JET PLANE
MYSTERY

By
ROY J. SNELL

WILCOX & FOLLETT CO.
CHICAGO
1946

COPYRIGHT, 1944, BY
WILCOX & FOLLETT CO.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

CONTENTS

I [Whistling Mystery] 1 II [Contact] 10 III [Friendly Enemies] 20 IV [A Glorious Fight] 27 V [A Good Show] 34 VI [Plane Wrecked] 40 VII [A Night’s Adventures] 49 VIII [A Look at a Mystery Plane] 60 IX [The Tagged Monkey] 70 X [“Hist There! You!”] 78 XI [Night Fighters] 86 XII [Up at Dawn] 96 XIII [The Jet Plane] 105 XIV [Ted’s Gony] 115 XV [The Secret Book] 125 XVI [Mostly Memories] 134 XVII [Voices in the Night] 143 XVIII [Luck, Pals and Providence] 152 XIX [Mysteries Deepen] 158 XX [A Ship from Some Other World] 165 XXI [Mary Brown from the U. S. A.] 175 XXII [Star of the Mist] 183 XXIII [Hot Cannibal Rivets] 192 XXIV [Twilight Battle] 200 XXV [Jack’s New Gunner] 207 XXVI [Jack’s Jet Plane Wins Its Way] 217 XXVII [Stratosphere Tactics] 225 XXVIII [The Jet Plane’s Last Battle] 234

JET PLANE MYSTERY

CHAPTER I
WHISTLING MYSTERY

Ensign Jack Steel sat on the edge of a life raft whittling a stick. A strange place to whittle, one might say, on the deck of a great U. S. aircraft carrier in mid-Pacific. But Jack loved to whittle.

“What do you make when you whittle?” someone once asked him. “Shavings—just shavings—that’s all,” had been his prompt reply. Then, feeling that this was not a real answer, he went on to say, “I whittle and think. Thinking is what really counts.”

Jack was thinking now, not thinking hard—just letting thoughts drift in and out of his mind. There was enough to think about, too; they were in Jap waters right now. Something was bound to happen soon, perhaps at dawn. Jack would be away before dawn, for his was a scout plane. Back at the faraway training base at Kingsville he had put in his bid for a dive bomber.

“Ah! A dive bomber!” he had said to Stew, his buddy. “There’s the plane for me! You climb to twelve thousand feet, you get near the target, you come zooming down at four hundred an hour, you let go your bomb, and—”

“Wham!” Stew had exclaimed.

“Yes,” Jack had agreed. “Then you get out of there fast, as if Old Nick himself was after you.”

In the Navy you don’t talk back; so when the powers that be read off Jack, or “Jackknife Johnny,” as some of the boys called him, for a scout ship, a scout ship it had been—and still was.

And now, Jack thought, I wouldn’t trade my little old scout plane for any ship that flies. To go skimming away before dawn, to watch the “dawn come up like thunder” in those tropical waters, then to skip from cloud to cloud, eyes ever on the sea, looking for the enemy—ah, that was the life!

“Nothing like it!” he whispered as he carved off a long shaving and allowed it to drop silently on the deck.

A moving shadow loomed up before him. He knew that shadow—“Old Ironsides,” as the boys called him—Lieutenant Commander Donald Stone, boss of the carrier Black Bee, Jack’s ship, was on his way to the bridge.

“Must get a swell view of our task force from up there, eh, Commander?” Jack spoke before he thought. He’d always been that way.

“Eh? What? Oh, it’s you, Jackknife Johnny.” The Commander gave a low laugh. “Well now, on a night like this you don’t see much—a bit of white foam after each ship, and a blink of light now and then—that’s all.”

“It’s enough, sir,” said Jack. “You know what’s there—cruisers, destroyers, and maybe a tanker. Your mind must fill in the picture.”

“Oh! It does! It really does!” the Commander agreed. “Want to come up and see for yourself?” he invited.

“That would be keen, sir!” said Jack, dropping to his feet.

“Come on up then,” the Commander urged.

As Jack mounted the steps to the Commander’s bridge, twenty-five feet above the flight deck, he thought how strange life aboard a carrier would seem to those who had never put to sea as a navy pilot. Routine was strictly adhered to. When a flight of planes came in from a practice flight, they came down in perfect formation like a flock of wild geese landing on a pond.

Strict discipline, yes, he told himself, yet here I am following our Commander to his bridge, and it doesn’t seem a bit strange; for he’s one of us. We’re all one, all dressed in khaki, all tanned, trained to the last degree, ready to act as a unit to beat the Japs.

“Life on a carrier surely is grand, sir!” he said aloud.

“Yes, son,” the hardy old Commander rumbled. “There’s never been anything like it before.”

“Never has, sir,” Jack agreed.

“And now,” said the Commander as they reached the bridge, “there’s your Navy task force on a moonless night. Have a seat. Take it all in. I’m going to do a little meditating on the reality of the Absolute.” He laughed, and Jack laughed with him. Jack didn’t know who or what the Absolute might be, but he did know that the Commander was giving him a real treat, and that was enough for him.

It was strange sitting up there feeling the throb of the ship’s mighty engines, looking away at the blacker-than-black sea, and knowing that they were racing along at twenty knots an hour toward some sort of real trouble.

“Spooky,” he thought.

And indeed, it was just that, for they were definitely in Jap waters. Everyone expected a fight at dawn. If some Jap snooper plane or submarine sighted them now, there would be a mighty battle.

To the right and a little ahead he caught a white gleam on the water. “That’s the Black Knight,” he told himself. The Black Knight was a fast and powerful cruiser. Three other cruisers, always close to the carrier but not too close, sped along with them. Six destroyers lay farther out.

“What a lot of power, sir!” Jack said aloud as the Commander strode past him.

“What? Yes, a lot of striking power,” the Commander agreed. “We’re likely to need it, too. They say the Jap navy won’t come out and fight. You can’t count on that. They’re sly rascals, those Japs. They might pounce on us with double our striking power any time. They....”

“What’s that, sir?” Jack broke in.

“What’s what?” The Commander paused.

“Don’t you hear it, sir?” Jack asked. “It’s like the howl of a dog, or a train whistle far away.”

“All I hear is that banjo on the after deck,” the Commander laughed low.

“It’s not that, nor anything like it.” Jack was in dead earnest. “It’s nothing on this ship. It comes from far away, sir. Listen hard.”

“You have good ears,” said the Commander. “Radio ears, perhaps. They say there are people who can pick radio messages right out of the air with their unaided ears. I’ve never believed that, but—say!” His voice rose. “I think I do hear something out there!”

“Sure you do, sir!” Jack exclaimed. “It’s getting louder, closer!”

For a space of seconds the two of them, the aged Commander and the boy, stood there listening with breathless attention.

“This may be serious!” the Commander exclaimed at last, as he dashed for the intership telephone.

Jack heard him barking words into the phone. He at last exclaimed loud enough to be heard, “Good boy, Steve! Keep a sharp watch!”

Jack wondered who Steve was, but more than that he wanted to know what made that high-pitched, screaming whistle that had increased in volume until it fairly filled the sky.

“It’s a bomb!” he exclaimed at last. “Sounds just like the ones those Jap dive bombers threw at us!” He wanted to race down the companionway to seek a safer spot. And then again he did not, for was not this a first-class mystery? And was not the Commander standing by? You had to be a real sailor.

“Could be a bomb from some stratosphere plane,” the Commander, who had returned to his post, agreed. “But I doubt it.”

“What is it then, sir?” Jack asked.

“Some Jap trick I’d say,” the Commander rumbled. “They may be closer than we think. The Germans claim they’ve got planes loaded with TNT that they guide by radio. It might be one of those.”

From below came the murmur of many voices. All over the ship men were calling, “What is it?” “What’s going on?” “Here it comes!” “Here she comes!”

Jack wondered if they would be ordered to battle stations, but no order came.

“It’s high up and coming fast.” There was a suggestion of huskiness in the Commander’s voice.

“It will pass over quickly, sir,” Jack declared. “Unless....”

“Yes,” the Commander agreed.

To Jack, whose mind often conjured up strange things, all that lay about him—the night, the black sea, the tiny lights blinking in from nowhere, and the eerie scream from the night sky—seemed part of another world.

The Commander took a more practical view of it. “Maybe a meteor,” he grumbled.

“A meteor!” Jack was startled.

“Yes, a shooting star that’s burned its way through the earth’s atmosphere.”

“But I don’t see—”

Jack did not finish, for all of a sudden he realized that the thing, whatever it might be, had passed directly over their heads and was now speeding east.

“It—it’s gone by!” Jack exclaimed. “Danger’s over.” He experienced intense relief.

“I wonder,” was the Commander’s strange reply.

“Whew! that was fast, sir!”

“Fast?” the Commander added in a lower tone. “Faster than any plane you’ve ever flown, Jack my boy!”

“I wouldn’t doubt it, sir,” Jack laughed.

“Or ever will fly,” the Commander added.

In this last statement he was entirely wrong, as future events were to prove.

“Who’d want to ride a meteor, sir?” Jack asked with another laugh.

“Meteor? Oh, yes. Quite a wild guess on my part,” said the Commander. “A meteor speeding through the air would glow with the heat created by friction. You didn’t see anything, did you?”

“Not a thing, sir. Whatever it might be, it’s black as night itself.”

“Well, that’s that.” The Commander sighed a moment later when the last faint whistle had died away in the night.

“Just one of those things, sir,” Jack agreed. At that he wondered whether he had spoken the truth. Or will there be more of them, many more? he wondered. And will one of them at last make contact with the broad side of the old Black Bee?

“Boy, oh boy!” he whispered to himself. “That would be something!”

A moment more of vast, black silence, and he was excusing himself to go down the ladder to join his buddies.

“Got to turn in, sir,” he explained.

“That’s right,” the Commander agreed. “Tomorrow may be a great day for us all. You never know.”

CHAPTER II
CONTACT

On the flight deck Jack joined a group of his fighting pals. Sprawled about the deck, they were still discussing the mysterious something that had gone screaming over their heads.

“It’s a Jap trick,” said Dave Dunn, a torpedo bomber pilot. “I tell you they’re closer than you think!”

“They didn’t have to be too close at that,” Jack broke in. “I was on the Commander’s bridge when the thing went over.”

“Oh, ho! Listen to Jackie!” Kentucky, a fighter pilot, exclaimed. “Been hobnobbin’ with the Commander!”

“Shut up, Ken!” Red Sands, another fighter pilot, gave him a push. “What does the Commander think about it, Jack?”

“It’s a sign. That’s what it is!” a bombardier exclaimed. “Sign of trouble ahead!”

“The Commander thinks just what we all think.” Jack gave a low chuckle as he dropped to the deck. “Might be just anything—a meteor, a Jap nuisance trick—just anything!”

“Nuisance trick! Say! If that thing had hit us I’ll say it would have been a nuisance!” Blackie, another fighter, exclaimed.

The talk went on, but Jack, who for the moment had lost interest in the sky-screamer, was talking with his pal, Stew Sherman, radio gunner.

“The Commander thinks we’ll contact a Jap task force tomorrow,” he confided.

“I shouldn’t wonder,” Stew murmured softly.

Unlike Jack, who was tall, slim, blond, and quick as the snap of a jackknife blade, Stew was short, solid, and rather quiet.

“A message was picked up from a land-based plane,” Jack continued. “He was reporting back to his own base. That base is a long way from here, but those big old land-snoopers cruise long distances. He was reporting a Jap task force headed south. Sounds like action ahead!”

“It’s our turn next,” Stew grumbled. “Last time Louie and Dave spotted the Jappies. We’ll find ’em this time, or bust!”

“We sure will!” Jack agreed.

“Which means we’d better turn in,” Stew suggested.

They were on their feet, when suddenly the squeaky notes of a badly played violin reached Jack’s ears. “Oh! Ouch!” he exclaimed in mock pain.

The two boys wandered back to find Ted Armour, a fighter pilot, doing his best to murder “Turkey in the Straw.” Ted was the son of a rich stockbroker, but a real fellow for all that.

“For Pete’s sake, tune that fiddle!” Jack exploded.

“Tune it yourself!” Ted held out the violin. “How are you going to do it without a piano?”

Without troubling to reply, Jack accepted the challenge. Tucking the fiddle under his chin, he began strumming its strings.

“No.... Now!” He exclaimed once. Then, “There, that’s better!” He hummed a tune, tested a string, hummed again; then, after drawing the bow across the strings, exclaimed softly:

“Not bad! Not bad! Really quite a fiddle!”

“Little you know about that!” someone laughed. “You’re just a scout pilot.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack laughed. Then, after one more testing of the strings—seeming to forget his surroundings, the racing carrier, the black sea, the murmuring men—he began to play the “Londonderry Air.”

At once the group became silent. Even the great ship’s motors seemed to throb in a strange, new way as the plaintive strain drifted out into the night.

Jack played it through to the end, while many a boy far from home seemed to hear the voice of a woman singing the sweet and melancholy words of “Danny Boy.” Finishing, he purposely made a harsh discord, then gave the violin back.

“Bravo! Bravo!” came in a chorus. “More! More!”

“Here.” Ted held out the violin. “It’s yours, for keeps. If you can make it do that, it belongs to you.”

“What? You don’t mean that!” Jack stared in astonishment.

“I certainly do.” Ted spoke soberly. “Dad paid good money for that violin. It was wasted as far as I’m concerned. But you can really play!”

Yes, Jack could play. From his eighth birthday on, he had known but one ambition—to become a really fine violinist. Then had come the war, and—but why think of that? The war was here. He was a scout pilot.

For a moment he stood silently thinking. Then he said:

“Tell you what.” His voice was low and full of emotion. “You wanted my radio. I’ll swap you.”

“It’s a go,” Ted agreed.

Then, fearing that his first tune had dug too deep into the souls of his comrades, Jack struck out with the old “Virginia Reel.”

At once the whole gang was whirling about in a mad sort of dance.

“Concert’s over!” Jack exclaimed at last, tucking the violin under his arm. “Tomorrow we fight.”

