Robert Sidney Bowen

“ Even if he shot the Nazi spy down into the Pacific he himself would soon follow the rat down there. Not because he had been hit, or wanted to. Because he would have no choice. There would not be any gas left in his plane. And all the guts and courage in the world; all the fighting spirit and will-to-win determination that ever existed, cannot make an airplane stay in the air when the last drop of gas has been sucked into the engine. The age-old law of gravity comes into full force then, and down you go whether you like it or not. ”

“ Dave growled. "But if it was that, we wouldn't be here. Alive, I mean. We'd be dead. Why kidnap us in the dark of night, and at a lonely spot like the one where we were? Why not just give us both the works, and be done with it? With us dead they haven't a single thing to fear about that Nazi spy being identified. Or ... oh my gosh!"
"What, Dave?" Freddy Farmer asked quickly when Dawson let out the sudden exclamation and then lapsed into a sort of breathless silence. ”

“ But he did not misjudge, and after what seemed an eternity spent inside a hot stove, he reached Freddy Farmer, who was hauling smoking and flaming mail sacks along the floor of the compartment and then dropping them down through the opened bomb-bay doors. Young Farmer looked like a smudged-faced ghost in the red glow of the burning sacks. His helmet and goggles were gone, and his flying suit was badly scorched in a couple of places.
"What happened, Freddy?" Dawson choked out as he grabbed a smoking mail sack off the pile and hurled it down toward the night-shrouded Pacific. ”

“ With that half-moon hanging up there in the sky, it's just like a picture from the brush of a great artist."
"Well, strike me pink!" young Farmer gasped as he climbed out of the jeep and gazed at Dawson. "The chap seems to have some beauty and romance in his soul after all!"
"And nuts to you!" Dave snapped as he climbed down, too. "Can't a fellow admire something without being taken for a guy with long hair who lives in a garret?"
"But the way you said it, Dave," Freddy Farmer said with a sly look in his eyes. "So soft and so deep. Do you write poetry, too, my good man?" ”

“ The Jap suddenly spit out the last, and with his big yellowish brown hands he went through the motions of slapping a chicken down on the block and chopping off its head. Freddy Farmer gasped in spite of himself. The Jap heard him, burned him with his eyes, and once again his huge shoulders shook with silent mirth.
"You do not like to lose your head and neck, Captain Farmer?" he said, and almost pleasantly, too. "Then you were a fool to come to Oahu. But you are a fool in many things. Both of you are fools! You will both agree, as you die!" ”

“ You know, Dave, we've seen a lot, and we've done our full share of things, but this business is the queerest ever. The trailing destroyers haven't even reported sighting a single water flare. Maybe we just dreamed everything!"
"You're telling me?" Dawson growled. "For two cents I could dive right over the side and do the world and the war a big favor. What saps we've been, and still are! Things are certainly screwy in life. Just imagine, a little suggestion and, bingo, all this is the result. It's enough to drive a man nuts, permanently." ”

“ For the infinitesimal part of a split second Dawson sat as a man struck dead. Then with a wild yell he shook himself out of his trance, rammed all four throttles wide open and threw the Flying Fortress up and around in a steep climbing turn. The first star shell had died out by then, but a second and a third one had taken its place, and the silvery brilliance that seemed to flood everything was punched red and orange here and there by flak shells seeking out the Fortress. ”

“ All the colors of the rainbow surged into his brain in brilliant balls that blew up in a terrific crescendo of sound. Ten thousand spears of fire pierced every square inch of his body. And demons with red hot sledge hammers pounded their way down into his brain.
Then for an instant, and as though by magic, all sound faded away, and his vision was as clear as crystal. Directly in front of him, so close that he could almost reach out his hand and touch it, was the smoking wreckage of two Grumman Hell Cats entwined about each other. He clearly saw the markings F Dash Fourteen on one of them. ”

