the jar of a depth charge explosion. But it was not close and it went off far above them. Then came another, a little closer but still threatening no danger to the sub.
“Not full-size charges,” Larry said. “We’re all right at a hundred and fifty. We’ll just wait him out. He can’t be carrying very many depth charges in that job of his. But hold on—he’ll probably get a little closer.”
They all held on, but nothing happened. Not another charge went off. March looked questioningly at Larry.
“Don’t know,” Larry said. “Maybe he’s gone on. More likely he’s playing possum, hoping we’ll think he’s gone and will come up for a look. That’s when he’d get us.”
“Better stay down for a while,” March said.
“Yes, he can’t fly around up there in a circle forever,” Larry said. “We’ll go up in an hour.”
“What about meeting our patrol plane?” March asked.
“I’m afraid we’ll miss him,” Larry said. “Can’t take a chance on going up now. He might hang around for a while, of course, if the Jap has gone.”
“He could take care of that Jap in a minute,” McFee said.
“Say, maybe that’s what happened,” March suggested.
“Perhaps,” said Larry. “Maybe our plane came and drove off the Jap. But we can’t be sure. I’m not going to risk a sub and sixty men just to find out.”
Then the sound man turned excitedly.
“I hear something, sir,” he said. “Something in Morse—sounds like a hammer tapping against metal. I’ll have it in a minute.”
They waited impatiently as the sound man took down the message. Then he handed it to Larry.
“Kamongo,” it said. “Jap went home. Come on up.”
Larry grinned. “It’s okay,” he said. “The Jap wouldn’t have known we wereKamongo. It’s our plane. Take her up.”
When the ship surfaced and Larry scrambled through the hatch on to the bridge he saw the big American flying boat resting on the water not a quarter of a mile away. It taxied over beside the submarine as March and Mac joined Larry on the bridge.
“I thought you’d get that hammer-on-the-hull message,” the plane’s pilot called with a smile. “Nippo just took one look at me coming and decided he had a date west of here in a big hurry.”
Larry passed on his report of not having sighted the big Jap convoy and learned that no other submarine had found it either.
“Well, you’re on your own now,” the pilot said. “Go get ’em and good luck.”
They waved as the plane turned and roared over the water, lifted in the air and circled to the east with a last dip of its wings.
“Now where do we go from here?” March asked.
“We’ll head west,” Larry said. “After that Jap plane. Let’s get going. I’m going to find that convoy!”
Meanwhile, the Jap plane heading west had sighted something else. Its pilot was angry at having been driven away from an American submarine just when it was about to blow the hated pigboat to its ancestors. And there ahead of him—to make up for that loss—was a lone American fighter plane. He grinned happily.
“American plane,” he said to his co-pilot. “We get him.”
The co-pilot looked worried. “American fighter too fast for slow flying boat. Maybe he get us!”
But the pilot was angry and not to be argued with. “No, we get American fighter!”
It was obvious that the American had seen them, but the plane did not put on a sudden burst of speed, did not maneuver quickly to get into position for the attack.
The co-pilot grinned. “American plane damaged,” he said. “American plane cannot fly fast!”
“Now will you question what I say?” demanded the pilot. “I said we get American plane. Our gods damage plane so wecanget it.”
Scoot Bailey looked at the approaching Jap bomber and frowned. Here was a quick decision to be made. He had been out with the other fighters and bombers fromBunker Hillattacking the Jap garrison on a small island to the north. A lucky shot from one of the few defending Jap Zeros—before it went down—clipped Scoot’s oil line. There was a leak, though not a big one, and the engine was heating up badly. So Scoot had been separated from the others and now was limping home to his carrier, trying to get the best speed he could without overheating the engine too much. It had not been an easy job to nurse it along that way, for the oil was dripping away drop by drop. Still, he thought he might make it, for he had only about forty more miles to go.
“And now this clumsy boat of the Japs has to show up!” he shouted to himself angrily. “I could take him in a minute if I was okay, but with this leaky oil line—what’ll I do? If I give her the gun and really swoop down on this bird, I’ll force out most of the oil that I’ve got left, heat up the engine so much it’ll burn out. But if I don’t, then I’m just like a clay pigeon, sitting here waiting to be taken.”
Scoot smiled. “Doesn’t take long to make up your mind in a case like that. I’ll get that baby who thinks I’m crippled and can’t fight back. And then I’ll just be setting myself down on the sea somewhere and hoping to be picked up, though there’s not much hope for that here.”