“Tomorrow we fight! Tomorrow we fight!” came echoing back. And so the party broke up.

Jack had the precious violin, acquired in such a strange manner, tucked under his arm as he and Stew strode down the deck toward the ladder that led to a night’s repose.

As they rounded a life raft someone blinked a faint light upon them. “Oh! It’s you, Jack?” It was the Commander who spoke. He was off for a cup of coffee.

“Ay, ay, sir.” Jack grinned.

“Got a violin?” The Commander halted. “Weren’t you playing back there on the deck?”

“I’m afraid I was, sir,” Jack admitted. “Trying to play, I mean. You see, sir, I haven’t touched a violin in months. It—well—it didn’t seem to fit in with my program. You see, sir, I really worked at my fiddling from the time I was eight. Then—well, you know.”

“Sure, I know. The war came along. And you went all out for Uncle Sam.”

“Something like that, sir,” Jack agreed.

“That’s the proper spirit,” the Commander approved. “But let me tell you something, son. You’ll be a better flier longer if you go back to that violin for an hour or two every day.”

“What do you mean, sir?” The boy voiced his surprise.

“Ever draw a string tight and leave it for a long time?” the Commander asked.

“Sure did, sir.”

“What happened?”

“It snapped, sir.”

“Of course. It’s the same with fliers. It’s the fellow with one string, one thought, who snaps first. Relax, Jack my boy. Relax with your fiddle and you’ll ride through this war right into a concert hall.”

“Sounds a bit strange. But I’ll try it, sir,” Jack agreed.

“Good night and good hunting to you tomorrow.” The Commander disappeared.

Before turning in, Jack took a closer look at his new treasure, his precious violin. “It’s a honey,” he told Stew. “Bet it cost a thousand dollars.”

“Why not,” said Stew. “What’s a thousand dollars to a man like Ted’s dad?”

“That’s just it,” Jack agreed. “Seems sort of wonderful, doesn’t it, that you and I who’ve never had a lot of anything, and Kentucky and Red, who’ve had even less, should be messin’ round with fellows like Ted and two or three other rich guys on the old Black Bee?”

“Well, we’re all in the same boat, aren’t we?” Stew drawled.

“Yes, and the same-sized Jap bullet will down one of them just as quick as it will one of us. For all that,” Jack paused, “it looks as if ours should be a better world to live in after the war is over, all of us getting along together the way we do.”

“Oh! It will!” Stew agreed. “And here’s one bombardier who’s going to try to be around when it’s over. Fight hard, but take no fool chances, that’s my motto.”

“Mine too,” Jack agreed. “I’ve got folks waiting for me back home.”

“Same here. And besides, we can’t help Uncle Sam much down there in Davy Jones’s locker.” At that they lapsed into silence.

Jack slept with his violin that night, and next morning before dawn he stowed it away in his plane. “Why not?” he asked himself. “Red’s got a dog he takes along. Blackie carries a parrot, and Bill, a monkey. A violin makes just as good a mascot, and not half the bother.”

When he and Stew worked their way to the flight deck that morning they found it crowded with planes. The Black Bee was one of the largest carriers in the Navy and carried more than a hundred planes.

Because they required only a short run to clear the deck, and also because in case of an attack they must be the first ships up, the fighters stood in front of all the others on the deck. Back of these were scout planes; next rode dive bombers; and last of all, torpedo planes.

Already the air was filled with the roar of motors warming up. Fighters would soon be taking off for a look at the skies close at hand and for practice runs. Scout planes would cut the sky into a great four-hundred-mile-wide pie and each would take its own sector of air and sea for a close search. Lucky the scout-ship pilot who could announce, “Enemy task force a hundred miles north by east.” Even the discoverer of a Jap snooper, a huge four-motored flying boat, would receive his reward, and besides, with luck, might send the air giant flaming into the sea. Little wonder then that Jack’s fingers trembled as he gripped the controls and waited for the flight officer’s signal for the take-off.

Slowly at first, then more swiftly, their wheels rolled across the deck until they glided out over the dark, gray waters into the approaching dawn.

They climbed a thousand, two, three, five thousand feet. Jack examined and tested his instruments. Stew swung his machine guns back and forth. Then pressing the button, he sent a burst of fire into the limitless blue-gray of the sky. “This is our day!” Jack exulted. “I feel it in my bones.”

“Hope you’re right,” Stew grumbled. “We’re due for some luck. Three months in the Pacific and we haven’t sighted a single snooper or sneaking Jap ship. It’s rotten luck!”

“Cheer up, there’ll come a time,” Jack sang. He was in fine spirits. The feel of violin strings under his fingers had done things to him. And besides, there was much more involved in that simple ceremony of swapping a cheap radio for a priceless violin than the onlookers realized. He and the fighter Ted Armour had a secret all their own.

The two boys in their scout plane flew straight away for some time. Fighter planes would guard the air close to their task force. At last they began crisscrossing the sky. Each time, as they went farther out to sea and their sectors widened, their crisscrosses increased in length.

“We’re heading into a mess of black clouds,” Stew grumbled. “Won’t be able to see a thing.”

“Not so thick, at that,” Jack called back cheerfully. “Wait until the sun is up and you’ll see.”

Soon dark clouds turned purple, faded into dark red, then pink, to take on at last the fluffy white of full day.

“What a day for duck hunting!” Stew exclaimed.

“I’ll say!” Jack agreed. “But give me Japs, not ducks! The things they did to our prisoners in the Philippines make my blood boil!”

“Mine too. I’m aching to get a crack at them. We—”

“Look!” Jack exclaimed. “Off there to the east!”

“Ships!” Stew exploded.

“Yep! And we’ve got no task force out there!”

“Duck into that long white cloud, quick!” Stew suggested.

Jack’s head was in a whirl as he gripped the controls, banked his plane, then vanished from sight into the cloud.

“Contact,” he whispered hoarsely. “Contact at last! And there’ll be a fight!”

CHAPTER III
FRIENDLY ENEMIES

“Boy, oh boy!” Stew exulted as they slid into the cloud. He set his radio with trembling fingers. “Here’s where we score a scoop!”

“Wait!” Jack warned. “We can’t risk a false alarm. Might pull the entire task force off its course for nothing!”

Jack was thinking. What a lovely cloud this is! There’s sure to be a carrier in that Jap convoy down there, if they’re really Jap ships—a carrier and Zeros. There’s sure to be a fight, and this ship of ours is good for only 260 M.P.H. at most! But this is what she was built for, and what we were trained for. This is our zero hour. He drew in three deep breaths of air and felt better. Jitters, he decided. They all get them. Old Ironsides says we’d be no good if we didn’t.

Stew had not advised going into a cloud without a reason. They were still some distance from the task force—too far to be sure of anything. By following it in the cloud they could obtain a better view.

The cloud was miles long and appeared to dip down toward the sea. They were constantly running into thin filmy fringes and being obliged to drop lower. They didn’t want to be spotted by a Zero. Not yet. They must make sure that this was really a Jap task force, and get in a report. Then let the Zeros come if they would. They’d give them a grand exhibition of cloud hopping and, if need be, a glorious shooting match as well.

“No shooting if we can help it,” Jack told himself. “Our job is to spot the enemy task force and sit above them, sending in reports until our bombers and torpedo planes come to attack. We—”

His thoughts broke off sharply. What was this he was hearing? A high-pitched whistle like a country fire alarm. No doubt about it. It was on the same key as the one they had heard the night before. Stew had heard it too—Jack could tell by the look in his eyes.

“Some Jap trick!” Jack exclaimed, gripping the controls hard. “Got to be ready for anything!” Stew was swinging his gun about as a ballplayer swings his bat before a try at the ball.

The screaming noise increased. It filled the air, and seemed almost upon them. Acting by instinct, Jack went into a sudden steep dive.

The next instant he looked up to see a shadowy bulk shoot through the misty clouds above them to lose itself at terrific speed in the distance.

“That,” said Stew, with a shudder, “was a torpedo. The Japs shot it at us. If it had connected we wouldn’t be here.”

“I wonder,” said Jack.

There was little time for wondering, for suddenly they were out of the clouds, not far from the sea. And directly beneath them lay the enemy task force. So near was it that it looked almost like a cardboard display against a field of blue.

“Zeros!” Stew warned suddenly. “Three of them over to the left!”

Jack dipped a wing, touched the accelerator, cut an astonishingly short circle, and re-entered the same cloud.

“Ann to Mary! Ann to Mary!” Stew repeated in a strained voice, talking into his mike. “Enemy task force southeast, hundred and eighty miles. One carrier, five cruisers, eight destroyers, and three cargo ships.”

He waited ten seconds. He, you have guessed, was Ann. The operator on the carrier was Mary. Twice, at brief intervals, he repeated the messages.

“Watch it!” Jack exclaimed, banking his plane so sharply it stood on a wing. In his excitement he had come so close to the edge of the cloud that he had sighted a shadow. The shadow had a voice, a sudden rat-tat-tat that made small round holes in his right wing. A Zero had nearly winged them.

“Close,” he murmured. “Got to have a care.”

They circled about in the cloud for fully five minutes. “What’s your idea about that screamer?” Stew asked.

“I know what it can’t be,” was Jack’s reply.

“What?”

“It can’t be a meteor. You can see a meteor.”

“Probably a rocket from a plane. The Jerries have them.”

“I wonder!” Jack said once more. “Well, guess we’ll slip down for another look. Tell you what—we’ll zoom out of this cloud full speed. That’ll take the Zeros by surprise. By the time they close in we’ll be safe in another cloud.”

Jack’s idea was a good one. Stew had one more good look at the task force. He corrected his report—one less destroyer than he had thought, and one more cargo vessel. The distance was shorter, perhaps nearer one hundred and seventy miles. Their trick of dashing full speed from cloud to cloud fooled the Japs. But they would soon run out at an edge of the cloud they had just entered, small-circle it as they might.

“The Nips will corner us like rabbits in a hayfield,” Stew grumbled.

“Let ’em try it!” Jack’s spirits were rising. This was their day. “We’ll come out shooting. We’ve just got to cut one notch in the handle of your gun before this hour gets away.”

“Here’s hoping.” Stew patted his gun.

Despite his rising courage Jack’s knees began shaking when, for a second time, they barely escaped a blast of fire from a Zero.

At last he exclaimed, “Shucks! This cloud is too thin and ragged. We’ll make another run for it.”

Another run it was, and this time two Jappies were right after them. But to his surprise Jack found the enemy unwilling to press home the attack. They would make a run, then as soon as they were close enough for a possible shot, circle away. The first time one did this Stew gave him a short quick burst of fire, without result.

“Huh!” he grunted the second time, “I know their game. They want me to shoot out my belts of ammunition. Then, while I’m reloading, they’ll slip in for the kill. Oh no you don’t, Jappie!” He withheld his fire.

So interesting was the game that for the time being they forgot both the clouds and the task force. But not for long. Suddenly Stew exclaimed:

“Say! Look! That Jap task force is smaller!”

Jack did not look, for suddenly he threw his plane into full speed.

“What the—”

“That fellow was sneaking in too close,” Jack exclaimed. “Tell you what. We’ll take him on!”

“Take him on!”

“Sure. Let him try another sneak, then I’ll whirl on him with our left wing lowered.”

“Say! You’re right! I’ll just swing this old twinflex gun around to the front and fire across our wing while—”

“While I pepper him with my two guns in the nose. Watch now. On your toes!” Jack warned.

He slackened his speed a little. The Jap pressed in. Suddenly Jack’s motor roared like an attacking lion. The left wing dipped. The plane cut a half circle. Its guns flashed in unison. The Zero faltered, fell away to the right, began to smoke, then went into a spin.

Twenty seconds later, just as three Zeros dropped at them from above, the boys lost themselves in one more cloud.

“Chalk up one Zero!” Stew exulted. “That’s one up for us!”

“And say!” he added, “that reminds me. I’ve got to get a message off.”

A few seconds later he was droning into his microphone:

“Ann to Mary! Ann to Mary! Task force split. Two cargo vessels, three destroyers, going due east. Remainder of force same as before.”

“We’d better stick to this cloud for a while,” was Jack’s decision. “It’s a good big one, and fairly thick. Those Zeros will be swarming round it like angry bees, but they’ll never find us in here.”

“All the same, we’ve got to find out what that break in their task force means!” Stew insisted.

Jack caught low words in his earphones:

“Jack! Where are you?”

Jack jumped. He knew that voice. It was Ted Armour speaking. “In a cloud over a Jap task force.” Jack asked very quietly, “Where are you, Ted?”

“In a cloud over a Jap task force,” Ted laughed softly. “Picked up your message. I was quite a ways east, so I came on out. Thought you might need some help.”

“That—ah—that’s swell!” Jack swallowed hard. “We’re coming out for a look.”

“Good! I’m coming too. I’ll be seeing you.”

That was all, but Jack felt a great uplift of spirits as he headed for the edge of his cloud. “It’s a strange world,” he thought. “Friendly enemies. War is terrible and wonderful!”

CHAPTER IV
A GLORIOUS FIGHT

“Good old Ted!” Jack exclaimed without thinking as he headed for that dangerous fringe of mist. “He’s from my home town.”

“What?” Stew exclaimed. “You never told me.”

“I’ve told you now,” Jack snapped. “So keep it quiet. It’s our secret.”

They slid out into the clear blue sky to discover that while the main Jap task force continued to glide serenely on its way, the two cargo ships and three destroyers had lost themselves in a rain squall that reached right down to the surface of the sea.

“Tough luck!” Stew exclaimed. “We’ve just got to locate them and see where they’re going. They may be the grand prize. Very likely those cargo ships are loaded with ammunition, and one of them is a twenty-thousand tonner.”

Jack put his plane into a steep dive. Two thousand feet from the sea he soon lost himself in the top of the rain squall.

They went through the squall and were out on the other side in no time at all.

“There they are! Two ships, three destroyers!” Stew exulted. “Still going due east. I’ll get in a report, and then—”

He stopped short to grip his machine gun and exclaim, “Jack! Quick! Back into the cloud! Three Zeros are coming down at us from 5,000 feet.”

