That night, lying on a cot in a tent shared with three Red Cross nurses, Mary did not fall asleep at once. The day had been a tremendous one. Much that war means had come crashing in upon her. At the field hospital she had seen what war could do to fine American boys. She had not known that she could feel so terribly sad and yet keep on smiling as she had done as she moved from cot to cot.
On the other hand she had never been quite so happy in her life as she was on realizing that she had helped them in a big way by bringing the quinine from America and that she could serve them still more by contacting their relatives and friends in America, when she got back.
“If I do get back,” she whispered. Watching Scottie down those Jap fighters who so richly deserved to die, she had realized as never before how easy it was for a life, just any life, her life, to go out like a match in a high wind.
“But my life must not go out yet,” she told herself, almost fiercely. “I have so much to do—”
She thought again of the messages she was carrying to America, and, strangely enough, of the roll of papyrus. She could not but feel that this roll was somehow very important.
Most important of all was the cargo. “It must go through!” she told herself. “We’ve only a little farther to go.”
After dinner that night she had sat on a log beside the stout-hearted Hop Sing. He had told her how his people had suffered through all those long years, of the speechless cruelties of the Japs, of homes destroyed, women and children reduced to slavery, and all the rest. And now help was coming—not enough yet—but more and more help.
What was the cargo they carried? Once again this question came up to intrigue but not to disturb her. Neither she nor Sparky had tried hard to guess the answer. “We shall know,” she assured herself. “It won’t be long now.”
Why were all those bombers heading for China in such haste? Would they help retake Burma and with it the Burma Road? Would they help defend Russia from possible Jap attack? Would they bomb Tokio? She could not guess the answer, but having visited that field hospital, she hoped as never before that they were headed for Tokio.
“And I’d love to go with them,” she told herself.
“But first the mountains,” she whispered. Scottie had told her of the pass, how during the monsoon period great storms went roaring up the sides of those highest mountains of the world.
“You can’t imagine it.” Those were his words. “Snow rising like smoke a thousand, two, three thousand feet from their peaks. A plane caught in the grip of such a storm is like a chip caught in a great whirlpool.”
Shivering at the very thought, Mary drew the covers close about her and at last fell fast asleep.
She was awake an hour before dawn and, disturbed by an overpowering sense of something wrong, drew on her clothes and walked outside. It was dark, gloomy, and chilly.
“Why did I leave my cozy bed?” she asked herself as she walked across the narrow airfield and then among the shadows of many planes to search out their own.
“There you are,” she whispered at last. “Good, old ship!”
To her surprise she saw that the door stood slightly ajar. Instantly her curiosity was aroused. Sparky, she knew, had not slept in the ship. For all that, he may have arisen early to look things over before the big day. That there were guards about she knew quite well, though she had not been challenged.
This, she told herself, was not strange. The moon was down. It was the darkest hour before dawn. There were more planes on the field than ever before in its history. No one would risk a light.
And yet, as she came close to their plane, she thought she caught a faint flicker inside its cabin. This did not startle her. Sparky was still in her mind. She would surprise him. It would be nice to spend an hour with him in their own ship before dawn on a day that should mean much to them.
With noiseless footsteps, she reached the plane, then climbed two rounds of the boarding ladder. Without a sound, she opened the door half way to peer into the darkness.
Did some good gremlin whisper, “Wait?” Who can say? She did wait. And then—she barely suppressed a gasp. The gleam of a tiny flashlight reflected by some bright object faintly illuminated a face within the cabin. It was not Sparky, not a man at all, but a woman. “The Woman in Black,” she thought, nearly falling from the ladder. She was sure that this was the woman who had fired a shot at her back there in the city.
Fascinated, she watched. The woman had torn the top from a corrugated box containing a unit of their precious cargo and was studying it intently.
“This,” Mary thought, “must be stopped.” Her heart beat a wild tattoo.
In her excitement, she must have made some slight sound. The light blinked out. There came the sound of rushing feet and before she could think or move, she was knocked from the ladder.
Landing on her head, she was knocked unconscious momentarily. But something made her mind fight back. When her senses started returning she could think and hear but could neither move nor speak.
She heard steady, approaching footsteps. “A guard,” she thought. “Oh! If I could only scream.”
With a violent effort she brought back her power of motion. Sitting up, shedidscream. It was not a loud scream but enough for a voice said:
“Mary! What are you doing here? What has happened?”
“Sparky! Oh! I’m so glad!” She staggered to her feet.
“What is it?” He was near now.
“The Lady in Black! She was in the plane. She broke open a box. She knows the secret of our cargo. She—she’s a spy. Perhaps she has the roll of papyrus. She will escape and she must not!
“There!” Her voice rose as there came the sound of an airplane motor. “There’s a plane! Someone is with her. They must have stolen a plane. They will get away!”
Two guards came racing up. “Oh! It’s you!” the taller of the two said. “What’s up? What happened?”
“A woman spy was going over the cargo of our plane!” exclaimed Mary. “She saw too much. She may have taken something with her. We’ve got to catch her.”
“The Lady in Black Knows the Secret of Our Cargo!”