He let the Jap patrol plane come on, continued to act as if he couldn’t maneuver the plane. He wiggled the wings as if he were trying to make his craft do something it wouldn’t do. He succeeded in filling the Jap pilot with such confidence that the man was happily off guard.
Then, at the last minute, he gave his Hellcat the gun and she almost jumped out from under him. Up he rose, then did a wing-over and swooped down on the Jap plane from above and behind. Big splashes of oil were covering his windshield, forced from the leaky line by the sudden rush of power in the engine. The Jap plane was just a blur when Scoot pressed the gun button and heard the pounding of bullets from his machine guns.
Then he pulled up and to the right, looking out the side. Yes, he had done it. The Jap bomber was afire, but trying to turn to the left. Then Scoot saw what he was aiming for—a tiny reef with a few palm trees a few miles to the south. Suddenly the Jap plane blew up in the air with a roar. Scoot felt the shock of the blast and watched the pieces of flaming plane plummet to the sea below, where a steaming smoke arose from the water.
Scoot’s smile was frozen by a hard hammering knock from his engine.
“That did it!” he exclaimed. “She’s conking out, and right about now. Maybe I can make that little island even if the Jap couldn’t.”
He edged the plane around with the last gasps from the engine and put her into a glide toward the little spot of land. Then it occurred to him that there might be Japs on the island, tiny as it was, and with one hand he checked his service revolver to be sure that he might take a few with him before he went himself, if the worst should happen.
“And all that depends on whether I make it in this glide or not,” Scoot said. “But it looks okay.”
The plane was slipping down the sky fast, approaching the island. About ten feet above the water, Scoot leveled her off and pancaked into the water, trying to get his tail to act as a brake. The controls flew from his hands and his head hit the top of his cockpit. But he didn’t lose consciousness from the blow, even though he was badly stunned.
He saw the rocky shore of the island rushing toward him as the plane seemed to skim over the water. Then he struck the rocks, was thrown forward, and heard a ripping, tearing sound as the bottom of his fuselage was crushed and mangled on the rocks.
He felt a throb in his forehead and realized that he was looking at the slightly twisted floor of his cockpit.
“Must have been knocked out for a minute,” Scoot told himself.
He lifted his head and looked around. His plane was entirely on dry land. It had skidded over the rocks, leaving the water. Right in front of him was the smooth slanting trunk of a palm tree. He saw no movement anywhere.
“Well, if there were Japs here they’d have been on top of me long before this.”
Scoot unfastened his safety belt and crawled from his seat, feeling his bruised arms and legs to make sure they were whole. In another moment he stood on the rocky shore surveying sadly his crumpled and twisted ship.
“My beautiful Hellcat!” he said, patting her side. “Look what I’ve done to you!”
Then he turned and looked the island over. It was, he could easily see, not more than two hundred yards long and fifty feet wide, and it curved in a gentle arc. There were rocks, a few palm trees, some low bushes and nothing else.
“Well, I might as well like it,” Scoot said. “It may be my home for the duration!”
FIND THE CONVOY!
FIND THE CONVOY!
FIND THE CONVOY!
March and Larry stood over the navigation table and looked at charts.
“We’re just about here now,” March said, pointing to a spot not far east of the Philippines.
“What’s that?” Larry asked, putting his finger tip on a tiny dot near by.
“A tiny atoll,” March said. “Couple of hundred yards long, that’s all.”
“Let’s pull into the lee of it and surface,” Larry said. “There won’t be any Japs on something that small. We can charge the batteries up full, get plenty of fresh air, and plan our campaign from here on in.”
“Right,” March agreed. “We’ll reach it in about an hour. We’ve gone about two hours since the patrol plane left us.”
So it was that Scoot Bailey, lying at the edge of the beach not far from his wrecked plane, which he had covered with boughs so it would not be seen by Jap patrols, heard a rushing of water a little way from shore and saw a huge black hull appear from the deep, not a hundred feet out!
He scrambled behind a bush quickly and peered out cautiously, though it was so dark that no one on the sub could possibly have seen him.
“A sub!” he exclaimed. “But the question is—Jap or American?”