“ But if Lady Luck answered it was simply the mocking laughter that he still imagined to be ringing in his ears. And then a moment or two later the Nazi's Grumman was in the fog layer and no more than a faint shadow ripping forward. A shadow that grew fainter and fainter as precious seconds slipped by. In the frantic hope that he could keep track of the speeding plane by not plunging down into the fog layer, Dawson pulled out a few hundred feet above it and held his course to the south. ”

“ There's just one thing that occurs to me now, sir. Is every fighter pilot who was with the force in San Diego still with it? I mean by that, sir, because of the mission now being carried out, have any fighter pilots been transferred to torpedo or scout-bomber or dive-bomber squadrons, since the force put to sea?"
The force commander thought a moment, and then shook his head.
"No," he said bluntly. "Every man is serving just as he did when the force was at San Diego. The only changes have been the fighter pilots that were taken aboard at Pearl Harbor. ”

“ Wild hope leaped up in Dawson, but it lived for no more than three or four seconds. From beyond the open door came snarls like those of a trapped and wounded tiger. Almost instantly the snarls were followed by the unmistakable thuds of something crashing against human flesh. Back into the room came the two brown men, like a couple of acrobats doing back flips. They both hit the floor and went slithering across it to bang up against the opposite wall. In a crazy, abstract sort of way Dawson noticed that the one holding the gun still clung to it. ”

“ Good old Freddy Farmer. No fellow ever had a pal like Freddy. God created only one Freddy Farmer. Good old Freddy....
What was that noise? It would be nice to see once more. Blind as a bat, now, though. Everything red, and growing redder. A deep, deep red. A funny noise, that. Like a plane. The planes of other pilots who had died? Did a pilot go on flying after he was dead? As dying people hear voices of those who have gone before them, did a dying pilot hear the planes of pilots who had already gone? A funny sound, but a nice sound. Just like an aircraft engine. ”

“ Freddy Farmer's port-slot fifty-caliber guns started to speak their piece, and the running Japs were knocked flat as though invisible hands had jerked their feet out from under them. Those behind the ones that fell kept on coming like men crazed by fear who didn't know any better. Anyway, they ran straight into the withering fire that had cut down the others, and their rotten lives were promptly snuffed out in exactly the same way.
Not a gun fired back at the Fortress, now, as Dawson kept circling the target so that Freddy could work his slot guns continuously. ”

“ Yammanato screamed, seeming to beat the butt of his gun against the door. "I have a gun, and I will shoot you. No matter where you stand I will be able to hit you. Kato is coming and he is strong enough to break down this door. I tell you, your trick has failed. Be not fools any longer, or it will go that much harder with you. Do you hear me in there? Do you hear me?"
Freddy acted as though he were going to fling some kind of a taunt through the door, but Dawson cut him off with a curt shake of his head, and then put his lips to young Farmer's ear. ”

“ The time had passed for everything save for mad, furious, smashing action that would stop this Nazi from reaching the Truk area, and rob Admiral Shimoda forever of what he was now probably waiting for with gleaming eyes and drooling mouth.
In the next split second a hundred and one things loomed up large in Dawson's brain. He saw the Nazi's marking F Dash Fourteen stretched up tall as a house. He saw the color of the fuselage with the last rays of the sun dancing off its smooth surface. He saw the Nazi's Hell Cat start to swerve violently. ”

“ Then the blade disappeared as the Jap plunged it with both hands to his heart.
"The stinker!" Dawson heard his own voice pant as he raced up to the Jap. "Takes his own life rather than face the music. Just an old Jap custom, I guess."
But Yammanato was not yet quite dead. He stared up at Dawson out of half closed eyes that gleamed with fiendish hate. And then suddenly his lips slid back over his teeth in a sort of wolfish grin, and faintly spoken words came out from between them.
"Good fortune is a fickle woman. I have so spoken." ”

“ The figure of Freddy Farmer. Dawson heard his own voice cry out his pal's name as he strived desperately to swerve off to the side. But his efforts were not enough. His left foot struck one of Freddy's legs and he went flying over young Farmer, and down in a heap.
All the colored lights in the world flashed in his brain. There was so much fire in his lungs that he couldn't breathe. He could only lay motionless, his face pressed against the companionway deck as the vibrations of the carrier's engines went through his whole body. ”