As Jack dipped his right wing to circle, he thought, “Looks like curtains for us.”

Their plane, though a sturdy and dependable craft with some forty-five feet of wing spread, was far from fast. The Zeros were small, light, and fast. They seemed to drop with the speed of sound. It looked bad. At that instant, there came a silver flash from just above the cloud, and a U. S. fighter leaped at the three Zeros which were dropping straight and fast and thus unable to change their course.

What followed was a beautiful thing to see. Seeming to stand in mid-air, the U. S. fighter pilot handled his guns as a bird hunter does his fowling piece. He picked off the first two Zeros and sent them flaming to the sea below—then sent the third wheeling harmlessly away.

“Good old Ted!” Jack exclaimed as he slid his plane into the small cloud that hung above the rain squall.

“He handles his plane as though he were dancing,” Stew said. There was admiration in his voice.

“Of course,” said Jack. “That’s Ted for you. He was the finest dancer in our school, or our town, for that matter. He played basketball and tennis the same way, with perfect rhythm.”

“Just think what the war has done to the world,” Stew murmured. “Sets a fellow teaching a fighter plane to dance!”

Stew got off his message. He thought it hard that all this radio reporting should be one-way stuff, but of course it was necessary for the carrier to maintain radio silence, otherwise her position might be given away and she herself might be attacked.

“Why don’t the bombers come?” Stew was growing restless with the delay. Since their job was to shadow the Jap task force until the dive bombers and torpedo planes arrived, they would not be free to leave until the others put in an appearance.

“The Commander will hold the bombers and their fighter protection until all scouts are heard from,” said Jack.

“Why?” Stew was puzzled.

“Because there may be other Jap task forces lurking about the sea waiting to send their air fleets after the Black Bee. She must not be left unprotected. She—”

“Listen!” Stew broke in. To their ears came the sound of machine-gun fire.

“Ted’s in a fight. We’ve got to get out and help him!” Jack exclaimed. “Can’t let that swarm of Zeros gang up on him.” He set their plane climbing. “We’ll just get some altitude, have a look, then fly right down onto them.”

“Good stuff!” Stew agreed. “We can dive with the best of them.”

It was only after they had climbed out of their cloud on up to the one above, and out at the top of that one, to a height of five thousand feet, that Jack took time out for a downward glance. Then, what he saw all but cost him the chance of a grand fight. What’s more, much of his life might have been radically changed, had he failed to come to a decision in the next sixty seconds. Almost directly beneath them, a little to the left, an air battle raged between four Zeros and a single-seated U. S. fighter.

Jack did not need to be told that the lone fighter was the boy from his own home town, Ted. It could be none other, for the broad, sweeping circles his plane made appeared to be timed to the tune of a Strauss waltz.

At the moment they sighted Ted he was being followed by a Zero that spouted fire. The distance was too great; the shots did not take effect.

Instead of turning on his opponent, Ted swung up and under an enemy coming from above and, seeming to stand his plane on its tail, sent a burst of fire into the enemy’s engine. The Zero wavered. Something hung from it for a space of seconds, then rocketed downward.

“Shot off his motor!” Jack exulted.

Stew did not hear. His mind was still on the task before him. The rain squall was over. He spotted the two groups of enemy ships, also some small islands off to the east. With a strange sense of finality coursing through his being, he reported all this to the Black Bee’s radioman. As he listened after that, he thought he heard the low rumble of many distant planes. He could not be sure; too much was going on directly beneath them.

Continuing his magnificent circles, Ted came up behind the very Zero that seconds before had been following him. He let out a burst of fire. Smoking badly, the Zero limped into a cloud.

“Now! Now we’ve got to get down there!” Jack tilted his plane for a steep dive, then set his motor at top speed.

The two remaining Zeros were closing in on Ted. At the same time three others were swinging in on him from the left. The three were flying in formation, rather far apart.

“Get ready with your twinflex,” Jack ordered. “We’ll go right into that trio and break it up.”

Did the Japs see them coming? No matter. They came in too fast for the Japs to dodge. At just the right instant Jack pulled up short, then let out a burst of fire that cut squarely across the lead plane of the Japs.

At the same time Stew swung his twinflex gun on the second plane and let him have it for all he was worth.

What happened after that came so quickly that it remained a blur in Jack’s memory. Afterward he seemed to recall seeing two Jap planes falling, and Ted, with a damaged plane, disappearing into a cloud. At the same time something had creased his forehead. He went dizzy for an instant, then he was all right again.

“They got our radio!” Stew reported.

“She doesn’t steer right!” Jack headed her into a cloud.

“Well, that’s that,” Stew sighed. “No radio. No more work for us.”

Jack scarcely listened. He was hearing a rumble. It came from the west. “Bombers! Our bombers!” he exclaimed.

“Our work is finished!” Stew exulted.

“All but getting back. And that we can’t do.” There was an air of finality in Jack’s voice. “That Jap did plenty to this plane. Nearly got me too. Take a look at my right temple.”

Stew leaned forward, then whistled. “Burned you, all right. Bleeding a little. Wait. I’ll fix you up.”

They circled slowly in their cloud while first aid was applied.

“There are some islands off to the east,” Stew suggested.

“How far?”

“’Bout fifty miles.”

“Good! That’s our best bet.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

“Nothing.” Jack eased his plane over toward the edge of the clouds.

“What about the Zeros?” Stew asked.

“It’s a chance we have to take,” Jack replied soberly. “This old kite won’t stay up too long. Be prepared to give them the works if they show up.”

“The works it shall be,” Stew replied grimly as he reloaded his powerful weapon.

CHAPTER V
A GOOD SHOW

The Zeros, it seemed, were engaged elsewhere. When Jack and Stew emerged from their cloud none were in sight, nor were the islands that Stew had seen.

“A rain squall has hidden the islands. They’re there, all the same,” Stew insisted.

“It’s our only chance.” In vain Jack tried to get more power from his disabled motor. It coughed, sputtered—all but died—then carried on.

Heading due east, he started to climb. He had gained a thousand feet or more when he began losing again.

“Look over your parachute,” he said to Stew. “Be sure you can get hold of our rubber raft at a second’s notice. This motor may die at any moment.”

“It’s all done,” said Stew. “All in order. Let’s have a look at your chute.” He worked over Jack’s chute and harness. “It’s okay. Be sure to pull the cord,” he joked. “That’s always a necessity, you know.”

“Sure I know,” Jack’s voice was cheerful. “I’m glad we got our job done before this thing happened.”

“The sea’s fairly smooth. We’ll get on. Some kind of a bird will light on us. They always do—booby, gull—something.”

“Sure, they light on anything that stands out above the water.” Jack set his ship climbing again. They were inside the rain squall. From not too far away came the sound of sudden battle.

“Zeros and our fighters have tangled.” Stew became tremendously excited. “Boy! This is going to be terrific! Wish we could see it!”

“Like taking in a world-series game from behind a high board fence,” Jack agreed. “But leave it to our bombers!”

“They’re sure good! They took that other carrier we discovered a week ago.”

“They’re tops, those bombers!” Jack had a great love for his ship and her men. “There never was a carrier like the Black Bee!”

The roar of bombers coming on in formation filled the air.

“They’re climbing! I can tell by the sound!” Stew exclaimed. “Boy! Just you wait!”

Stew all but stood up in his place while Jack divided his attention between the bombers and his disabled motor.

“Now!” Stew exclaimed at last. “Now they’re diving! Listen!” He held his breath, counting “One—two—three—four—five—six—seven—”

He had reached twenty when there came a roar. “Oh! Too bad! That one missed!” Hardly were the words out of his mouth when there came a second roar. “Right on the beam! Boy! Oh boy!”

Six bombers dumped their loads. “Three connected,” was Stew’s decision. “That’s a very good record.”

Then all of a sudden they emerged from the screening rain squall to find themselves over a bright, blue sea. In the center of this sea, two large cargo ships and three destroyers steamed rapidly toward the east.

“Oh!” Stew groaned. “They’ll get away! And I have a hunch they’re the most important of all.”

For a space of seconds Jack considered turning back in an effort to direct some of the bombers toward this target. “No use,” he grumbled. “We’d never make it in time.”

“Besides,” Stew’s voice went husky, “here come three of our torpedo bombers. They got my message after all! Boy! We’re some use in the world, you and I! And we’re really going to see a show.”

“A grandstand seat! No high fence this time.” Jack’s voice expressed his joy.

At sight of the torpedo planes the two cargo ships began zigzagging, while the destroyers darted in close to them.

Like catbirds after hawks, four Zeros followed the torpedo planes, but as yet were too far away to count.

“Man! Oh man!” Jack exclaimed. “Suppose those Zeros come after us!”

“Let them come!” Stew looked to the loading of his gun. “We’ll be waiting for them. We can’t run, but we still can fight.”

Two destroyers lay between the torpedo planes and the cargo ships. Their pom-pom guns began throwing up shells. The boys could see them explode in mid-air. Disregarding these, the torpedo pilots came sailing straight in, dropping rapidly as they approached their target.

Jack held his breath as one by one they passed through shellfire. That’s Dick, I imagine, he was thinking. Dick, Bert and Phil. All swell boys!

One shell, exploding beneath the second plane, lifted it into the air, but the plane came straight on.

At just the right moment, not five hundred feet from the sea, the first plane released its “tin fish.” Jack saw it hit the sea and speed away.

“Bull’s-eye!” he shouted. But the torpedo acted strangely. It leaped into the air, then dove like a playing porpoise. At last it reached the side of a cargo ship.

“Now!” Stew breathed.

But there came no sound. “Oh!” Jack exclaimed, as he saw the torpedo speed away beyond the ship. “It went right under her! What a—”

He did not finish, for suddenly a mighty explosion fairly tore the sky.

“Did you see that!” Stew exclaimed. “The second torpedo took that ship right on the beam! And did she explode! Must have been loaded with TNT.”

Jack had not seen. What he did see was a tower of black smoke and pieces of debris falling over the sea. And he saw the second ship, attacked by the last torpedo plane, meet the same fate.

All this had happened in the space of seconds, and all the time their disabled plane was chugging its way toward three small islands that stood out like green stones set in a field of blue.

“I hope they raise chickens on those islands,” said Stew.

“Chickens and no Japs,” Jack agreed. At that moment his eyes swept the sky for the Zeros. “Gone,” he murmured at last. “I guess they’ve seen enough for one day.”

After that Jack was silent for a time. He was thinking: Those ships were loaded with ammunition intended for Japs on some island. If they had gone through safely, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of our Marines and Army men might have died. We got them. A feeling of pride in a job well done, a task in which he and Stew had played a large part, coursed through his being.

“We found them. The torpedo planes destroyed them,” he said aloud. At that moment he would not have traded his job as a scout for any other in the service.

But what of the attack on the Jap carrier and her escort? Only sound could tell them the story, for the rain squall still hid that battle from their sight.

“Our radio is gone,” he said to Stew. “We’re headed for an unknown island. No one will know where we are.”

“That’s right,” Stew agreed soberly. “Even those three torpedo planes have gone to join the attack on the carrier. We’re in the sky alone.” A strange wave of loneliness swept over him. “It may be months before we know how that battle ended.” Jack nodded in the direction from which came a continuous roar of motors, machine-gun fire, bursting shells, and exploding bombs. “We’re on our own, and I don’t mean maybe!”

CHAPTER VI
PLANE WRECKED

The plane rattled, sputtered, and roared. Stew threw back the hood, climbed out to the wings to see what, if anything, might be done to keep her aloft. Then he threw back his seat to drop flat on his stomach and poke around in the fuselage. His hand touched Jack’s violin. He shoved this forward within easy reach.

“Jack can play for the birds, the lizards, and the land crabs on our island,” he said to himself with a grim laugh.

There was not much he could do. The main trouble was with the motor. It had taken a slug or two, and was beginning to smoke.

Alternately they gained and lost altitude. Each time they lost more than they had gained.

“There’s a Zero!” Stew exclaimed, righting his seat and gripping his gun.

The Zero kept poking its nose in and out of the rain squall that was moving slowly toward them.

“Scouting for their lost cargo ships,” said Jack.

The three destroyers, now robbed of their charges, were beginning to slip from sight. “Going to that other fight,” Jack thought. He and Stew were leaving the fight behind, and under the circumstances he was not sorry. It seemed less violent now. Had their comrades won or lost? Had the Jap carrier been put out of action? He did not know the answer.

His motor coughed hoarsely, then was silent. They lost altitude rapidly.

“Get ready to bail out!” he snapped.

The motor coughed, rumbled, then thundered afresh.

They climbed once more, then slowly sank.

The islands were much closer now. “We’d better head for the middle one,” Jack said. “It’s the largest. Got quite a peak in the middle of it.”

“Must be several hundred feet high,” Stew said. “There’s sure to be good, fresh water there. Natives too. There’s an island around here somewhere, they say, where the natives eat shipwrecked Chinamen, or used to.”

“Well, we’re not Chinamen!” Jack’s laugh was a bit doubtful.

“Could be they’re not choosy.” Stew’s laugh was doubtful too.

“Have to take a chance, that’s all war is after all—just one risk after another. We—”

The motor went dead again. One more struggle, one more victory.

Twice more this was repeated. The last time they were not much more than ten miles from the islands.

“That’s all she’ll do,” Jack decided. “Get ready to tumble out if we land too hard. We’re going down.”

Gripping the half-inflated lifeboat, Stew shoved back the hood, and stood there, with the wind in his eyes, as they circled downward.

The time was surprisingly short. They hit the water hard, bounced, struck again—then with a final splash, the plane almost nosed over into the sea.

Stew had the life raft ready in a twinkling—none too soon at that, for their left wing was all but torn away.

Stew was on the life raft, with paddle in hand. Jack was prepared to drop down onto the raft when he stopped suddenly.

“Wait a second,” he said, climbing into the plane again.

He came back after a while with the violin. “After what Ted did for us today,” he confided, “I couldn’t leave it.” And they paddled away toward the middle island.

“That Ted must be a real guy,” was Stew’s comment.