“The Lady in Black Knows the Secret of Our Cargo!”
“The Lady in Black Knows the Secret of Our Cargo!”
“That must be her plane warming up!”
“Did she have a plane? Why was she allowed to land?” Sparky demanded.
“No plane has come in tonight.”
“Then she and her accomplice are planning to steal a plane. Come on! We may catch them yet!” Sparky led the way on the run.
But they were too late. As they reached the runway, the stolen plane went gliding over the cement to rise into the air.
“That’s a fast two-seater. You’ll need a fast one to overtake them.”
“We’ll take Scottie’s plane!” Mary exclaimed. “It’s gassed and oiled, ammunition, everything. I helped him get it in shape last night. It’s really fast and a real fighter!”
“Come on, then!” Once again Sparky led the way.
The moment his feet hit the ship’s deck, he had the motor singing.
“All right, Mary,” he called. “Not much time. What about your jacket, oxygen mask, and all that?”
“They’re all here. Scottie’s are there, too, for you. We left them. I—I don’t know why.”
“That’s great! Get in and let’s ramble. Okay, boys, turn us loose!”
Blocks were removed from before the wheels. The motor thundered, then slowed to an even grind. They glided away, faster—faster—faster. Then up they shot into the sky to greet the dawn that “comes up like thunder.”
“There they are!” Mary exclaimed. “Heading straight for the mountains!”
“What luck! They can’t lose us now. We’ll follow them straight to China if we have to.”
“If we only had our plane!”
“Perhaps it’s best that we haven’t. This may be tougher than you imagine. And this plane is faster than our own.”
“Yes, that’s right!”
As they sped on the sun rose. The sky was crystal clear. Far ahead of them, triangles of deep purple where shadows lay and of light yellow where sunlight fell, were the mountains.
“Beautiful,” she murmured.
“Beautiful and terrible,” he agreed.
“We’re gaining,” she said after a time. “I can see them much more plainly. If we catch up with them—”
Mary could not go on. She was wondering how far this chase would take them and how it was to end. Sparky had said they were headed for China. Part of China was in Allied hands. Much of it was held by the Japs.
“They’ll lead us over Jap-held territory.” She spoke aloud. “And then—”
“Fighters may come out to meet us.”
“If they do we’ll shoot them down,” she declared fiercely. “You should have seen Scottie in this very plane yesterday. It was wonderful!”
“You have all the luck,” said Sparky.
“Sparky,” she leaned toward him. “Suppose we don’t come back.”
“From this trip? We will, Mary.”
“But suppose we don’t. What about our plane and its cargo?”
“Scottie knows all about that. He’ll take it through. None of us is absolutely necessary, but we’ll come back, Mary. We’ll take our own plane to the journey’s end.”
“Look!” She pointed toward the other plane that momentarily grew larger in their field of vision. “They’ve changed their course. They’re heading down the mountain range.”
“Toward the highest peak of all,” said Sparky. “The one nobody’s ever climbed.”
Mary had read of this peak and the futile attempts men had made to scale it. She had been thrilled then. But now, she shuddered.
“They hope to tire us, run us out of gas, something.” Sparky tested his supply of fuel. “They’ve got a long way to go yet. But we must be careful. A forced landing on these white slopes means death!”
“We must save enough gas to take us back.”
“Exactly that.”
Once more Mary’s mind was working. Was this to be an endurance race, endurance of plane, of fuel, and human courage?
“Hardly that,” she told herself. “We should be up with them in less than a half hour.”
Through the clear air they could see great distances. Far ahead, perhaps a hundred miles, stood a peak much higher than the rest. Was this the highest peak of all? She had no way of telling. And so they sped on.
Ten minutes passed, fifteen, twenty—they were nearing the fleeing plane. The lofty peak was very near.
Sparky studied his fuel gages.
“In twenty minutes we must turn back or run the risk of crashing among these peaks.”
“Or in jungles at the mountain bases.”
“Yes.”
They came nearer, ever nearer to the spy and her plane.
“A burst of fire might bring them down even now,” said Sparky. But his fingers did not reach for the gun controls.
Five minutes more. They must decide. To turn back meant defeat. Could they face that? Or should they turn loose the fury of their guns?
But what was this? The fleeing plane faltered, began to fall, then righted itself and flew on. Ten tense seconds passed and again it faltered.
“They stole the plane.” Sparky’s voice was solemn as Moses. “They did not take time to check the ship’s fuel.”
Once again the plane picked up speed, only once and then, like a kite that has lost its tail, the plane began to fall, slowly at first, then faster and faster, turning over and over.
“She was a spy,” Mary said, forcing her eyes away from the sight.
The next time she looked, the plane was all but upon the mountain, the snow-packed slope. She saw it crash, then begin rolling over and over. Down it spun, a thousand, two, three thousand feet.
They followed it part way down. Once it leaped across an open space, to crash again, then to roll on.
When at last it came to rest a faint film of smoke came up from it. This grew dense, then burst into a red flame. They watched. Nothing moved.
“The end,” said Sparky. Then, he set his motor roaring to speed away toward the small airport they had left.