He tried to find a marking that would tell him the answer to his question, but it was too dark to see anything. Then he made out figures of men on the bridge, two men looking around. One said something to the other, but so low that he could not make out the language. One of the men took up a lookout position.
“If it’s a Jap,” Scoot muttered to himself, “I’d hate to let it get away from me. I’m probably not in any danger. It must just be up to charge batteries. They wouldn’t come ashore here for anything—nothing to come for, unless some of the men just want to plant their feet on solid ground for a change. Even then I can hide.”
He thought hard. “Seems as if there ought to be something I could do, though one grounded flier against a sub is kind of tough odds.”
He was so busy trying to think what he could do to sink a Jap submarine single-handed that he convinced himself that itwasJapanese.
“The machine guns in my plane!” he exclaimed suddenly. “They probably still work if I can get at them. The plane’s heading the wrong way or I could just shoot them as is. But maybe I can get one or two out.”
Then he wondered if fifty-caliber machine-gun bullets could possibly sink a submarine.
“Probably not,” he told himself. “But they could pick off quite a few officers and men. And then if the rest decided to come and get me, I’d get quite a few more on their way in.”
Suddenly the Diesels on the submarine roared into life, and quickly settled down to a steady purr.
“Charging batteries is right,” Scoot told himself. “That’s just enough sound to keep them from hearing me try to get a gun out of my plane. Of course, they’ve probably got their own machine gun unlimbered up there. Usually do when they’re surfaced like this. But—well, I’ll see what I can do.”
Scoot crawled over to his plane and started to work. Taking off the engine cowling seemed to him to make a terrific noise and he stopped to listen, wondering if he had been heard. The sound from the Diesels seemed very low. And then he heard something—something that made his heart leap.
“Car—reee me back to old Virginnneee!” sang a high tenor voice. The lookout was indulging in his favorite sport. Scoot leaped out on the shore.
“Yippeeee!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.
On the bridge of the submarine, March whirled around at the sound of the strange cry from the tiny island. Without a word one of the enlisted men had leaped to the machine gun and now he poured a round of shots at the shore. Then there was silence for a moment. From behind a palm tree came a voice.
“Say—have a heart!” Scoot cried. “I’m an American!”
“How do we know?” demanded March over the sound of the Diesels. He would like to have shut them off so he could hear better, but he wanted to keep them running for a quick getaway in case there was any sort of Jap force on that tiny atoll. The sound of the American voice sounded genuine, but you could never be sure. Too many Japs who had lived in America went back home to fight in Jap armies. They spoke English fairly well, some of them, and they had used it to trick trusting Americans too many times.
By this time Larry Gray had scrambled up on the bridge beside March who quickly explained what had happened. Stan and Mac joined them, wondering at the sound of machine-gun fire.
“I’m an American flier!” Scoot shouted back. “Crashed here this afternoon.”
“Turn on the searchlight!” Larry ordered, and in a moment the powerful beam found the lone figure on the rocky beach.
“Only one man,” March said. “And it sure looks like a Navy uniform, slightly mussed up. He must be okay, Skipper.”
“Can’t ever be sure,” Larry said. “There may be a pack of Japs back behind those trees. It may be a swiped uniform, anyway.”
“But he looks white and tall,” March said.
“Yes, he does,” Larry agreed. “But if he’s an American—wait, he’s calling.”
“I know you can’t take any chances on a trap,” the voice came to them over the water. “You tell me what to do and I’ll do it—to the letter.”
“All right,” Larry called back. “We’re sure you must be American, all right, but we won’t take a chance. Take your clothes off and swim out to us. We’ll keep the light on you and you’re covered at every minute with a machine gun.”
On shore Scoot gulped at the idea of the machine gun pointing at him every minute. But he agreed, knowing that in a similar situation he would be just as cautious about any possible Jap trick. He quickly stripped to his underwear, leaving his clothes on the rocks at his feet. Then, arms in the air so the men on the sub would see that he carried nothing, he waded into the water, always in the bright spot of the searchlight. When the water came up to his chest he bent forward and started swimming, being careful to raise both arms well out of the water at each stroke. But he had to keep his head down and his eyes averted because of the bright glare of the light.
Soon his hand struck the steel side of the hull and helping arms reached down to pull him up on the deck. Two enlisted men and McFee were there, looking him over carefully.
“He’s okay, Skipper!” Mac called up to the bridge. “Not a thing on him and he’s as American as Uncle Sam.” Then to Scoot, “How are you, fellow? Glad we found you. Come on up.”