“You don’t know the half of it. I’ll tell you about it some time.” Jack settled back against the circular side of the raft. “Boy! Am I tired!”

“Take it easy,” Stew advised.

“We’ll have to paddle ten miles at least. A Jap plane may spot us on the way.”

“We don’t really need to paddle at all,” Stew said. “There’s a strong current running toward the islands.”

“How do you know?” Jack sat up.

“While you went back for the violin I threw a stick into the water. It started right for the island.”

“That,” said Jack, “was my whittling stick.”

“Too bad!” Stew said. “But then, there must be a million sticks on our island. Seems to be covered with trees.”

The current was not all that Stew had hoped for. It carried them along at no more than two miles an hour. And the distance was far greater than they had imagined. For several hours they were obliged to paddle beneath hot, tropical skies. Finally, when the sun had gone to rest and the moon had taken up its watch, they found themselves listening to the easy wash of the surf against the mysterious shore.

As they came close it seemed that the island’s one mountain leaned over like a vast giant for a look at them.

“Be just our luck to land close to a native village.” Stew shuddered as they neared the shadowy shores. The moon still was low.

“They might have chickens,” Jack suggested.

“I’ll be content with emergency rations,” Stew decided.

Once Stew imagined that he caught a glimpse of a flicker of light along the shore. “Cannibals,” he whispered.

“Might be worse.” Jack fingered his automatic. “Could be Japs.”

And then, a long, sweeping wave picked up their small raft with startling suddenness and they found themselves on a gravel beach. Before the next wave arrived they had dragged the raft to safety.

“That’s service!” Jack exclaimed. “Now let’s have a look.” He snapped on a small flashlight.

They discovered the beach to be very narrow. Back of it were tumbled piles of massive rocks, and behind these, a solid, stone wall.

“Look!” Stew pointed to tangled masses of logs, seaweed, and broken palms that lay on the rocks far above their heads. “Some storm to do that!”

“Yes, and another storm may do the same to us. We’d better ramble.”

To the right the beach ended abruptly in a stone wall, but to the left it broadened. Tramping over the rocks for a quarter of a mile, they came at last to a spot where the land sloped away, offering enough soil to support coconut palms and other tropical trees.

“This will do,” Jack decided.

Climbing up the slope, Stew gathered ripe coconuts from the ground. After striking off the husks, he bored holes through the eyes with his sheath knife and drank the milk.

“Um-m-m!” he breathed. “Not bad.”

When they had drained four coconuts dry, they turned their attention to other matters.

They broke open their rations and ate sparingly. They cracked a coconut and ate its meat. Then they stretched out side by side on the rubber raft, pillowed their heads against the round outside, drew a mosquito-bar canopy over themselves, and lay there looking at the stars.

“If we were on the shore of Lake Superior,” Jack sighed, “I could like this for a long time.”

“I suppose it’s great,” said Stew. “I’ve never been there.”

“Great’s the word, all right!” Jack became enthusiastic. “We used to have a regular gang, half a dozen fellows and more girls. Campfire parties, canoeing in the moonlight, sings—all that....” His voice trailed off. Then, “Patsy was up there once.”

“Who’s Patsy?” Stew asked.

“Just a girl I used to know. We grew up together.”

“Uh-huh,” Stew drawled.

“Ted took her away from me at last, or at least I think he did.”

“Our Ted?” Stew sat up. “The one who came out today to help us fight the Japs? The Ted who saved our lives? Hm-m-m! Sounds a little bit queer.”

“Yes, but we practically saved his life too. That might also seem strange. It’s that way in war. War changes a lot of things.”

“You see,” Jack said, sitting up, “Ted and I were rivals. He was what the girls call ‘smooth’. I wasn’t. You know how I am.”

“Oh sure.”

“He beat me in some things, and I beat him in others. Then he went after Patsy.”

“But you weren’t smooth?” Stew drawled.

“That’s what I said.”

“Then how come you’re pals now?”

“We’re not really, you see. Ted and I both joined the Navy air force. We went to different training bases. I never saw him again until we met on board the Black Bee. Then he dragged me off to one side and said—”

“Listen!” Stew’s voice was tense. “There’s that screaming again! It’s coming this way like the wind.”

Jack listened with all his might. How weird it was, that screech coming in out of the silence of the night. “Some witch riding a broomstick.” He laughed uncertainly.

“Some Jap trick,” Stew muttered.

“I’m not so sure,” Jack said thoughtfully. “I’ve got a brand new notion about that thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Makes one want to be in an air-raid shelter.”

“Well, you won’t. We haven’t even got a cave. But there’s no need really. It’s got the whole island to strike, and it must be five miles long. The law of averages gives us one chance in a million of being hit.”

At that Stew settled back.

“That law of averages is mighty comforting sometimes,” Jack went on. “Take this war. We’ve eleven million men in uniform. How many do you think will get killed?”

“Maybe a million.”

“Not half that many, I’ll bet. That gives you and me one chance out of twenty-two of getting home alive. But maybe only a quarter of a million will be killed.”

“Forget that, can’t you?” Stew begged. “Death and that infernal howl don’t go so hot together.”

By this time the screech filled the air.

Then all of a sudden it dropped to become a mere whisper. “Say! That’s funny!” Jack exclaimed softly.

“I’ll say!” Stew drew a deep breath.

The voice of the unknown rose again, but this time the sound rose and fell.

“Something like the sound of a plane circling for a landing,” Jack told himself.

Then suddenly there was no sound at all. And though he wasn’t sure, Jack thought he caught a glimpse of a dark shadow darting low over the water some distance away.

CHAPTER VII
A NIGHT’S ADVENTURES

For a full three minutes after the sound had ceased abruptly, the two boys sat in absolute silence. Stew was waiting for the sound of a violent explosion. More minutes ticked away, and still silence over their tropical isle.

“Well, I’ll be—” Stew sprang to his feet.

“We’re not the only ones on this island,” Jack said in a husky whisper.

“Why? What makes you think that?” Stew was startled.

“That thing is not a torpedo,” Jack said, speaking slowly. “Nothing of the sort. It’s an airplane.”

“But such a sound!” Stew protested. “You can’t hear the propeller or the motors either. Whoever heard of a plane that made a noise like that?”

“Who knows?” Jack’s tone was thoughtful. “Perhaps a lot of people heard of it. We don’t know everything.”

“What people? Japs?”

“Perhaps. But I doubt that. Japs are clever imitators, but they don’t invent things.”

“Oh! Then it’s all right,” Stew breathed. “If they’re white men they’re friendly to us. Perhaps they’ll take us off this island.”

“We can’t be too sure of that.” Jack pricked Stew’s bubble of hope. “They might be Nazis. Don’t forget that there were a lot of Germans in these islands before the war—promoters, prospectors, traders, spies—all sorts. Now that Japan has the Malay Peninsula and the Dutch East Indies, do you think the Germans are staying away? Not on your life! They’re right in there getting theirs. You often hear of a German blockade runner being caught trying to sneak into Germany with badly needed raw materials. Where did the cargo come from?”

“Right over there,” Stew pointed to the west. “We’ve got to be careful.”

“You bet your sweet life we have! We’ll take turns keeping watch tonight.”

“We certainly will,” Stew agreed. “All the same, before I leave this island I’m going to have a look at that squealer if it costs me a leg.”

At that same moment back on the carrier, in the Commander’s cabin, Ted Armour was saying to the Commander:

“I think, sir, that something should be done about those two boys, Jack and Stew. They did a magnificent job, sir, watching that Jap task force up to the minute our bombers arrived.”

“Magnificent!” the Commander agreed. “I shall recommend that they be given a citation.”

“But that’s not what I mean, sir.” Ted was in dead earnest. “Their plane was damaged, but they were not on fire when I last saw them. They couldn’t have had a bad crackup. My theory is that they made a try for those islands off to the east.”

“We’ll hope they made it.” The Commander was pleased; for after all, he liked Jack very much and admired the courage the young Ensign had displayed that day.

“But, sir, all the islands in this region are held by the Japs, are they not?” Ted asked.

“Yes, all of them. But they are not all occupied by Japs. The smaller, rougher islands have been passed up by them as of little or no consequence.”

“There are natives?”

“Yes, perhaps.”

“Wild natives, cannibals—”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. There have been missionaries.” The Commander tapped his desk.

“Don’t you think we should make a search for them, sir?” Ted asked.

“A search at night is impractical. Tomorrow,” the Commander’s voice dropped, “we hope to be two hundred miles from here, bent on a dangerous mission. This Jap task force we encountered today was in the nature of an accident, a fortunate accident.”

“Then nothing will be done, sir,” Ted’s voice fell.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. In a few days we should be passing this way again. Then we’ll look them up, if such a thing is possible.”

“A few days!” Ted exclaimed. “A lot can happen in a few days, sir!”

“Quite right, my son. But this is war. In war we must all face the consequences.” The Commander rose. “I appreciate your interest in your friends. You, yourself did splendid work today. It shall not be forgotten.”

“Oh, that!” Ted waved a hand. “Add it to Jack’s share of glory, sir.”

“In the Navy,” the Commander smiled, “there can be no reflected glory. Don’t be too greatly disturbed by the plight of your comrades,” he added. “They’re probably eating native-fried chicken at this very moment.”

“Here’s hoping.” Ted smiled uncertainly. “Many thanks, sir. Good night, sir.”

“Good night.” The interview was at an end, but for Ted the incident was not closed, nor would it be until Jack and Stew were safely back on the carrier, or known to be gone forever.

In the meantime, sitting there beneath their mosquito-bar canopy on the dark mysterious island, Jack was finishing the story he had been telling to Stew.

“Queer thing is,” he was saying, “though you might not say it was so queer, either; but when Ted found me on the carrier he dragged me off to a dark corner. He seemed pretty excited.

“What he said was, ‘Look here, Jack. We’re not from the same town—not any more, we aren’t.’

“I didn’t like that kind of talk. ‘How come?’ I demanded.

“‘Look, Jack, don’t get me wrong.’ He seemed very much in earnest. ‘I’ll do anything I can for you, just anything. But you know how we’ve always been?’

“‘Yes. Fighting.’ I said.

“‘Well, not fighting,’ he said, ‘but rivals. That was all right back there,’ he went on. ‘But here it’s different. Here we’re working for Uncle Sam. We’ve no time now for personal rivalries. It’s a mighty serious business.’

“‘It sure is, Ted,’ I told him.

“‘All right then, look.’ He grabbed my hand. ‘We’ve got just one rival in this business.’

“‘Tojo,’ I said.

“‘You’re dead right. And look,’ he gripped my hand, ‘we can’t fight Tojo and one another at the same time, so what do you say we don’t tell anybody we’re both from Pineville?’

“‘That’s okay with me,’ I said. ‘The telling part, I mean. But anyway we’re from the same old town, all the same, and that’s the next thing to coming from the same family, so if I ever see two fellows in trouble, and one’s you, I’m going to help you first.’

“‘Same here.’ He pumped my hand up and down.

“Well, what do you think of it, Stew?” Jack asked after a time.

“Strikes me you’re two grand guys,” said Stew. “But what about that girl Patsy?”

“That doesn’t matter so much any more, I guess.” Jack paused. “Of course the home folks mean a lot to a fellow when he’s out here. Patsy writes to me, quite a lot, just the home town news. Wants to know what I’m doing, and tells me what she’s doing. Half a dozen other girls do the same. It’s their patriotic duty. Mighty nice of them, but it’s just their homework, that’s all.”

“Don’t be too sure!” Stew was in dead earnest. “You just keep on writing to Patsy.”

“Oh, sure I will!” Jack laughed. “And all the rest of them. But it may be a long time between letters just now. Lie down and rest,” he suggested. “I’ll call you when I feel like changing places.”

“Don’t wait too long.” Stew stood up and yawned.

After a short walk up and down the pebbly beach Stew stretched out for a few winks of sleep. Jack gripped his automatic and patrolled the beach.

As he walked he thought of all the circumstances that had brought him to this wild spot. He had always wanted to fly. Flying toy airplanes had been his favorite occupation in grade-school days. The strange, gypsylike life his family had lived in summer, camping in some Indian cabin or roughing it on an island, with canoes, rowboats and sailboats always at hand, had prepared him for all this. After high school he had spent a winter on an island as assistant ranger. His only contact with the outside world had been by radio. For five months no boat came to the ice-locked island. Snowshoes, long inspection marches, nights in deserted cabins, wolves, moose, and snow buntings. He had loved it all.

“Now we haven’t even a radio,” he thought. It was strange how the jigsaw puzzle of his life appeared to fit together.

“I have always had my violin,” he thought. “And I still have one,” he reminded himself, with a start.

When midnight came and went with no sign of life on the island, he at last took the violin from its case and began playing “Ave Maria” softly.

“Ave Maria.” How strange it sounded there in the silent night.

He played on. For a full hour he was lost to his surroundings. The simple things he had played as a small boy came back to him. So, too, did the more difficult selections he had played with the college orchestra in his home town, and the one that had won first place for him in the state high-school contest.

“That’s all in the past,” he thought once. But he wasn’t sure. He sat on a fallen palm tree, with the violin across his knee, and dreamed of a great concert orchestra and of a funny little conductor with a shock of white hair—a very fine musician. And in that dream he saw himself playing as the soloist of the performance.

Then he took up his violin and played again. Though his strings were muted, the low melodies carried far in the still night. It was during the playing of his last piece that two figures appeared on the ledge far above him. Standing there in the moonlight, their light garments turned them into ghosts. Realizing this, perhaps, they moved back into the shadow of a great rock, but still they lingered. All unconscious of this, Jack played on. Then suddenly he was wakened from his dream by a wild shout from Stew, a cry of pain and fright.

The two figures on the rocks darted away so quickly that they loosened a stone which went tumbling down to stop with a crash a short distance from the spot where Jack sat.

“Stew! What’s up?”

“It was a Jap!” Stew exclaimed. “He tried to carve me up.”

“A Jap!” Jack laughed as he came dashing up. “There wasn’t any Jap. Couldn’t have been. I would have seen him.”

“But look! My ear is bleeding!” Stew rubbed his ear.