“Oh! They’re gone!” Mary exclaimed in dismay as they came in sight of the airfield.
“What? They can’t be!”
“But they are! The bombers are gone. The field is practically empty.”
It was true. Warnings of an approaching storm had sent the big bomber squadron roaring on its way over the mountains. But Mary and Sparky landed a moment later with plenty of room to spare.
To Mary this was a great disappointment. She dearly loved being in a parade, always had. And flying in a great formation like that was a big parade.
“Now we’ll have to go it alone,” she said soberly.
“Nothing new about that,” Sparky grinned. “We’ve made it alone practically all the way and you’re bound to admit that we’ve had all the luck any flier could ask.”
“Yes, all the luck,” Mary repeated slowly.
“You’re tired, Mary,” Sparky said with a show of sympathy.
“Yes, I guess I am. Can’t take it after all, I guess.”
“Can’t take it! Man! Oh! Man!” he roared. “Listen to you talk!”
Just then Scottie came over from Sparky’s plane.
“I covered up the box that the spy pried open,” he said. “Then I changed the loading so it’s on the bottom. And believe it or not,” he added, “I didn’t peek.”
“The secret compartment?” Mary’s voice rose. “Had it been broken open?”
“Don’t know a thing about a secret compartment,” was Scottie’s reply. “I went over the cabin with a fine-toothed comb. Everything but that box seemed okay.”
“Then the roll of papyrus is still there and wasn’t burned up in that plane.” Mary heaved a sigh of relief.
“So that’s what happened?” said Scottie. “Their plane burned.”
“Yes, it burned.” Mary spoke slowly. No other questions were asked.
“The Colonel said if you didn’t bring my plane back in twenty-four hours,” Scottie laughed low, “that I could have yours.”
“And you said?” Sparky asked.
“I said it would be a fair enough trade but that guys like you and Mary always came back.”
“Yes,” Mary agreed. “We always come back—sometimes.”
“Mary,” said Sparky, “I’m going over our plane, every bit of it. People who open secret cargoes also put emery in engines, cut fuel pipes and all that. When we go over those peaks, everything has to be right.”
“It certainly does.” Mary was seeing again those cold, white slopes where a plane forced to land goes rolling down, down, down, to dizzy depths below.
“I’ll go get a cup of coffee,” she said dreamily.
“And have a good rest,” said Sparky. “We may go over the big top yet today. That all depends.”
While she was drinking her coffee, Mary was joined by the Captain who had helped her save the secret cargo from the would-be hijackers. “Sparky tells me that you chased that woman spy to her death,” he said. Mary nodded. “I just wanted to tell you,” he went on, “that while you were gone, I did a little investigating. That woman flew to a small airport owned by a rich native, about forty miles from here. She must have motored over here, though her car wasn’t found. Had an accomplice, no doubt.
“A man I got on the phone,” he went on, “tells me she checks with a native Indian woman who studied in America but who soured on Americans for some reason or other, and so went into spying. Looks as if you and Sparky have done the country a great favor.”
“I—I’m glad,” Mary swallowed hard. “But for my part I’ll do my bit some other way after this.”
Two hours later Mary was wakened from a dream in which she was riding on an ocean liner gliding rapidly down a swiftly moving mountain stream.
“Mary! Mary!” It was Sparky, calling outside her tent. “I’m sorry, but orders have come through by radio. We are to start within the hour!”
“Okay. I’ll join you at the canteen for our last cup of java in Burma.”
“Here’s hoping.” Sparky was away.
“It’s not too promising,” he was telling her a half hour later, talking between gulps of steaming hot coffee. “The barometer is falling. A storm is on the way, but the big shots figure we can make it. This time of year it storms for weeks once it gets a good start and it seems our cargo is vital to some great mission.”
“Sparky,” Mary drawled sleepily, “the next time you and I fly together we’ll insist on having a cargo of toothpicks, crackers, chewing gum, and non-essentials.”
“Something that doesn’t count too much,” he grinned. “I wonder. It strikes me that you’re just the sort that insists on doing hard, important things all the time.”
“You might be right at that, and perhaps I’ve got a buddy that’s built along the same lines,” she answered smiling.
“Might be,” he agreed. “Anyway the next hop promises to be both important and tough so we’d better get going.” He slid off the stool.
Five minutes later, having been joined by Hop Sing, they were back at the plane. Heavily padded suits, fur-lined jackets, and marvelous wool socks were selected with great care for all. Sparky went through the business of getting set for a long flight, then, when his motors were rolling, nodded to the mechanic and they went gliding away.
As if by way of a warning from the storm gods, as they cleared the treetops, a stiff push of wind lifted their plane high, then let it down with a bump.
“Oh, ho!” Sparky shouted. “So that’s how it is! Blow high! Blow low! Not all your snow can stop our motors’ steady roar.” He was in high spirits. But Mary was ill at ease.
“They say that women have instincts,” she said to Sparky.
“Meaning what?”
“Nothing much, I guess.”
He set the ship climbing. They went speeding on toward those eternal fields of white.