He led the dripping Scoot to the ladder leading up to the bridge. As he climbed over the edge, Scoot saw a familiar face—and almost fell over backward to the deck again!
“March!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.
“Scoot Bailey!” March cried, rushing forward. He threw his arms around the shivering and wet flier and pounded him on the back. “Scoot, my boy! It’s really you! How on earth—”
But Scoot was shouting and talking, too, laughing and dazed by the many things that had happened to him in the last few hours.
McFee and the enlisted men looked on in amazement at the scene, but Larry Gray was smiling. He remembered the name of Scoot Bailey from the many things March had told him about his closest friend. And he had seen enough strange things happen in the war not to be too startled at anything that happened out in the middle of the ocean.
In a few minutes they had gone below and Scoot was wrapped in a blanket while two men put out in a collapsible boat to bring his clothes from the island. Scoot sat with the others in the tiny ready-room and drank a cup of hot coffee, while they talked and asked questions and answered them.
March Pounded Scoot on the Back
March Pounded Scoot on the Back
March Pounded Scoot on the Back
Soon everyone was brought up to date on the most important things that had been happening. McFee and Stan, who had joined them, knew who Scoot was and how he came to be there. Outside, word went scurrying around among the men that they’d picked up a Navy flier, that it had turned out to be the exec’s oldest and best friend. Everybody felt happy.
“With a stroke of luck like that,” Pete Kalinsky said, “maybe we can find that Jap convoy now.”
March told Scoot about their search for the convoy, their encounter with the Jap patrol plane that very afternoon, and how the American plane had chased him away. Scoot was serious right away.
“Two-motored Aichi flying boat?” he asked.
“Yes, why?” March asked.
“I took care of him for you,” Scoot said with a smile. “Hewilltry to depth-charge my friend, will he? Well, he won’t dothatany more.”
Scoot told them about his leaky oil line, his encounter with the Jap plane, shooting it down, and then making the tiny island in a glide.
“And then I came along and picked you up,” March laughed, “with only a few hours’ wait.”
“Remember—a long time ago,” Scoot said, “you told me you’d probably have to come along in your sub and save me from a bunch of Japs?”
“Sure I remember!” March cried. “Didn’t know I was such a good prophet.”
“You didn’t save me from any Japs,” Scoot snorted. “Just from boredom spending the rest of the war on that island. But let me tell you another thing—you don’t know how close you came to getting killed.”
“What do you mean?” Larry asked.
“I mean you ought to pin a medal on whoever it is in your crew that sings ‘Carry me Back to old Virginny,’” Scoot said. “Up to that time I had decided you were Japs and I was getting a machine gun out of my plane.”
“You mean you were going to attack us single-handed?” demanded Stan Bigelow.
“Sure—I didn’t have anybody else to help me, so it had to be single-handed,” Scoot said. “I didn’t think I could sink the sub, but I thought I could wait till a lot of officers and men were on deck and pick off most of them.”
“Now, that’s the spirit I like,” Larry said. “Glad to have you along on this trip with us.”
“Oh—” Scoot looked startled. “I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose I have to go along with you.”
March laughed. “Of course, you do. We’re not a bus service. We’re out looking for a Jap convoy and we can’t very well take time to run you back to your base or carrier before going on.”
“Well, so I’m a submariner after all,” Scoot said. “Nice looking boat, I must say. Can I look her over?”
“Sure, from stem to stern,” Larry agreed. “But not until you’ve eaten something. I imagine that island didn’t provide you with much of a dinner. The cook is fixing up something for you.”
So Scoot got into his clothes and ate a delicious meal over which he exclaimed mightily.
“Say, there’s something to pigboat service, anyway,” he said. “I thought we ate pretty well on theBunker Hillbut this is fit for a king.”
“Submarine menarekings,” March said, and for once Scoot would not argue on their favorite subject of the past.
Soon they went to bed, except for those on watch, and at dawn the next morning proceeded on their way, submerged. Scoot was fascinated at the diving operation and looked with some awe on March as he carried out the complicated maneuver. It was only then that he learned that March had become second in command ofKamongo. March then led his friend on a tour of the submarine, explaining the workings of all the complicated machinery, introducing him to the crew, who welcomed him warmly.