After a hasty glance up the rocky ridge Jack turned on his flashlight.

“Here’s your Jap,” he laughed. He pointed to a huge land crab with pincers six inches long. “He was looking for something soft.” Jack seized the crab by its back and tossed it far up on the slope.

“All the same,” Jack snapped off the light. “There was something up there on that ridge, and it wasn’t a crab.”

“Why? How do you know?” Stew’s voice was low.

“A rock came tumbling down. Thought I caught a flash of something white. I might have been mistaken.”

“We’ve got to watch our step.” Stew spoke in a solemn tone.

“We sure must,” Jack agreed.

But something more than the thought of danger was troubling Jack at this moment.

“If we don’t get off this island in a day or two,” he said gloomily, “we’re almost sure to miss the Big Show.”

“Oh, yes,” Stew breathed. “Say! That’s right!”

“And I’d about as soon be dead as to miss that.” Jack’s gloom deepened. Occasionally during his watch, when he listened in vain for the sound of a rescue plane, the thought of the “Big Show” and the part he wanted to play in it became a definite goal.

Only the night before, the ship’s commander had said to him, “We’ve got a little job to do down south of here. Then, I hope, we’re due to join the big push for the grandest show of all.”

Yes! The “Big Show”! Whispers had gone around the ship. For two whole weeks rumors had been crystallizing into facts. They would join other task forces, a dozen carriers, some big battle wagons, a hundred—perhaps two hundred—fighting ships, scores of transports and cargo ships, as well as many fast PT boats. Then all together, with the greatest fighting force the world had ever known, they would go after Mindanao.

And what was Mindanao? For the fiftieth time Jack got out a map, and flashing his pinpoint light on a spot said:

“There it is, one of the largest of the Philippine Islands.”

“MacArthur said he’d go back, and now we’re going,” Stew said soberly.

“What do you mean, ‘we’?” Jack demanded bitterly. “Looks as if we’re stuck right here.”

“I’ll be there if I have to swim!” Stew vowed.

“All right. Suppose you sit up for a while and think that one over,” Jack suggested, “while I grab three winks of sleep.”

CHAPTER VIII
A LOOK AT A MYSTERY PLANE

Jack awoke with a start. The hot tropical sun shone on his face. Despite the threat of danger, he had slept soundly.

“Huh!” He sat up suddenly to find Stew laughing at him.

“That dream of yours must have been a humdinger!” Stew exclaimed. “You were grinning from ear to ear in your sleep.”

“Quite a dream,” Jack admitted. “I was back on my uncle’s farm. It was morning. Birds were singing, and a rooster crowing.”

“He still is.” Stew chuckled.

“Who still is what?” Jack stared.

“The rooster’s still crowing. Listen.”

Jack listened, and sure enough, there came the lusty crow of a rooster.

“People!” Jack stood up. “Our island has inhabitants! Where there’s chickens there’s folks! What do you know about that? Shall we look them up?”

“Wait a minute!” said Stew in a puzzled tone. “You can’t be sure there are people on these islands. Those chickens may be wild.”

“Perhaps they are,” Jack agreed. “But that fellow who flies the howling plane must be human, so we’d better watch our step, since that means there’s someone on the island.”

“I meant native people,” Stew corrected. “Many of these small islands are deserted now. The natives went to larger islands, or the Japs have taken them off. Perhaps it’s true here.”

“Could be,” said Jack, “but if we don’t look up the natives or whoever is on this place, how’ll we eat?”

“I guess it’s emergency rations for us,” Stew replied. “But that’s not so bad. We’ve got matches for a fire and there’s powdered coffee.”

“Coffee! Boy! Lead me to it!” Jack jumped up. “If you’ll make a small fire and get the coffee ready, I’ll look around a little and see what our possibilities are.”

“And I’m going to have a look at that screamer today or know the reason why!” Stew told himself as he collected dried shreds of palm fronds, coconut shucks, and splinters of wood for a fire.

The crowing rooster had become mysteriously silent. Convinced by this fact that he must be wild, Jack climbed over boulders and forced his way through briar patches to reach at last the crest of the ridge.

Not wishing to expose himself to so broad a view, he threw himself down on a broad rock, then dragged himself forward for a view of the land that lay beyond. He let out a gasp of surprise.

Beneath him was a lower ridge, and on outcropping rocks, with their backs to him, gazing off at the sea, were two native girls. He knew too little about native girls to judge their ages, but both seemed fully grown. They wore short, loose dresses of bright-colored cotton.

The two girls were so strangely different that it seemed they could hardly belong to the same tribe. “And yet,” the boy reasoned, “they must.” Both were quite dark, but there the similarity ended. One was short and stocky, with a mop of black hair that stood out all around her head.

“Regular fuzzy-wuzzy,” Jack told himself.

The other girl was rather slender, and her hair, though black and curly, had a tendency to lie down.

The short stout one held a live chicken by its feet. “There goes our rooster,” Jack thought.

The tall girl had a bunch of small wild bananas slung over her shoulder.

“Oh, well,” he thought, “they may have left a bunch of bananas still on the stalk near here.”

Just then the tall, slender girl, turned halfway around. Startled, not wishing to be seen, Jack drew back.

When he looked again the two girls were walking along the rocks. He got a profile view of them. “Yes,” he thought, “they are very different.” Both were barefoot, but the tall one walked with a joyous spring, while the other one just plodded along. With a laugh the tall girl lifted the bunch of bananas to her head, then, with this crown, she moved away as regally as a queen.

When they had vanished into the bushes he slid back down the rock to his own side of the ridge. After following the ridge for a short distance he took a different route toward their beach.

To his great joy, half way there he came upon a cluster of banana plants growing in a narrow run.

A small stream went trickling and tumbling down the center of the run. Taking a collapsible drinking cup from his pocket, he bent over a pool to fill the cup, then started in surprise. In the soft sand by the pool was the fresh imprint of a bare foot.

“They’ve been on our side of the ridge,” he told himself. “Half way down the slope. I wonder if they saw us?” This discovery disturbed him. One never could tell about natives in these wild islands.

The water was fresh and cold.

“Umm! Cold spring!” he murmured. “Water supply.” He made a mental note—he must follow that stream back to its source.

When he arrived at the banana patch, he discovered more evidence of their visitors, if they might be called that. One banana plant was minus a freshly cut bunch of bananas.

Selecting a fine bunch that was still green, he cut it off with a sheath knife, shouldered it, and went back down the ridge.

“We’re not alone here,” he said, when he reached camp.

“How come?” Stew asked.

“Natives beat us here. I saw two of them. They had our rooster. But I got some bananas.”

“I see,” said Stew. “How come you picked green ones?”

“They’ll be all right when they ripen,” Jack explained. “When they ripen on the plant, bananas are not fit to eat. They lose their flavor and become tasteless; also the skin bursts open and the ripening pulp is attacked by insects. We’ll hang this bunch up to ripen in the shade, and eat them as they ripen.”

They drank coffee and nibbled at the chocolate.

“Were those natives armed?” Stew asked.

“Oh, sure!” Jack smiled.

“Spears or clubs?”

“Knives,” said Jack. He might have added, “and smiles,” but did not.

“What’ll we do about the natives?” Stew asked.

“Nothing. At least, not till night. You can’t tell about natives. They must live in a village or a camp.”

“Sure. We’ll have to find out where it is.”

“We’ll slip around at night and have a look at them.”

“Then we’ll know better what we’re up against. That’s a good idea,” Stew agreed. “But when it comes to seeing that screamer, I’m in favor of having a long-distance look in the daytime. If it’s a plane, and they’re Japs or Germans, we’ve got to see what can be done about it.”

“We’ll wander up along this side of the ridge after a while,” Jack replied. “That plane, or whatever it is, must be on this side. I think the native village is on the other side. We’ll try to dodge the natives for the present.”

Eager to explore the island and solve its mysteries, they were soon working their way along the sloping side of the ridge. Almost at once they came upon a hard-beaten trail that ran along the smoothest portion of the slope.

“Native trail,” was Jack’s verdict.

“That doesn’t sound too good to me,” said Stew. “We may meet some of those big boys with long spears. They have a playful way of fastening flying squirrels’ teeth to the point of a spear, for barbs. If you do get the spear out, the teeth stay in.”

“Look!” Jack stopped suddenly to examine a soft spot in the trail.

“Hoof prints!” Stew exclaimed. “But shucks! They’re small. Those animals can’t be very dangerous!”

“Can’t they?” Jack laughed. “Little wild boars with long noses and curved ivory tusks. Let me tell you, a palm tree makes pretty tough climbing, but if you ever hear one of those little porkers grunting behind you, you’ll climb one easy enough. We don’t dare fire a shot.”

In the end, their fears proved groundless. They walked the length of the slope, some three miles, and came at last to a place where the island sloped away in a series of treeless ledges.

On the last ledge, which sloped very gradually into the sea, there was something resembling a plane. Two men were moving about it. Since they were still half a mile away, they could make out very few details of this strange setup.

Pulling his companion into the shadow of a rock, Jack unslung his small binoculars for a look. Instantly his lips parted in surprise.

“That plane has no propeller!” he exclaimed.

“Probably took it off for repairs,” Stew suggested.

“Who knows?” Jack was clearly puzzled. “It doesn’t look quite like any plane I ever saw.”

“What are the men like?” Stew asked. “Give me a look.”

“Huh!” he grunted, when he held the binoculars to his eyes. “White men—not Japs. Not in uniform. Might be anybody.”

“Probably German traders who stayed here,” Jack suggested. “These islands were full of them before the war.”

“In that case I’m for getting off this island mighty quick!” Stew declared.

“How?”

“Natives might help us. But say! What’s going on?” Steve’s voice rose. Jack hushed him up.

“Look!” Stew insisted in a whisper, handing back the binoculars. “They’re gassing her up! Aren’t those kerosene barrels?”

“Sure are,” Jack agreed, after a look. “But you could put gas in them.”

Fascinated, the boys watched until the strangers had finished fueling the plane and had rolled the barrels into a crevasse, where they covered them with driftwood and dry palm fronds.

“Mighty secretive,” Stew whispered.

“So are all the islanders these days. This is war. We—look!” Jack’s whisper was shrill. “They’ve climbed in to take off and they haven’t any propeller!”

“Good joke on them!” Stew chuckled. “They won’t get far.”

The plane was facing the sea. When the brakes were released, it slid slowly down the slope into the water. Ten seconds later the plane let out a low squeal, then started gliding over the blue sea. The squeal rose to a howl. Faster and faster went the propellerless thing until at last it left the water to sail away at tremendous speed.

“What do you know about that!” Jack stood staring until the plane was a mere speck in the sky. “That’s something I won’t believe—a plane without a propeller that squeals and howls and goes faster than any plane you or I ever saw. Come on! Let’s go down there for a better look at those fuel drums.”

“But there might be more men.” Stew hung back.

“Nonsense! If there were others they wouldn’t have hidden the drums!”

“Guess you’re right.” Stew followed Jack.

Once they were at the spot the plane had just left, they were convinced at once that the mystery plane actually burned kerosene, for the air was filled with kerosene fumes and the buckets and barrels smelled of it. “Kerosene, beyond a doubt,” Jack exclaimed. “Think of doing four or five hundred miles per hour on kerosene!

“Come on! Let’s get out of here! They may come back.” He led the way rapidly up the slope.

CHAPTER IX
THE TAGGED MONKEY

There was little room to doubt that the trail they had followed was used by natives as well as by animals, for on their way back they came upon fresh prints of bare feet in the soft earth.

Stew had uncomfortable visions of poisoned arrows and darts from blowguns flying at them through the brush, but Jack, gripping his automatic, marched straight ahead.

Arriving at the spot where the narrow stream tumbled down, they decided to follow it to its source. In just a moment they found themselves confronted with a problem. They had come to a thicket of thorny bushes. These formed an arch over the stream.

“Just one thing to do—pull off our shoes and wade it,” Jack decided.

“Go native.” Stew laughed as he kicked off his G.I. brogans.

“Whew! Cold!” he exclaimed as he plunged his feet into the water. But on they went. Tumbling down a steep slope the stream formed many pools, some fairly large. As he waded through one of these up to his knees, Jack exclaimed:

“There are fish in this pool! I feel them tickling my toes!”

“Great!” Stew was an ardent, though usually an unlucky, fisherman. “Got a line?”

“I sure have!” Jack pulled a hook and line from his pocket. “I took it from the rubber raft. They all carry them now, just in case.”

“And you brought one along, just in case,” Stew laughed. “Wait till we’re out in the clear and we’ll hook our dinner.”

Just then Jack paused to listen. From up stream there came the sound of splashing water, then of rocks rolling down, and after that a hoarse grunt.

“Wild pigs!” Stew whispered.

“Probably doing a little fishing on their own,” Jack suggested.

“Boy! Wouldn’t a young porker taste good roasted over the coals! And here they don’t take ration points!” Stew laughed.

“But they do take shots,” Jack protested. “And shots are out. We’re not going to bring those natives down on us, not before we’ve had a good look at them.”

“Boy! Oh boy! Are we in a pickle!” Stew exclaimed. “If some old boar comes down this stream looking for trouble he’ll force us into a fight. If we shoot and miss, he’ll tear us up.”

“Tell you what!” Jack decided after a moment’s thought. “We’ll keep going as long as we can. Then we’ll work our way back up the bank into the bush and let that drove of porkers pass.”

“As long as we can” was only another ten yards, for suddenly the old guardian of the drove caught their scent and came charging down upon them.

By a mighty struggle they forced their way back into the brush just before the ugly beast with chop-chopping jaws and gleaming tusks came charging past.

The lesser fry, about a half dozen of them, had just stampeded past, when the old boar turned and came charging back upstream. This time he made no mistake. His beady eyes were upon Stew.

As he lowered his ugly head preparing for a charge, Stew drew his automatic, but Jack, swinging a knife that was a cross between a sheath knife and a machete, struck the angry beast a cutting blow across his ugly snout.

With a loud squeal and an angry grunt, the mad creature came on. Jack let him have it again, neatly carving out a curled ivory tusk.