Perhaps the events of the morning had shaken Mary’s usually steady nerves. Then again the strain of long, exciting days and nights had begun to tell. Be that as it may, as they came closer and closer to those mountains of eternal snow, her apprehension increased.
They came close to the place where they must climb and climb again to make the pass in safety, and she was obliged to confess to herself that she was really frightened.
At that moment she recalled the words of a pilot who had crossed many times. “They call it a pass but it’s only a slightly lower level between two towering peaks.” She looked at the peaks and the narrow depression that lay between them. At the same time she thought she had discovered a change in the peaks that lay far to the left.
“Some of them are gone,” she said.
“Gone? What’s gone?” Sparky asked.
“Mountains.”
“Mountains! They don’t go away. They’re eternal. It says so in the Bible.”
“All the same there are not as many as there were,” Mary insisted.
Sparky gave her a sharp look, then he gazed away to the left.
“By thunder! You’re right!” he exclaimed. “They are vanishing. Know what that means?”
“A storm!”
“Absolutely. With the direction of the wind, quartering to the direction the range takes, that storm will come and come and come.”
“That Means a Storm!” Sparky Exclaimed
“That Means a Storm!” Sparky Exclaimed
“That Means a Storm!” Sparky Exclaimed
Even as Mary watched the view away to the left changed. Instead of simply disappearing each mountain began to “smoke.” It wasn’t smoke, she knew that. It was snow blown hundreds, perhaps thousands of feet into the air.
As the moments passed the thing grew in horror and intensity. Striking the mountains at an angle, the storm appeared to creep upon them like a thief in the night.
“It’s coming, Sparky!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, coming,” he agreed. “And we’re climbing.”
“Can we beat it?”
“If we can’t we can fight it. I’ve seen storms before.”
“Not a white storm.”
“Yes, white storms.”
“Not over the Himalayas.”
“Have it your own way,” he grumbled. “Anyway, we’ll fight. We’ve got it to do.”
Frightened within an inch of her life yet fascinated by the strangeness, the expression of power, the beauty of it all, she watched the storm arrive. Now there were twelve mountains in the calm that lay between them and their destiny. Now one more mountain smoked, leaving eleven. Now there were ten, eight, six, five, four, three.
“Sparky! It’s almost here!”
No answer—only a grim look of utter determination.
“Sparky! It’s here!”
As if a white blanket had been wrapped about their plane, everything before them vanished. At the same time, as if it were a child’s toy, the storm caught their plane and carried it aloft. The motors still turned, but meant nothing. Had the plane ever traveled so fast before? Mary doubted it. Where were they? Where was the mountain? It seemed to her that they must be approaching the stars. A stinging cold crept in everywhere.
And then, just as she had begun to despair, still as if they were toy people in a toy plane of a toy world, the storm gave their plane a final push, turned it completely over, then abandoned it to its fate.
They began to drop. The motors were no longer turning. Had that intense cold rendered them useless? If so their fate was sealed.
With benumbed fingers Sparky tried a switch here, another there. There came a faint humming sound. It grew and grew. Somewhere a wheel turned, then another. Then, suddenly, the motors roared.
With great skill, Sparky plied his wings, his tail controls until, slowly, like some great, graceful bird, the plane turned over.
The motors roared on. Five minutes more and they were hanging in calm, clouded skies.
“Question right now is, where are we?” Sparky said after a moment’s silence. “The bear went over the mountain,” he hummed.
“Yes, but did we?” Mary asked.
No one cared to risk his reputation on an answer to that question.
“If there are mountains about it’s always best to climb.” Sparky set his plane to reach higher altitudes. When at last he felt the push of strong winds behind him he said:
“The storm took us over the mountains all right.”
“That’s something to be thankful for,” said Mary.
“Yes, but we’re still more or less lost.”
This, they discovered, was truer than they had thought, for the cold or the push and bang of the storm had damaged their radio. Try as she might, Mary could raise no one.
For a time, flying by instrument, Sparky flew across what he hoped was low, level land. Since he could not be sure of this, he still flew high among the thick clouds.
When at last, in desperation, he dropped lower and lower until they were dangerously close to the earth, they found themselves still in a dense formation of clouds.
“Where are we?” Mary asked.
“Somewhere over China.”
“The part held by our own people or by the enemy?”
“There is no sure way to know. Here, take the ship. Let me at that radio. We’ve just got to get it going.”
Whether this was a “must” or not did not appear to matter. The radio was dead and apparently would remain so.
To make matters worse the shadows within the plane grew darker with every passing moment.
“Night,” Mary thought. “Night over a strange land.”
Night settled down and still they cruised on. From time to time, they came down close to earth, often too close, in the hope of finding a break in the clouds, of spotting a landing beacon. No break was found, no light appeared.
“Our position is growing desperate,” Sparky said at last. “Our fuel is running low. In less than a half hour we’ll be obliged to make a blind landing and that, well—you know—”
Yes, Mary knew. There was no need for her to answer.
“I think I’d better get the ship aloft then let the rest of you take to parachutes.” Sparky’s voice was husky. “For better or worse, this looks like journey’s end.”
“Yes—yes, I guess you’d better let Hop Sing use his parachute. It will be safer for him.”