“Not bad, not bad,” Scoot said. “I begin to see why you like all this so much. Nice small crowd here, all getting along well together. And I don’t mind the idea of being under water at all, the way I thought I would.”
Scoot and March and Larry sat down in the wardroom to go over their plans.
“You see,” Larry explained, “I have a hunch the Japs are following a course with this convoy entirely different from any they’ve followed before. They are aware that we know they’ll reinforce Truk as fast as possible. So we’re looking for them to take a direct route. But the Chinese reported that there was something strange about the route. What is it? It’s that it is so indirect.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Scoot agreed.
“Well, they don’t want to take forever getting there, however,” Larry went on, “so they’re not being too indirect. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if they went down the western side of the Philippines, as if heading for Indo-China or Burma or the Dutch East Indies. Then they might cut through east above Mindanao, the lower of the big islands in the Philippines. After that they’d make a fast dash straight east for Truk.”
“Why wouldn’t we catch them easily there?” March asked.
“We might,” Larry explained. “But for some time they’d be under protection of land-based planes from the Philippines. Then, too, we’d be anxious to scout them out as early as possible, so our subs would be farther north, looking along the more direct routes. They’d have a chance of getting through without a scratch, but anyway they’d not have far to go after wedidsight them.”
“What do you want to do now?” Scoot asked.
“I’m heading west toward the Philippines trying to test my theory,” Larry said. “But I can’t make much speed, having to run submerged in the daytime. I’m afraid they may be out in the clear before I can get there, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”
All day long they ran submerged, keeping a constant lookout. They saw a Jap patrol plane and dived out of sight before he got near them. But there was no sight of the convoy. Darkness began to creep over the ocean and they were getting ready to surface when Larry, at the periscope, saw a Jap seaplane.
“Over to the right,” he said. “Doesn’t see us. He’s too low. We won’t need to dive unless he pulls up higher again. No—he’s coming down on the water. Must be something there.”
March took a look and thought he saw a small island near the Jap plane.
“Getting too dark to see clearly,” he said. “Shall we go over and have a look, Skipper?”
“Yes, let’s do,” Larry said. “I’m curious about a seaplane here. That’s the kind that’s got pontoons and is usually catapulted from a battleship or cruiser. You wouldn’t expect them out here. They can’t do long cruising.”
March gave the order to change course, and they stayed under the water as they neared the island.
“Hope there’s still enough light by the time we get close enough to have a good look,” Larry said as he peered through the periscope. “Good thing it isn’t overcast today or we couldn’t see a thing. And I wouldn’t want to hang around until morning just for a look at what might turn out to be nothing.”
In another few minutes they were close enough to see, and Larry reported to the others that a small boat was just putting off from the seaplane which was anchored to a buoy in the little harbor. Scoot took a look.
“Boy, those periscopes are wonders,” he exclaimed. “Sharp as can be. Sure, I know the ship. And there’s two naval fliers in the dinghy with two Jap soldiers rowing them to shore. A whole flock of soldiers on shore. Wonder what it’s all about.”
As March and the others had a look, Larry told them all what he thought this latest event meant.
“Seaplanes come from battleships or cruisers usually,” he said. “I think this plane might well be from some of the warships protecting the convoy headed for Truk. The Japs have got lookout posts on a lot of these little islands here—probably plenty more than usual right now. They aren’t trusting to radio, even in code, any more than we are. And they’re having a seaplane or two go out ahead of the convoy to pick up reports from their garrisons on the various islands.This is the plane’s last stop for the night. In the morning he’ll go back to his ship and make his report as to how many American patrol planes or subs have been seen in the area by these outposts.”
The others thought this over and agreed that it was a likely hypothesis. Then Scoot asked for another look at the periscope, and the others sensed that there was some excitement in his attitude. When he turned away from the ’scope he said to Larry. “Can I talk to you about an idea I’ve got?”
“Sure, come into the wardroom,” Larry said with an eager smile. “Come along, March.”
They sat down around the little table.
“Now what is it?” Larry asked.
“Here’s the idea,” Scoot said. “I know that plane—all about it. They made us study those things, though I couldn’t see the point of it at the time. It usually has two men in it. Two men went ashore. So the plane’s unattended. I’m going to swipe it!”
“Swipe it!” Larry and March exclaimed together.
“Sure!” Scoot said. “If you can surface enough to let me out—later when it’s good and dark—I’ll swim to it, get in, cut the anchor, and be off before those Nips know what’s going on.”