Before he could swing again the pig reared, gnashed its teeth, then tumbled back into the stream, to go rushing away.

“Boy! But that was close!” Stew exclaimed, when after a short wait they resumed their journey upstream.

At the top of the brush canopy, to their surprise they came upon a tiny lake. All rimmed round with gray rocks, it was blue as the sky above, and in its clear water many tropical fish were moving.

“Boy! Any rich man in America would give a fortune to have this in his back yard!” Jack exclaimed.

“Yeah, sure,” Stew agreed. “But a fish is a fish and I’m having some broiled for supper.”

“Here’s the line.” Jack held it out to him. “Try your luck. I’m going up higher to find the spring.”

A few yards farther up, the stream forked, and at the head of the first fork he sought and found a cool, bubbling spring. And beside that spring was the telltale mark of a human foot.

“Must be a big village of natives,” he told himself. “Sooner or later, we’ll have to cast our lot with them, but I’m bound I’ll have a look at them first.”

Jack filled his canteen and stood for a time staring off at the sea. Once he imagined that he caught the scream of that mysterious, propellerless plane, but in the end he decided that it was a wild parrot’s call.

At last his gaze was fixed on one spot. Raising his binoculars he took a good look.

Something out there on the sea, all right! he assured himself. Pretty far out. Looks like a raft or a partially submerged plane. It’s sure to drift this way. Current and wind are both right. If it were only a plane we could put in working order.

When he returned to the small lake, he found Stew the proud possessor of a fine string of fish.

“Grubs,” he explained. “I got grubs out of a rotten log and used them for bait.”

“Come on,” said Jack. “We have enough fish for this time. In this climate they won’t keep.”

“Just one more,” Stew begged as he cast in his line. He had the fish at once, so with a sigh he gathered up his catch, strung on a crotched stick. Then they were off.

“The thing that burns me up,” said Jack, as they made their way down the slope, “is that the old Black Bee may at this very moment be ganging up with a lot of other fighting ships for a whack at Mindanao.”

“And if she is,” Stew groaned, “we’ll miss the biggest show of the whole war.”

“That’s right,” Jack agreed. “Biggest and best.”

“‘Remember Pearl Harbor,’” Stew quoted. “How can we forget? We’ve just got to get off this island—even if we have to borrow that propellerless plane or walk right in on the natives and say, ‘Here! Give us a lift in your canoes.’”

“We’ll have to make haste slowly,” Jack replied thoughtfully. “We probably couldn’t fly that plane if those fellows gave it to us as a present. Imagine a plane that flies without a propeller!”

“I can’t,” said Stew.

“But you saw it, didn’t you?”

“I sure did, on the outside. Sometime I’ll see the inside of it, too. You watch my smoke!”

“I’ll watch.” Jack laughed.

“But they may not come back.”

“Something tells me they will. There’s still enough kerosene hidden away in that giant crevasse to take them round the world. Looks like their base.”

After that the boys tramped on in silence.

The fish, broiled over a fire of coals, were delicious. When they had devoured the whole string, Stew thought of dessert.

“How about a banana?” he suggested.

“They haven’t had time to ripen yet,” replied Jack. Stew sprang to his feet, took one look at the tree from which the bananas hung, then exclaimed in a whisper:

“Jeepers! Look who’s here!”

On top of the bunch, holding a banana, sat a small monkey with a dried-up manlike face.

“Wait!” Jack whispered. “I’ll give him a surprise!” Creeping up very softly, he suddenly popped up within five feet of the monkey.

Oddly enough, the monkey did not appear to be the least bit startled. Looking Jack in the eye, he stared at him solemnly for a space of seconds, then with both tiny hands gripping it, he held out the banana.

“Somebody’s pet!” Stew exclaimed.

“He sure is!” Jack agreed. “And look! There’s a silver chain around his neck!”

“Here, monk!” Going closer, he patted his shoulder, and said in a quiet voice:

“Jump, boy, jump!”

And the monkey jumped. A moment later the little monkey was nestled in Jack’s arms.

“What do you know about that!” Stew exclaimed.

“And what do you know about this?” Jack echoed. “This chain on his neck is tagged. Why, it’s the identification disk of an Army nurse. What do you suppose that means?”

“Might mean almost anything,” said Stew. “Perhaps she came ashore here, shipwrecked, or something, and the natives ate her.”

“That, in my estimation, is out,” Jack said, stroking the monkey’s head.

“How come?”

“If that were true, this monkey must have belonged to the natives. The theory would be that they saved the tag and put it round the monkey’s neck.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Just this. Monkeys are very particular about the company they keep. If this one belonged to the natives he’d never make friends with a couple of plane-wrecked white men.”

“All right then, he belonged to the nurse. The monkey escaped, but the nurse was eaten.”

“I still think you’re wrong,” Jack insisted. “It will be dark in a short time,” he added. “We’ll just wander over for a look at the natives. Then perhaps we’ll know what to think.”

“And perhaps we won’t,” Stew laughed softly. “Anyway, it’s worth trying.”

CHAPTER X
“HIST THERE! YOU!”

Two hours later, peering from a thicket of tall ferns and sprouting palms, the two boys were witnessing one of the most fascinating moving pictures from real life that they had ever chanced upon. About a broad fire of coals was a group of thirty or forty natives. Some were seated on palm logs, and some were standing. All were talking and laughing.

“Um-m-m! Lead me to it!” Stew whispered.

The object of his desire hung dripping over the glowing coals. A small porker, bound to an iron rod that slowly turned him over and over, had reached a shade of delicious, golden brown.

“And barbecued pork is the thing I am fondest of.” Stew’s whisper betrayed real agony.

“We’ll barbecue one some time,” was Jack’s only reply. He had been studying the group intently. They were a motley throng. There were big, dark-skinned men in the group who could have placed him across a knee and broken his back. There were dark-eyed, laughing children that anyone could love.

The men, for the most part, wore cotton trousers. Some of the women wore dresses, some only cotton skirts, and some were in native grass skirts.

“There’s that tall, slim one turning the roast,” Jack whispered.

“What tall, slim one?” Stew replied.

“Oh! I didn’t tell you!” Jack laughed softly. “I’ve seen her before.”

“You would!” Stew mocked.

Over near one corner of the fire two dusky maidens were baking some sort of cakes and stacking them in appetizing piles. The roasting of the porker appeared to have been left to the tall, slim girl. She turned and twisted it, prodded it with a huge fork, then turned it again. At last, taking up a large knife, she cut off a slice, held it up, and blew on it to cool it.

At once from the throng rose an expectant murmur. Stew joined in.

“Keep still, Stew!” Jack warned in a whisper.

Without really knowing why, Jack had brought the monkey on his shoulder. Now the little fellow stirred uneasily.

The girl at last handed the slice of bronzed pork to an old man with a long, wrinkled face.

Carving off a small portion, he put it in his mouth. For a space of seconds his face was a study. Then it was lighted by a wide grin. He said a single word. At that the crowd exploded with joyous anticipation.

“It’s done. The porker is roasted. And we don’t get even a bite,” Stew groaned. “What a life!”

Then a strange thing happened. The crowd lapsed into silence. Only the snapping of bursting coals could be heard as the natives bowed their heads while the girl said a few words in a low tone.

“Grace before meat,” Stew whispered. “What more can you ask?”

“Plenty,” was Jack’s reply. “The Nazis and the Japs also pray. Then they go out to massacre women, children, and helpless prisoners of war. We’ll wait and see.”

As if this scene awakened memories in his small brain, the monkey on Jack’s shoulder stirred, danced for a second, then gave an immense leap that landed him almost in the center of the throng.

“Now we’ve got to beat it! They’ll be looking for us! Let’s scram!”

It was a disconsolate Stew who trudged along the native trail toward their camp. “Lot we gained by that!” he grumbled. “Just a look at a grand feed! They were putting slices of pork between cakes when we left. Besides, we lost our monkey!”

“We know more about the natives now,” said Jack.

“Lot more. They say grace and eat nurses!” Stew mocked.

“We couldn’t prove that. Perhaps the nurse gave them her dog tag.”

“Fine chance!” Stew lapsed into silence.

Jack was not thinking of the natives now, but of Ted, Kentucky, and all the other fellows on the Black Bee. “If they attack Mindanao before we get back to the ship, I’ll never recover,” he thought.

“Hush!” Stew stopped to listen.

Faint and far away they caught a long-drawn wail like a bow drawn slowly over the C string of a violin.

“The Howler is coming back to roost,” said Stew.

“Sounds that way,” Jack agreed.

“Boy! I’d like to have one more look at that plane!” Stew said eagerly.

“We’ll take a good look one of these times,” Jack assured him. “We’ve seen enough for one day.”

They stood there listening until the howl of the rapidly approaching mystery plane had reached its height, then, as on that other night, wavered and ceased.

“They’re here all right,” Stew said, as they paused on a tall, barren rock to look back. On the spot where the plane had been parked before, they caught the gleam of a wavering light.

When they reached the beach, ready to start on the last quarter mile of their walk, they paused once more. The tide was coming in. Above the rushing sound of the breakers on the beach they had caught a bump—bump—bump. After ten seconds of listening, they heard a loud crash.

“What’s that?” Stew asked in surprise.

“Don’t ask me. Let’s go see.” Flashlight in hand, Jack was clambering over the rocks.

“It’s a life raft,” he called back a moment later. “Waves threw it on the rocks. Come on! Let’s grab it before a bigger wave carries it back.”

It was a large raft, wet and slippery. They got a good ducking before they had the raft high and dry. They were soon to learn that it was worth their effort.

“It’s a Jap raft!” Stew exclaimed. He had discovered Japanese characters on a sealed metal cannister.

“Must have come from a carrier,” suggested Jack. “Too big for a cruiser or a destroyer.”

“I’ll bet it came from that carrier we spotted!” Stew exploded, becoming greatly excited. “Boy! Oh boy! Our bombers got them!”

Jack was not too sure of this. However, they soon established the fact that the raft was undamaged and had no broken lines attached to it, so it could not have been blown from the carrier by a bomb. Then Jack was convinced that the Japs must have lost the raft in trying to launch it while under fire, and that the carrier must have been sunk.

“That’s swell!” he sighed. “Means we’ve been some use to our country. I hope Ted and all the rest got home safely.”

“It’s great news!” Stew agreed. “But that means our task force finished that job twenty-four hours ago, so where are they now?”

“You tell me,” Jack sighed.

“But say!” Stew exclaimed. “There are three or four big sealed cans attached to the raft. Let’s cut them loose and take them in.”

“Sure! That’s what we’ll do!” Jack agreed. “Then we’ll open them and see what kind of luck we’ve had.”

They carried away the three large cans, to open them later by the light of a small fire built among huge rocks, where the glow would not show.

One can they found to be filled with food—packages of rice and tea, bars of bitter chocolate, and small tins of fish. They put away these supplies against some evil day.

The second can also contained some food. Besides this there was a quantity of first-aid material. Finding this in good condition, they stowed it away carefully.

The last can promised to be the grand prize, provided they could figure it out. It was a small radio sending set, powered by electricity generated by turning a crank.

“It’s an imitation of our American emergency radio,” Jack declared after looking it over. “Take a lot of doping out, but it’s our best bet for getting in touch with our ship. We’ll get busy on it first thing in the morning.

“And now,” he added in a changed voice, “how would you like to grab a few winks of sleep while I guard camp and solve some of the problems of the universe?”

“Nothing would suit me better.” Stew yawned. “It’s been a long day.”

It was a gloomy little world Jack watched over that night. Dark clouds had come rolling in at sunset. They had thinned out a little now, giving the moon an occasional peek at him.

“Just enough to give some prowler a shot at us in the night,” he grumbled to himself. He wished he knew who those men were with the propellerless plane. How was he to find out? Ask the natives? But were these natives to be trusted? Missionaries had beyond a doubt been here, but they weren’t here now. “How long does it take these primitive people to drop back into their old ways?” he asked himself. But he found no answer.

“Things will work themselves out,” he reasoned hopefully.

After that he gave himself over to thoughts of the folks at home. Dad and Mom seated by the fire—Patsy in the house next door, studying perhaps, or entertaining one of the 4-H boys. How shadowy and far away it all seemed now.

He was deep in the midst of all this when suddenly, as the moon cast a patch of light on his beach and the cluster of palms not twenty yards away, he was startled by a voice at his very elbow.

“Hist there! You!” it whispered.

Startled, but standing his ground, he gripped his automatic, then in his hoarsest whisper answered:

“Hist back to you!”

CHAPTER XI
NIGHT FIGHTERS

Jack’s conclusions regarding the Black Bee’s fight with the Jap task force were correct. After he and Stew had been driven from the scene of fighting and had abandoned their plane on the sea, the U. S. dive bombers had come in for their deadly work. Diving from twelve thousand feet, they had released their bombs at a thousand feet. Some bombs missed their mark. Others made contact. One fell forward on the Jap carrier, killing a gun crew. Two fell almost directly on the propeller, rendering it useless. While the carrier ran around in wide circles, the torpedo bombers closed in. Judging the enemy’s probable position at a given moment, they released their “tin fish” with such deadly accuracy that one side of the carrier was blown away. Just as the Japs began abandoning ship, the carrier blew up.

A squadron of U. S. dive bombers that had arrived too late to work on the carrier, went after the fleeing cruisers, which did not pause to pick up their own men struggling in the water. Two cruisers were sunk, and one left in flames.

Ted had limped back to his own waters to make a crash landing in the sea close to the Black Bee, and to be picked up by a PT boat. All in all it was a glorious fight. One U.S. fighter and his gunner were permanently lost. They had been seen to fall flaming into the sea. A service was read for these men by the chaplain.

The Commander lost no time in letting his men know that this battle was in the nature of an accident and that the real goal of the task force at that time still lay ahead.

All day they steamed rapidly toward the west.

“It’s Mindanao,” Kentucky, Ted’s flying partner, said to him. “We’re going to hit them where they live, in the Philippines. And will we take revenge!” Kentucky’s eyes were half closed as he looked away to the west. Ted knew that at that moment he was thinking of “the best pal I ever knowed,” as Kentucky had expressed it to him, whose grave had been dug the day after the smoke cleared from Pearl Harbor.