“Yes, and for you.”
“Not so much better, Sparky, perhaps much worse for me if we’re over enemy territory. I’m staying with the ship.”
“Okay. It’s your life. I can’t live it for you.”
For a little time they were silent. “About time to do a little climbing.” Sparky shifted his controls.
“Sparky! What was that?” Mary cried sharply.
“What was what?”
“A light!”
“I didn’t see any light.”
“Yes, there! No, now it’s gone! Yes! Yes, there it is! By the nose of the plane!”
“Yes, I saw it!” Sparky seemed unimpressed.
“But look, Sparky!” she exclaimed. “Look at the radio antennae. They’re like neon tubes! They, they’re burning up! Sparky! What’s going to happen? Is the ship on fire?”
“Not so you can notice it.”
“But, Sparky! Look! There’s a ball of fire on the ship’s nose—big as a Fourth of July balloon.
“No—no! Now it’s gone! But, look! There’s a flash right across the propeller blades!
“Say! We can begin to see things!” she was fairly beside herself. “I just saw a house and a clump of trees.”
“The clouds are lifting,” said Sparky. “There may be a chance—”
“Yes—there’s a road. It’s broad and white, must be cement.” Mary grabbed Sparky’s arm. “Sparky! we’re going to be safe. We’ve been saved by some kind of miracle!”
“Miracle, my eye!” Sparky grumbled, as he set his ship for a try at landing on that road. “If I don’t hit it right on the beam,” he said grimly, “we’ll crash and that means like as not that this whole trip has been made for nothing.”
“No, not for nothing. Don’t forget, there’s the quinine!”
With balls of fire rolling all over the plane and with their landing lights on for a space of seconds, they hit that hard road, bounced, hit again and again, then began to glide. Just before the ship came to a stop, the right wheel left the road to bury itself in soft mud.
“Nice thing to do at the very end!” Sparky growled. “If we’re in enemy territory we’re in a bad way!” Snapping off the lights, he headed for the door.
All the strange, rolling balls of light were gone. About them it was dark as a subway when the lights are off.
“Sparky,” Mary insisted as her feet hit the pavement, “it was a miracle! You don’t dare say it wasn’t!”
“Oh! Can’t I!” Sparky squeezed her arm. “At least I’m bound to try. That, my dear Mary, was what they call St. Elmo’s Fire.”
“St. Elmo’s Fire!”
“Sure! It’s a form of electrical disturbance. I picked it up once when I was half way across the Atlantic. The scientists say it’s harmless. Probably they’re partly right, but I claim that a thing that scares you to death can’t be entirely harmless.
“And now,” he added, “since we’ve put one more ghost to rest, let’s find out where we are.”
“Hop Sing,” he called.
“Right here, Mr. Sparky.”
“Hop Sing, this is your country, China. Where are we?”
“Can’t tell—me. I go see. Mebby quick find somebody who live here, then quick find out.”
The stump-stump of Hop Sing’s crutch faded into the distance. After that, by the plane, for quite some time there was silence.
“Sparky, I’m tired,” Mary said at last. “I hope we can get to the end of our trip soon.”
“Don’t hope too much,” he cautioned. “We wandered about in the sky a long time and that storm may really have taken us places before it let us down.”
The darkness was something to brood about. The big plane loomed like a shadow above them. It seemed a long time before they again heard the stump-stump of Hop Sing’s crutch. As it came closer Mary became conscious of another sound. It was like the wind rustling through dry leaves. Or was it a shuffling sound?
Before she knew it she found herself surrounded by silent, shadowy forms and Hop Sing was talking in a hoarse whisper to Sparky.
Hop Sing’s report was both astonishing and terrifying. They were twenty miles behind the Jap lines. The road on which they had landed ran parallel to the lines. That was why on a dark night like this there was no traffic. Men, ammunition and supplies going to the front traveled a road, some fifteen miles away, a road that crossed this one.
The shadowy forms about them were Chinese, men, women, and children. These astonishing people had hidden in the mountains until the battle lines had swept over them. Now, still hiding in holes and cellars, they were back near their homes.
“Most surprising of all,” Sparky whispered to Mary, “a half mile down this road, and off to one side, there is a small airfield.”
“An airfield! Didn’t the Japs destroy it? Or do they use it?”
“Neither. They know nothing about it. It’s a turnip patch, just now.”
“A turnip patch!”
Hop Sing’s Report Was Terrifying
Hop Sing’s Report Was Terrifying
Hop Sing’s Report Was Terrifying
“Sure. These Chinese are smart. This airfield has always been a secret one. Before the Japs came, they kept it covered with nets and burlap that made it look like plowed ground. They only used it at night for refueling.”
“Fuel, that’s what we need!”
“Yes, and it’s there.” Sparky spoke rapidly. “It’s in a hidden underground room, two drums of it.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Nothing. These people, like gremlins, gnomes, or something, are going to do it for us. They’ll get the plane back on the road. That’s what they’re doing now.” The plane gave a sudden lurch.
“And then?”
“Then some of them will pull and push the plane down the road while the women and children remove enough turnips and earth from the airfield to make us a runway.”