“Then what will you do?” Larry demanded.
“I’m in a Jap seaplane,” Scoot said. “Outposts won’t pay any attention to me, because I’m right where a Jap seaplane ought to be flying along, going back to its battleship in the morning. Nobody will question me by radio because they’re keeping radio silence.”
“All this is assuming that my hypothesis is correct,” Larry said.
“I think it is,” Scoot said. “At least it’s what a hypothesis is—a good basis on which to work until it’s disproved. So let’s go ahead. You want to find this convoy faster than your sub can get you there. In that plane I can find it in a hurry—if it’s there.”
“You certainly can,” Larry agreed, beginning to get excited about Scoot’s idea. “But when you’ve found it—what then?”
“Well—I get word to you somehow,” Scoot said. “Now, let’s see—”
“I’ve got an idea,” March said. “Scoot sights the convoy, gets a line on its size and direction, then turns around and heads right back again. He knows our exact course. He’ll come down on that course at a spot we designate. We’ll surface and pick him up there. That eliminates all radio communication—even if that Jap plane has a radio and Scoot can get it on our wave-length and use it. And if he did we’d have to be traveling on the surface to get his message any distance away, and we’d better not do that too much.”
“Sounds okay,” Larry said. “But what happens on that Jap convoy when they see their seaplane approach, look around, and then head back again? Won’t they think that’s mighty funny?”
“Sure they will,” Scoot said. “And I can’t quite guess what they’ll do about it. Maybe nothing, just put it down as another Jap pilot gone wacky. Anyway, they won’t feel there’s any danger. But they might send another plane up to have a look and see what’s wrong. I’d just hope to be on my way by that time and out of his reach. Anyway, that’s one of the chances we take. While I’m flying there I can get the Jap radio in shape, so that I could radio a message to you if I saw I was going to be shot down. You could surface for a short while about the time that might be happening, so you’d get any message.”
“Well,” Larry said, “there are a lot ofif’sin this whole proposition, but for some reason I like it.”
“What’s the gamble?” Scoot demanded.
“You,” Larry said. “Your life.”
“And that’s mighty little chance for the U.S. Navy to take if it means finding this convoy early enough to wipe it out before it reaches Truk. If the idea doesn’t work, then we’ve just been wrong and missed our convoy. Maybe you pick me up safe and sound as planned and maybe not. That’s all.”
“What do you think, March?” Larry asked.
“Well—” March hesitated. “Well—I think it’s worth a shot, if Scoot thinks he can get that plane away.”
“That’s the easiest part of it,” Scoot said. “Remember what a good swimmer I am. I swam to get to the sub and now I’ll swim away from it.”
Larry Gray thought for a while before making up his mind. It was his responsibility, this decision, and he had to weigh it carefully. Finally he spoke.
“All right, we’ll try it,” he said, and Scoot allowed himself a mild whoop of pleasure. “Here’s the plan, to get it clear. We surface in about six hours, when everybody except a sentry or two will be asleep. Scoot is ready to go and he swims to the plane. We stay up just long enough to see that he gets away, then we dive and set out on our course which Scoot knows. He flies toward the passage above Mindinao, where I think the convoy might be. If he doesn’t sight it within two hours flying he turns around and flies back, landing on the sea at a spot agreed on in advance. If the weather’s bad, that’ll be tough, of course. We surface for a while, riding the vents and ready to crash-dive. So we can pick up Scoot if he’s even near the designated spot.”
Larry paused for a moment and the others remained silent.
“If Scoot sights the convoy, he can tell fast how many ships, what speed, what direction. He heads back for that spot on the ocean as planned and we pick him up. If the Japs send up a plane or planes to get him, and if they attack him, he’ll try to parachute out with his life belt, or get his plane down whole or something so he can be picked up on our course. Anyway, if attacked, he may radio us about the convoy first if he’s been able to get the plane’s radio going.”
“What do we do,” March asked, “if Scoot does find the convoy?”
“Then we radio,” Larry said. “The Japs may hear us, but we can’t help that. But we’ll go on in to the attack alone. We’ll try to get under and come up in the middle of the convoy so as to scatter it in time for the other subs and the planes that will be coming after they get our radio message.”
“All clear,” March said. “Now let’s set our course and select our spot for picking up Scoot.”