“Did the Commander tell you it was going to be Mindanao?” Ted asked.

“No. But I’m plumb certain it has to be from the course we’re taking,” was the answer. “Just you wait an’ see! Some evening about sundown we’ll be meetin’ up with another task force. An’ then, man! You’ll really see some fightin’ ships!”

They did fulfill a rendezvous at sunset, but the force they met did not fit into Kentucky’s picture. It consisted of four transports, three cargo vessels and their escorts, two cruisers, and three destroyers.

The two forces moved into position, then steamed on toward the west. Two hours later the Commander called Kentucky into the chart room. Since Ted was with him at the time, he invited him to accompany them.

“You too may be in on this,” he said to Ted as they entered the brightly lighted cabin. “So you might as well know what it’s all about.”

Wasting no time, he led the boys to a large chart spread out on a table.

“This is where we are,” he said, pointing to a spot on the chart with a pencil.

“And this is about where we were during the battle with the Jap task force, is it not, sir?” Ted too pointed.

“Right,” said the Commander.

“Then Jack and Stew, if they made it, are on one of these three islands?” Ted pointed again.

“That seems probable.” Then, reading the look of longing on Ted’s face, the Commander added, “Everything in its time, son. We do not desert our boys if it can be helped. I am sure you shall yet play a part in the rescue of your buddies.

“But now,” his voice changed, “there is other work to be done—dangerous work. This island,” he pointed once again, “is our present destination.”

“Not Mindanao then, sir?” Kentucky heaved a sigh of disappointment, for the Commander had pointed to a small island just inside a coral reef.

“Not Mindanao this time.” The Commander smiled. “This is to be a step in that direction. At present we do not have a force large enough for that undertaking. But some time we’ll hit Mindanao, and hit it hard,” he added.

“That’s good news, sir,” said Kentucky.

“Now we have another mission.” The Commander’s voice dropped. “The troops we are convoying tonight are to be landed shortly after dawn. Just before dawn we shall attack, using planes and warships.”

“Tear them to pieces!” Kentucky beamed.

“We hope to. But first,” the Commander weighed his words, “we may run into trouble. And that’s where you boys come in.”

“What sort of trouble, sir?” Ted asked quickly.

“Land-based torpedo planes, perhaps.” The Commander spoke slowly. “We are not quite sure the Japs have them. We do know there’s a landing field on the island.”

“We’ll take them fast enough if they come after us, sir.” Kentucky squared his shoulders.

“At night it is not so easy,” was the quiet reply.

“Night!” Ted stared.

“Your squadron has been making practice flights at night recently,” said the Commander. “That wasn’t for fun.”

“I—I suppose not.” Ted was trying to think what going after torpedo bombers at night would be like. “Exciting,” he told himself. “And very dangerous.”

“In the past,” the Commander spoke once more, “our task forces have been destroying their torpedo planes long before they reached us in the daytime. So—”

“So they’re going to come after us in the dark, sir?” Kentucky suggested.

“Our Intelligence Service has strongly hinted at it,” said the Commander. “So,” he drew a deep breath, “I thought you, Kentucky, would like to call for four volunteers to be ready for night fighting, just in case they come after us.”

“Count me in on that, sir—that is, if you think I’m good enough,” Ted volunteered.

“You’re plenty good,” said Kentucky. “Your plane was shot up. Got a new one yet?”

“Sure have, same kind of a plane,” said Ted.

“Good. Then you’re on,” Kentucky agreed.

“We’ll be in the vicinity of the island by midnight,” said the Commander. “Have your planes in position ready to take off at a moment’s notice. Two destroyers will move in close far ahead of us. If Jap planes take off they will notify us. You won’t forget the soldiers crowded on those transports? Transports are vulnerable.”

“We won’t forget, sir.” There was a look of determination on Kentucky’s lean face as he left the chart room.

It was an hour after midnight when word came from the radio cabin that twelve night torpedo bombers had left the shore of the Jap-held island.

At once there was hurried, excited action, but no confusion. The four night fighter planes were warmed up. The fliers took their places, tested their guns, studied their instruments, then settled back.

Besides Kentucky and Ted, there were Red Garber and Blackie Dawson. The ship carried no better fighters than these.

“Remember, fellows,” Kentucky called just before they parted, “the thing to do is to rip right in and get them confused. That way they’ll think there are a lot of us.”

“And they’ll start shooting one another up,” Red laughed.

One by one they cleared the deck to soar away into the night.

The night was not all dark. The moon came out at times, but not for long. Clouds went scudding across the sky.

“We’re not a moment too soon,” Ted thought as in a brief period of moonlight he caught sight of a dark bulk against the night sky.

“There they are!” came in a quiet tone over his radio. It was Kentucky speaking. “Let’s bear down on them. Can’t hold formation. Every man for himself. Choose your targets carefully. We can’t have lights on. They’d get us sure. But let us not shoot one another up.”

They bore down upon the advancing enemy.

It was an exciting moment, but to Ted everything seemed strangely unreal.

“Like a dream,” he told himself.

He knew soon enough that it was no dream. Underestimating their combined speed, he almost ran into the foremost enemy plane. He was seen, but by the time guns rattled, he was not there. Going into a stall, he circled left, then came up below the bomber formation.

“Well, I had a look at them,” he told himself. They were powerful two-motored planes. He had tried as he passed under them to estimate their speed.

Suddenly, off to the right there came the quick rat-tat-tat of machine-gun fire.

“That’s Kentucky!” He thrilled to his fingertips. “I wonder what luck!”

That was all the time he had for speculation. He was now behind the enemy formation, swinging into position. And there, again, was the moon. To his great joy, he found that the bombers were between him and the moon, where they could be clearly seen.

With a sudden increase in speed he came up on the last plane, let out a burst of fire, then, swinging right, poured a second volley into the next plane. Then again all was dark.

To his surprise, in the midst of this darkness he heard gunfire—heard it again, and yet again. “They’re at it!” he exulted. “Fighting one another.”

Then suddenly the sky about him was all alight. A hundred yards away a big Jap plane had burst into flame.

With a gasp, he pointed his plane’s nose down and dropped into space. He was not a second too soon, for the exploding plane all but blew him into the sea.

When he had righted himself, he wondered momentarily whether or not that plane was his kill.

Then the moon came out. By that time some of the bombers, now badly scattered, were some distance away. Once again the moon painted a picture. A small plane, like a catbird after a hawk, darted at the bomber.

“Kentucky!” he shouted aloud. “Good old Kentucky! Give it to him!” He saw the flash of fire, heard the rattle, then his picture was gone.

Ten seconds later the sky was lighted once again by a burning bomber sinking toward the sea.

Off to the left another bomber exploded with a roar. One of the other night fighters had gotten his man.

“They’re scattered now,” Ted thought as he set his plane climbing. “Their torpedoes will never reach their marks. They—”

His thoughts were interrupted. The moon having come out once more, he found himself above a Jap torpedo plane. Tilting his plane at a rakish angle he fired straight down. His shots were answered by a burst of fire from a small free machine gun. The slugs ripped into his motor.

He caught his breath. Banking sharply, he swung away to the right, then started climbing. Up he went, a thousand—two thousand feet. He smelled smoke, saw a tiny flame play about his motor, and that was all.

With care and speed born of much training, he dragged out his life raft, inflated it, looked to his parachute, threw back the hood, stood up, climbed upon the fuselage, jumped far and wide, then shot downward.

Five seconds later he felt the pull of his parachute, then settled back to drift silently down toward a blue-black sea.

“What luck!” he muttered. “What terrible luck!”

In that moment all that he had hoped for seemed lost—his part in the big show of the morning, the rescue of his pals, the great attack on Mindanao. If he survived, where would he land? Would he be picked up? How soon? And by whom? To these questions he found no answers, so settling back he prayed for what he needed most—a bit of moonlight before he hit those black waters. And his simple prayer was answered.

CHAPTER XII
UP AT DAWN

When Jack was still in grade school he had often visited his uncle’s farm. In summer he had stayed for weeks at a time. There were ghosts that haunted the lonely country roads at night. Old Jock Gordon, the hired hand, and Maggie MacPherson, the cook, often told weird tales about these ghosts as they sat by the kitchen fire at night.

When he was out late playing with some neighbor boy and had to brave the dark roads alone, Jack had gone on tiptoe. But that didn’t always help, for more than once he saw weird white things moving in the hedge or the willows.

“Ghosts!” he would think, scared to death. But he never ran. A ghost at your back is much more terrible than one you can see. Jack always walked straight toward the ghosts, and always they vanished into thin air.

As he caught the hoarse whisper there on the lonely mysterious island, he thought of those ghosts, and it steadied his mind. He answered the hoarse whisper, then walked straight toward the spot from whence it came. He had gone a dozen paces when a low voice said:

“Don’t come closer.”

Gripping his gun, he stopped.

Out of the brush and the shadows stepped a figure that even in the dim moonlight appeared familiar.

“What are you doing here?” a woman’s voice asked. “How did you come? And why?”

The woman was tall, and rather slender. She wore a broad hat that hid her face.

It’s that slim queen of the island, was Jack’s thought. He had come to think of her as just that, but was astonished to discover that she spoke English fluently.

“Who are you? And what are you doing here?” he countered, taking two steps.

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” came slowly. “It will pay you to stay where you are. I am not alone.”

Jack remained where he was. He seemed to catch sight of shadowy figures in the brush. Visions of flying spears and arrows haunted him.

“We’re two fliers from the United States Navy,” he said, having decided to tell the truth. “Our plane was wrecked. We came ashore on a rubber raft. Now, who are you?” he repeated.

“How are we to know that you are speaking the truth?” the girl asked, ignoring his question. “There’s a Jap raft drawn up on the beach,” she went on.

“Yes. We drew it up.” Jack’s throat went dry.

“Then perhaps you came in it.”

“Do I look like a Jap?” He played his flashlight on his own face.

“Not like a Jap, but you might be a German. All the traders were Germans before the war.”

“All right. Have it your way!” He threw a flash of light into her eyes. By doing this, he discovered an added pair of eyes—small, monkey eyes. The monk was on her shoulder.

“Is that your monkey?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“How did you get that American nurse’s identification tag the monkey wears?” He asked without thinking.

“That!” There was anger in her voice. “That’s none of your affair.”

She went on after a moment, “We want to know about you.”

“And now you know.” He laughed softly.

“Do I?” She returned the laugh.

“Do you know all about those fellows who come here in that queer sort of plane?” he asked.

“Do you?” she came back at him.

“No.”

“Well then, that makes two of us. Thanks for listenin’. Good night.” She was gone.

She’s heard that farewell off here on the radio, Jack thought. Did missionaries have radios? He supposed they did. Queer little world he had dropped into. So she didn’t know much about those two men and the mystery plane? Well, one way or another, he was going to learn more. If they turned out to be Australian, British, or Dutch, they might give the boys a lift to some spot held by the United Nations. Then Stew and he would get back in time for the big push against Mindanao, he thought. Worth taking a chance for that, he assured himself. A very long chance.

When Kentucky and two of his night fighting comrades made their way back to the carrier they were greeted with enthusiasm.

“You did it!” The Commander gripped Kentucky’s hand. “You broke up their formation! Not a torpedo found its mark. But where is Ted?” His voice dropped.

“We don’t know, sir,” said Kentucky, wrinkling his brow. “We had to scatter, and go on our own.”

“Of course.”

“Red saw him climbing for altitude, sir—thought his motor might have been smoking.”

“Yes, sir. That’s the way it was,” Red put in. “After that the moon went under for quite a while. When it came out his plane was gone. I thought I saw a white gleam like a parachute in the moonlight quite close to the water, but I wasn’t sure.”

“We’ll hope he made a safe landing,” said the Commander. “We have to go in about a hundred miles. The Marines go ashore at dawn. We must furnish them a protecting screen. You boys have done a fine job. Now get some chow and rest. We’ll need you again soon. It’s going to be a long pull for you, but this is war.”

The moon had come out just in time for Ted’s landing. He sank beneath the sea, lost his grip on the rubber raft, then came up for air.

The moon was still out. His raft was some ten yards away. After disengaging himself from his chute, he swam to the raft, then worked himself into it with great care. This accomplished, he paddled to his chute, squeezed the water out of it as best he could, then deposited it on one end of the raft.

He took off his clothing. The air was warm. He was not uncomfortable. After wringing out his clothes he put them all on again except his heavy flying jacket. He was warm enough without wearing the jacket.

Then, with feet on the chute and head on the inflated edge of the raft, he sprawled out in absolute repose.

“Nothing I can do right now,” he assured himself. “Might get a little sleep.” He recalled the words of his father.

“You may have to bail out and land on the sea,” his father had said. “If you happen to find yourself in a fix like that,” his father had rambled on, “you may feel like praying that there will be no violent storms, that God may send birds to light on your raft so you can catch and eat them, that He’ll send fish, not sharks—all that sort of thing.

“Well, if you feel that way about it,” his father had paused, “it won’t do you any harm. But for my part, I’d rather pray for wisdom and skill, for the good sense to relax and take it easy, to save my strength and my skill for catching fish and birds and preparing them for food. I’m convinced that there is a power within us or about us that does give us both skill and wisdom if we only ask for them.”

“A power within us or about us,” Ted repeated slowly, “that gives us skill and wisdom.” At that, rocked by small waves, he fell asleep.

Kentucky never needed much rest when he was in a fighting mood. Two hours of sleep, a stack of pancakes, three cups of black coffee, and he was ready to lead his fighters out over the island that lay like a dark, gray shadow rising out of the sea in the first flush of dawn.

One by one the planes left the carrier. Fighters, scout planes, dive bombers, torpedo planes—all thundered away toward their target.

Leading them all, Kentucky felt important and very happy.

“Hot diggity!” he exclaimed to the morning air. “This is what I call life! And here’s where we pay the Japs a little on account for Pearl Harbor.” He was thinking of little Joe Kreider, his pal from Kentucky.