“And then we’ll fuel up and take off. How sweet!”
“Yes, if the Japs don’t come. Our journey’s end is only two hundred miles away.”
“And if the Japs come?”
“We’ll fight. These Chinese have arms. We’ve got two machine guns. We’ll put up a good scrap.” The big plane with its precious cargo tilted back to the road bed. Then, slowly, yard by yard it rolled down the half mile to the airfield.
There, by the sense of touch alone, since no lights could be allowed, Sparky felt his way across the prepared runway, and Mary supervised the refueling of the plane, and all the time, Hop Sing was pouring into her ears stories of his people’s courage and heroism.
“Oh!” she breathed at last. “I do hope we can make it. I don’t know what it’s all about but I do know that it will mean a great deal to these noble, fighting Chinese.”
At last all was ready.
With the aid of a very faint light Sparky and Mary went through the business of getting the ship going. At last Sparky gave an order to Hop Sing. Hop Sing passed it to those on the ground. The motors thundered and:
“Up!” Mary exclaimed. “We’re in the air again!”
“That’s not all,” Sparky added happily. “The air is clearing and we have gas to carry us to our objective.”
They reached it before the hour was up. Recognizing the roar of their plane, a member of the bomber squadron’s crew sent up a small plane to guide them in.
“Ah! At last you’re here,” shouted a voice. The bomber squadron’s flight commander pulled himself into their cabin. “We’ll have men here in a moment to take off your cargo. It is of vital importance. That’s all I can tell you now.”
“Me,” said Mary, “all I want is sleep.”
“There’s a car waiting for you right now. It will take you to the city’s best little hotel which is not a quarter of an hour away.”
Mary fell asleep in the car. She roused herself long enough to reach her room and undress. Then she traded the world of harsh realities for one of pleasant dreams.
When Mary awoke with the sun shining on her face through a small window next morning it was with a vague feeling that something was gone.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, jumping out of bed. “I’ve slept too long. Sparky has left me behind.”
When her bare feet hit the floor she awoke to the reality of things.
“It’s all over,” she sighed, sinking back on her bed. “We’ve reached the journey’s end at last.”
Then with a fresh thought stirring her to action she hurried through her toilet and donned her dusty uniform.
“Perhaps this is going to be like Christmas morning, when secrets are revealed, just perhaps,” she whispered.
After a hasty breakfast she begged a ride out to the airfield. It was a fairly large airdrome. The runways were neither long nor numerous but back among the trees cement had been laid making hiding places for many planes. And the planes were there.
“Sparky!” she exclaimed as she came upon her companion of many adventures. “Look at the planes! There must be two hundred of them.”
“Fully that many,” Sparky agreed. “And all bombers.”
“What does it mean? What is their mission?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” he grinned. “We would guess the same thing I am sure.”
“And might be wrong.”
“Yes, but one thing is certain, about a hundred of them are being equipped with the same type of gadget. And they all came from the packing cases that only a few hours ago rode in our plane.”
“Sparky! What are they?”
“Shush,” he whispered. “It’s still a deep military secret. They are being provided with a new and more perfect type of bombsight than ever has been used before.”
“So that was it! Sounds quite simple, doesn’t it?”
“Very. But in this world the answers to most great mysteries are usually quite simple. In this case, however, the mystery concerned something of tremendous importance.
“These planes have been assembled here for a task that the Japs would give a prince or two to know about. Our flight of bombers, of course, brought their own bombsights. And they brought other much needed equipment. For some reason, known only to the big shots, the bombsights for planes already here were entrusted to our ship.”
“And if that Jap spy or the Woman in Black had wrecked our plane!”
“That would have been just too bad. But they didn’t, so you and I are to be attending a banquet in your honor tonight. It’s to be quite a brilliant affair. High-ranking officers from the armies of China, Great Britain, and America are to be there. What’s more, you are to make a speech.”
“Oh, no! Sparky,” she cried. “No! No! No!”
“It won’t be hard, not really,” he assured her. “They’ll want to know about the first overseas trip made by a WAF. If you tell them half the things that have happened to you, they’ll be forever convinced that the ladies of the Ferry Command can really take it.”
“Since you put it that way,” Mary replied soberly, “I’ve got to accept.”
“That’s the girl!” Sparky applauded.
Mary could be quite the lady when occasion demanded. The wife of a flying Colonel took her under her wing to help her with dress and make-up. The beautiful gown she had worn in Egypt was still at hand and so it happened that a young flying lieutenant was heard to remark as she entered:
“Thatglorious dame! She never flew a plane in her life!”
Catching the words, Mary blushed, but forgave the lieutenant on the spot.
Had not the very substantial Sparky, still in his uniform, been seated at her side to nod in confirmation to every strange tale she told, there might have been many an older head that would have questioned her story. As it turned out, she was quite the lady of the hour.
For all that, when she found Sparky next morning, the first thing she asked was: “When do we leave and how?”
“We’re leaving the good, old Lone Star behind,” he admitted sadly. “It’s needed for fighting China’s battles.”