“ The dirty beggars! I wonder how often they've pulled this killer's trick on lone planes flying out to the Islands? Praise be they're rotten shots. Look! They see that they can't get us now, so they're preparing to dive. They're ... I say, Dave! What the devil's wrong? Is the plane out of control?"
"Out of control, nothing!" Dawson roared as he sent the huge bomber over on wing, and down. "I mean it to go this way. Show me some of that sweet shooting of yours, Freddy! I'll take you right down on top of them, and nuts to their flak fire. Boy! If we only had a depth charge or two, or a bomb. ”

“ Dave laughed, and then concentrated on circling into the wind and sliding the Flying Fortress down to a perfect landing on the strip ordered by the officer in the control tower. As soon as the huge craft came to a full stop both youths breathed deeply, and then grinned at each other.
"Feels good, doesn't it, Freddy, huh?" Dawson said.
"Don't think it ever felt so good before," young Farmer agreed instantly. "English-born I may be, but I'm afraid I'm definitely not a follower of the sea. I always feel much better when there is the ground underneath me." ”

“ Dave murmured, and hung up the receiver.
He turned his head and looked at Freddy Farmer's wide eyes, and tried to smile, but it wasn't very much of an effort.
"Well, what do you know?" he breathed. "If it is that rat, then he's a pilot, and he's catching our smoke. Gives you a funny kind of feeling, doesn't it?"
"Quite!" Freddy Farmer grunted, and ran a tongue across his lips. "Makes a chap feel like the witness of a murder, and the murderer still at large, and hunting you down so's you'll never be able to tell."
"Yeah, something like that," Dawson nodded with a shaky little laugh. ”

“ He saw its nose drop down and its tail kick up. He saw the Nazi turn his head and saw him impulsively fling up one arm. He really saw this time the look of wild terror that flooded the Nazi's face.
"Nope! You still lose!"
Like a soothing, comforting whisper those words filtered back to Dave Dawson. And then he slammed his Hell Cat over on left wing, and kicked top rudder with every ounce of his strength. For the infinitesimal part of a split second his plane and the Nazi's plane seemed to hang motionless in mid-air. And then his lower wing sliced against the Nazi's fuselage and cockpit hatch. ”

“ Blessed if it's like you, Dave. Have you gone sour on something?"
"Heck, no!" Dawson cried, and sat up straight. "And don't get any dopey ideas that I feel licked about anything. I'm just biding my time, that's all. I mean, that something's bound to pop. It always has. It's just that I'm finally getting around to realizing that you can't push things along. You've just got to keep your shirt on when things get slow, and realize that there'll be plenty of fireworks sooner or later."
"Well, well, the chap must be growing up, after all," Freddy Farmer murmured. ”

“ With an angry gesture Freddy Farmer changed his rain slicker to his other arm, and pushed his service cap to the back of his head.
"Blast it, I'm going to rest!" he cried, and instantly pulled up to a halt. "You said a walk, Dave, not a cross-country hike to the Atlantic coast. You know how far we've come?"
Dawson slowed down and turned around with a grin.
"Who cares how far?" he said. "This is swell. The trouble with you is, you're falling apart from old age. But okay, if you have to rest. Some view, huh? Californians sure have a right to brag, don't they?" ”

“ Maybe it is a bit odd that we were stationed at a Naval Aviation base. However, perhaps the idea is to get Army and Navy pilots to know one another better. Too much rivalry between services is just as bad as none at all, you know."
"Well, I do, now that you've explained, sir!" Freddy barked at him. "But you still haven't answered my question. I mean, with the invasion of Hitler's Europe bound to pop any day now, why in the world send a hundred or more seasoned pilots away from England? Answer me that."
The corners of Dawson's mouth twitched in a grin, but Freddy didn't see it. ”