“Then I’ll forgive them,” she replied instantly. At that moment she was once again seeing shadowy forms and a heavy plane moving down a dark highway, and hearing the crippled Hop Sing tell the story of his brave people.
“But how—”
“How are we going to America? Is that it?”
“Yes, and where is our roll of papyrus?”
“The papyrus is still in the secret compartment on our plane. We’ll go and get it right now. You’ll carry it in your traveling bag.”
“Just for luck.”
“Luck and perhaps a little further adventure.
“As to our mode of travel to San Francisco,” he added, “I’m told that we are to travel just as we have done in America after we have delivered a job.”
“By transport plane?”
“That’s it.”
“Dull but restful,” she sighed. “I’m all for it.”
Two days later, together with a score of officers and men of official distinction, bound for home on leave or on business, they climbed aboard a giant airliner and headed out over the Pacific. After long hours of travel they came swooping down upon a broad island airfield that, as far as they are concerned, will remain forever unnamed.
Here they were greeted by hundreds of American soldiers who, at first, stared at Mary in disbelief, then let out a lusty cheer.
Beneath the palms that night, with only the stars for light, and with soldiers, sailors and nurses as an audience, Mary told her story all over again.
In the very midst of her talk, someone set a shiny object down before her, then whispered:
“You’re doing great, sister. Keep right on.”
Cheered by the marvelous attention of her audience, she talked for an hour only to learn in the end, what she had suspected all along, that the last half of her talk had been broadcast by short wave to America.
“Now there’ll be no living with you, Mary,” Sparky laughed as he escorted her to the nurses’ tent where she was to spend the night.
“In Heaven’s name, why?” she exclaimed.
“You’re famous!”
“Nothing like that,” she laughed. “Just a flying fool of the Ferry Command.”
From here they hopped along in a leisurely manner to Honolulu.
Many a time in her younger days Mary had dreamed of sitting beneath the palms on the Hawaiian Islands. But on this trip she had seen palms in Brazil, North Africa, Egypt, Persia, India, China and the islands of the sea.
“What’s one palm more or less?” she said to Sparky. “Here’s hoping we catch an early plane home.”
They were obliged to wait two days before the long hop for San Francisco. It was on the evening of their last day at Honolulu, while they were seated in the lounge of their hotel, that a real thrill came over them as they listened to the radio.
“Listen!” Sparky sat up suddenly. Mary shifted to face the radio.
“We are now permitted to report,” said a voice in far away China: “that, four days ago, Tokio was heavily bombed by an airforce of great strength and that an enormous amount of damage was done to steel mills, airplane factories and other objectives. All our planes returned safely to their base.”
“Here it comes!” Mary whispered tensely.
“It’s the pay-off,” Sparky agreed.
“Here in the studio with me now,” the voice on the radio went on, “is Flight Commander Major Tom Cole. Major Cole, will you tell us a little about that raid?”
“I certainly will,” came in another voice. “It was magnificently planned and executed with great daring and tremendous success.”
“Were you able to sight your objectives?”
“And how! Those bombardiers just laid those blockbusters right on top of the targets.”
“Was much damage done?”
“I should say that fully a third of the factories, mills, and steel mills in the Tokio area had been put out of commission for weeks, perhaps months.”
“And Tokio itself?”
“All I can say is that if I lived in a paper house, I’d never start a war.”
“Thank you, Major. Oh! One thing more. There is a rumor about that a girl, Mary Mason, of the WAFS, had something to do with the success of this effort. Could this be true?”
“Not only could it be true—it is true. Much of the success of this mission is due to the loyal service of the young lady you mentioned. I, of course, can’t give you details. I will say that she no longer is in China.”
“In Honolulu, perhaps.”
“I wouldn’t know. Those gals really get about. All I want to say is that, wherever Mary Mason is tonight, our hats are off to her. Every man who flew on that mission would be glad to shake her hand.”
“And so ladies and gentlemen—” The broadcast ended.
“Oh!” Mary breathed, sinking deep into her big chair. “What did you say, Sparky—the pay-off?”
As Mary started for her room a short while later a reporter stepped up to her.
“Might you be Mary Mason?” he asked in a low voice.
“I might and I might not. You should know that we are not permitted to divulge secrets to strangers, particularly when we are on duty.” Once more Mary was on her way.
When they landed in San Francisco one morning at nine, Mary carried a mysterious package under her arm.
“Sparky,” she said, “I’ve carried this roll of papyrus half way round the world. The first thing I want to do in America is to get rid of it.”
“Okay, I’m with you,” was his quick response, “We’ll sit on a stool long enough for coffee, toast, and bacon, then we’ll be on our way.”
When, three hours later, they alighted from a cab before an imposing home hidden behind tall shrubbery in one of the city’s finest suburbs, Mary’s hands gripped the roll of papyrus. Her tense fingers trembled slightly as, with Sparky at her side, she marched up the winding walk.
“This is the place,” she whispered.
“And this the hour,” he agreed. “Keep a stiff upper lip. Everything will be fine and dandy.”
“All the same, I don’t like it.” She gripped his arm. “I’d rather be right up there in the sky.”
“Even in Burma?”
“Yes, even that.”
Just then a half block away, a heavy car slid up to the curb. Three husky men sprang out and marched briskly up the street.
“The cast is all here. The stage is set,” Sparky whispered, as he rang the door bell.
Their ring was answered at once. A blonde-haired maid ushered them in. She led them to a door, tapped, then waited.
“Come in! Come in!” a large voice welcomed as the door swung open. “I have been expecting you.” The large, red-faced man waved them to chairs close by his mahogany desk.
“Now we shall see!” He breathed heavily as his hand gripped the roll of papyrus. “Perhaps this is genuine, and perhaps not.”
After unrolling the parchment, he sat for a full minute studying the first, full sheet through his thick glasses—so intently that one might have said he was trying to read something not written there at all.
Sparky gave Mary a meaningful look.
“Yes,” the big man drew in a deep breath, “this is genuine, and should be of great service to humanity by revealing the real life of those strange beings who lived so long ago. You have been at great pains to bring this to me.”
“He doesn’t know the half of it,” Mary thought, smiling to herself.
“You must allow me to pay you for your trouble,” he went on. “How much do I owe you?”
“Oh! Noth—but nothing.” Mary hated herself for stammering. “But I wish you would look at all the sheets and per—perhaps count them,” she added hesitatingly.
“Very well. I shall do as you say.” The big man’s thumb and finger reached for the first sheet. Sparky half rose in his chair. From outside came a faint sound.
“One,” the big man counted, “two, three, four—”
Mary’s heart fluttered.
“And then—” The big man did not finish. Instead he sat there staring and as he did so his face purpled. A slip of paper had been inserted between the sheets of papyrus. On it had been written these words:
“You are Peter Schwartz.”
That was all. This could have been a harmless trick had he not for years lived in America under quite another name, and had not Peter Schwartz been wanted for some time by certain gentlemen who made their homes in Washington.
Half rising in his chair, the big man reached for the right-hand drawer of his desk. Sparky beat him to it, striking his arm down. And then the big man found himself surrounded by three men, each as large as himself and more powerful.
A pair of handcuffs clicked. “Come on, Schwartz,” one of the men said gruffly while another lingered for a word with Mary and Sparky.
“Nice work,” he commended. “The F.B.I. owes you a debt of gratitude, as does our government.”
“Most of the credit goes to Mary’s father,” said Sparky.
“And to his friends, the Egyptologist and the one who knows so much about lights.” Mary amended.
“You see,” said Sparky. “As soon as we showed them the roll of papyrus they put a sheet of it under the infra-red light.”
“And that brought out all sorts of things you couldn’t see with the eye,” Mary broke in. “Maps, charts, figures and all kinds of messages in code.”
“Enough to tell our enemy all they’d like to know about Egypt,” the F.B.I. now agreed. “They’ll never know now. The proper sort of bath will remove all their fancy maps and messages. And then—” he paused. “What about that roll of papyrus?”
“Let us know when you’re through using it as evidence,” said Sparky. “Then we’ll try to find out what will happen to it next.”
Ten minutes later they were once more out in the glorious sunshine of their native land. Sparky hailed a cab and together they rode to the little hotel where the girls of the Ferry Command stay when they are in the city.
As they entered the lobby Mary saw one of the girls she knew.
“Greetings,” she called.
“Same to you,” came back. “Where did you just come in from?”
“Been round the world,” Mary smiled slyly.
“Oh, yeah?” Then the girl’s look changed. “Say, that’s right! You’re Mary Mason! I heard you on the radio!”
“Oh! I hoped no one would hear!” Mary was startled.
“Everybody did. Say! It was great! And now all the girls want to cross the ocean. And say! There’s a telegram for you at the desk! Yes, and a letter.”
“A telegram! A letter!” Mary marched to the desk, received the telegram, and the letter, then stood staring.
The letter had given her a real thrill. It was not really a letter, only a picture on a postcard with some writing on the back. The picture was of a fine young American soldier in uniform. On its back she read: “You asked for it, so here it is.” It was signed “Jerry Sikes.”
“That boy in South America,” she whispered. “How grand!”
But the telegram?
“What’s the matter? Bad news?” Sparky asked.
“I’ll say so!” Mary made a face. “It’s from the WAF central office. They’ve booked me to appear before three women’s flying clubs. I’m to recruit fliers for our organization. Oh, when will we two fly again?”
“Time enough for that,” said Sparky. “Just let me know when your lecture tour is over and I’ll see what can be cooked up.
“Well, Mary,” he said as their hands met, “you saw a lot of nice boys on that trip.”
“I sure did, Sparky.” Her eyes shone. “But the best of them all—”
“Was the gray-haired one who met you in Egypt,” Sparky said smilingly.
“That’s right, Sparky—my dad—but next to him, the finest of them all was the guy who went with me all the way.”
“Thanks, Mary. I’m glad you feel that way, for you’re the grandest girl I know. I’ll be seeing you.” He turned to march away.
“Oh! Gee!” Mary thought. “Life sure is funny! Some of the things that happen to you make you feel all funny inside, but when there’s a war and you’re in it, you just have to let it go—for the duration.”