He’s gone, Kentucky thought soberly. Japs got him in that sneak attack on Pearl Harbor. Gone, but not forgotten. He gave his motor a fresh burst of gas.

Then he saw it, a big old four-motored Jap snooper slipping out for a look at their carrier.

“Hot dog!” Kentucky’s plane shot skyward and then came plunging down in a steep curve. His two guns poured hot lead into the snooper’s right outside motor. The motor, almost cut away, hung by shreds.

Before the snooper could right itself, Kentucky was back, firing away at the other right motor. He set it smoking. The big plane tilted, rolled over, then went plunging toward the sea.

All this had happened in the space of seconds. Enough time had elapsed, however, for other things to be brewing. Suddenly two of his fighting pals joined him, while from up beyond there came the sharp rat-a-tat-tat of machine-gun fire.

Rubbing his eyes, Kentucky peered into the brightening dawn. A half mile or so before him he made out the shadowy forms of several planes circling wildly, with guns blazing.

His triggerlike mind took in the situation in an instant. “Hey! Red! Blackie! Jean!” he roared into his radio. “Hold up! Circle Back! BACK!”

As they began swinging back, speaking in a low tone, he continued: “That’s only a bunch of Zeros putting on a show for us. It looks like a fight, but it’s only a sham battle. None of our planes are in there. We’re in the lead.”

Through his earphones he caught low grumbles and some unprintable words.

“Come on, now,” he invited. “Get into formation. You know the lineup. We’ll join in their game, all right, but on our own terms.”

They climbed rapidly and joined in wing-to-wing formation, Kentucky in the lead and Red bringing up the rear. Red carried a gunner, the best the Navy knew, in his rear cockpit.

“Now! Come on down! And give it to them for my old pal Joe and all the American boys lost at Pearl Harbor!” Kentucky shouted into his mike. And down they came.

CHAPTER XIII
THE JET PLANE

In the meantime Jack had decided on a bold stroke. He was not sure that at this time it was a wise thing to do, but his burning desire to make his way back to the carrier and resume his post of duty there had all but driven him to it.

As he paced back and forth on the beach, guarding camp and wondering about his strange night visitor, he recalled the words of his uncle Dan who had fought in the first World War:

“You’ll be in danger many times,” he had said in a serious, friendly voice. “Your superior officers will not always be present to make decisions for you. You’ll sometimes have to make them for yourself. Always keep this thought uppermost in your mind: you are worth a great deal more to your country alive than dead. Don’t take unnecessary chances.”

“Am I planning to take unnecessary chances now?” he asked himself. Though he did not know the answer, he was willing to take the risk.

One more thing had made a lasting impression on him. “Jack, my boy,” said his uncle, who limped as a result of wounds received in France, “the thing I want most to tell you is this. While you are in service you will have comrades, many boon companions, and if you treat them right, as I know you will, you’re sure to make attachments that will last as long as you live. You see, Jack, you’ll be living under difficult conditions, enduring hardships, and facing great dangers together. Your souls will be tried as by fire and you’ll be welded together, the way steel is welded.”

Yes, Jack thought now, Uncle Dan was right. We have grown closer and closer to one another. There’s Stew and Ted, Kentucky, Red, the Commander, and all the others. We’ll never forget one another. That’s one reason why I’m so eager to get back to the Black Bee.

Yes, he decided finally, I’ll do it, even if it does mean taking a chance. I’ll do it the first thing in the morning.

Then he awakened Stew for his watch, stretched himself out, and fell asleep at once.

He was up again before dawn. “Tell you what!” he exclaimed over a cup of coffee. “I’m going to find out who those fellows are.”

“The men with that queer plane?” Stew asked.

“Yes. We’ve got to know. They might help us get back to our ship.”

“And then again they might not—they might do just the opposite,” Stew suggested.

“That’s a chance we’ll have to take. You’d better stay here and sort of look after things,” he suggested. “I may discover something big. We might want to get off this island in a hurry.”

“Get off?” Stew stared. “Yes, but how?”

“There’s the Jap raft, you know. It’s seaworthy. We’ve got supplies of a sort, enough to last us weeks with the birds and fish we’d catch. If it seemed the thing to do, we could slip the raft out into the current and get away rather rapidly.”

“I suppose so,” Stew agreed.

Jack stood up. Should he tell Stew of the night visitor? After a moment’s thought he decided against that.

A half hour later, after hurrying over the native trail, he found himself slipping silently through the brush toward the camp of the strangers. “I’ll just look before I show myself,” he whispered to the empty air.

All of a sudden he stopped to listen. A low, whispering wail had reached his ear.

“Too late.” His hopes fell. “They’re off.” Yet as he listened the wail died away.

“Probably testing their motors,” he assumed. Once more he crept through the brush. Three times the wail rose and fell, but he pushed straight on until the smoke from a campfire told him he was close to the edge of the tangled mass of palms and tropical brush beside the strangers’ camp.

Choosing a young date palm, whose fronds sprouted close to the ground, he crept to it and crouched there a minute. Rising to his knees, he parted the slender fronds to look away to the sloping rock.

The mysterious plane was some distance away. The two men talked and laughed while they refueled the plane. The language they spoke seemed strange to Jack, though he was too far away to understand what they said, even if they had spoken English.

“Wish I hadn’t come,” he observed. Then, “But I really must know about them. No sense beating about the bush.”

The men ceased laughing. The sound of their words changed. One of them climbed to the plane’s cockpit. The motor howled once more. So loud was its final scream that it hurt Jack’s ears. Then it faded away.

“They’ll be off in a minute,” he breathed, rising to his feet. “It’s now or—”

No. He settled back. The man on the rock hurried away.

“Oh Jerry!” the one in the plane called in perfect English. “Bring an alligator wrench.”

Jack heaved a sigh of relief. So they spoke English! They must be okay. At that he stepped boldly out from the brush and walked straight toward the plane. The man in the cockpit was bent over working on something. He did not raise his head until Jack was within three yards of the plane. When he did look up, he started at the sight of Jack. His figure stiffened. His right hand dropped.

“Stand where you are!” he commanded. “Who are you? What do you want? And how did you come here?” The man spoke with a decided accent.

“My uniform should tell you what I am,” Jack replied evenly.

“In war, uniforms mean nothing!” the man snapped. His gray eyes matched the gray of the bushy hair about his temples. He was no longer young. Between his eyes were two lines that told of work and strain.

“I’m sorry.” Jack apologized. “I had no intention of startling you. I’m an American fighter pilot, whether you believe it or not. I was shot down nearly two days ago and floated ashore here.”

“That’s okay, son.” The man’s smile was not unfriendly. His accent, Jack thought, made him English or Australian. “We have to be careful, that’s all. This plane is a secret weapon.”

“It must be,” Jack grinned. “I never before saw one that burned kerosene, had no propeller, and yet went like the wind.”

“Of course not,” the man admitted. “There aren’t a dozen of them in the world.”

“May I look at it?” Jack took a step forward.

“Not a glance. Stay where you are.” The man’s lips formed a straight line. “We’re not allowed to show anything. In fact, you’re too close right now.”

“Oh, that’s all right.” Jack stepped back. “I’m just naturally curious.”

“Oh, sure.” The man smiled again. “Wait. I’ll climb down and we’ll have a cup of coffee. My partner’s gone for some tools. The hiding place is quite a distance away, just in case.”

“I see,” said Jack. “Just in case the Japs happen along.”

“Something like that,” the man agreed. He took a step down, then paused. “You might be wondering how we got our supply of kerosene in here right under the Japs’ noses,” he suggested.

“It does seem odd,” Jack agreed.

“It happens to have been here,” the stranger went on. To his own surprise Jack found himself wondering if the man was telling him the truth or raising a smoke screen of falsehood.

“You see, my partner and I once had trading concessions on some of these islands. The Japs forced us off, but before they did that we hid our fuel. Thought we might want to come back, which we did. But we hardly expected to come in a craft like this.” He laughed softly.

The man climbed down, poured two cups of hot black coffee from a gallon thermos jug, then invited Jack to a seat on a large flat rock.

“So you like our little ship!” the man said, warmed by the coffee. “It’s really a honey. Nothing in the world was ever like it.”

“It sure walks on air,” Jack agreed.

“So you’ve seen it fly?” He gave Jack a sharp look.

“Yes.” Jack told of seeing it leave the island.

“You’d like to know a lot about it?” The man smiled.

“Naturally.”

“Some things I can’t tell you. All I can tell you has been printed in magazines all over the world. Strange you haven’t read them.”

“We’ve been at sea for a long time.”

“Yes, of course.” The man appeared to have accepted Jack’s story as true. “And the facts about our jet plane haven’t been out very long.”

“Jet plane? Is that what you call it?” Jack studied the plane with redoubled interest.

“That’s what it is. It gets its power from jets of air mixed with exploding gas. The jets come out from some part of the plane. I’m not permitted to tell exactly what part. You’ve often watered a lawn, I suppose?”

“Yes, quite often.”

“Remember how the hose sort of kicked back when the water came rushing out?”

“Sure,” Jack grinned. “I’ve been soaked more than once by just that.”

“That’s the sort of thing that makes our ship go. The jets come out at great speed and just push the plane along. It practically flies itself.”

“How about taking me along on your next flight?” Jack held his breath.

“Impossible. We can’t take a soul on board. No, not even if he were wounded and would die if we left him. It’s that much of a secret. So much—so very much depends upon this plane.

“But I’ll tell you a little more about it,” the man went on, sensing Jack’s disappointment. “It burns kerosene. You’ve noticed that, I suppose?”

“Yes.”

“It’s hard on fuel. We have to carry a belly tank if we want to go far. The Italians made a plane somewhat like this one. But it just ate up the fuel. If you’ve got to land every half hour for fuel, your plane’s no good. We’ve overcome that. But this plane still has weak spots.”

Jack wondered what the weak spots were, but dared not ask. “Should be fine in the stratosphere,” he suggested.

“Say! You do know planes, don’t you?” the man answered with respect in his tone.

“A little,” Jack admitted.

“Of course it’s good in the stratosphere. That’s where a propeller-driven plane breaks down.”

“Nothing for the propeller to get its teeth into,” suggested Jack.

“That’s right. But our baby here goes fastest when there’s the thinnest sort of air in front of her to create friction. Five hundred miles an hour? Say! That’s nothing!”

Jack stared at the plane with sheer admiration.

Suddenly Jerry, the stranger’s partner, came up with an alligator wrench in his hand.

“Got to get busy and step out on the air.” With that Jack’s newly found friend was gone, just like that. Nor did he return. Not five minutes had passed when the mystery plane let out the squeal of an expiring porker, lifted its voice to the pitch of a fire siren, started to glide, touched the sea, cast back a spray, then was in the air and flew swiftly away.

Jack had searched for the plane to make whatever discovery he could concerning it, but he was not sure that he had accomplished anything.

CHAPTER XIV
TED’S GONY

On that same morning, as the Black Bee and her escort of fighting ships knifed in close to their target, Kentucky and his short, tight formation cut through the masquerading Japs like a reaper through a field of wheat. When their guns had ceased blazing away and they swung around for one more sweep, they saw two planes falling in flames, and a third rolling over and over.

The remaining Japs had time to recover partially from the sudden shock, but when the “grim reapers” came roaring back, the Zeros were again swept by a whirlwind of fire.

One wise little brown boy in goggles, who had climbed high, came swooping down on the tail of a plane, but its gunner took care of him with neatness and dispatch.

With their number cut in half, the Zeros faded away.

But here were the U. S. bombers and torpedo planes. They were coming in fast. It was time now to join the covering screen escorting the big boys to their target, and Kentucky wheeled his four-plane formation about to shoot away and join their comrades.

The bombers had been shown maps and photographs of the island they were to attack. “This,” their Commander had said, pointing at a map, “is the air field, quite a distance from the beach. You will go after that first, destroying all planes on the ground. Then you will attack their headquarters here, and their fortified positions there.

“I need not tell you,” he had said, addressing all his men—pilots, fighters, bombardiers, torpedo men—“that the life of many a Marine depends upon the manner in which you perform your task. I know that to a man we can count on you.”

There had been a low murmur in response.

“I might say,” the Commander had added, “that this island is to be a steppingstone to Mindanao.”

“Oh! Mindanao! Mindanao!” had come in a chorus.

“Yes, Mindanao, only a few hundred miles away, in the Philippines,” he went on. “And with this island in our possession we shall be able to soften up Mindanao for the final attack.”

“Mindanao,” Kentucky thought now as he gripped the controls. “They say the Japs have a prison camp there, where our men are starving and dying. We’ll walk in there some day and take that big island. We’ll free the prisoners. What a day that will be! Then it’s Manila, and after that the China coast. Boy! Will we harvest a sweet revenge for the things those Japs have done to the American prisoners!” He studied his instruments, looked to the loading of his guns, glanced back at his formation, then, drawing a long breath, murmured:

“Well, Tojo, here we come!”

The dive bombers climbed to twelve thousand feet. Kentucky and his fighters kept straight on. As they neared the island he spoke a few words of instruction through his mike to his three companions. Words came back to him. Then, opening his throttle wide, he set his motor roaring. Coming in fast and low, they took the Japs by surprise. Scores of little brown men were racing for the airfield when they came in, nearly grazing the palm trees. Some thirty planes were still on the field.

Breaking formation, the “four horsemen” zoomed in upon the planes and the racing pilots. With machine-gun fire they sent the Japs scurrying for shelter. Then with tracer bullets they riddled the grounded planes.

Leaving the field in flames, they swung skyward to rejoin the screen of fighters, bombers, and torpedo planes.

Ten minutes more and the air was filled with the rattle of machine-gun fire and the island became an inferno of bursting bombs.

The torpedo planes discovered three cargo ships and two destroyers in the small harbor and, coming in low, released their “tin fish.”

Bursting torpedoes added their horror to the general confusion of sound. A ship exploded, another keeled over and sank, and a third was run aground. Jap destroyers streaked away, but even their top speed was no match for Kentucky and his followers.

“After them, fellows!” he shouted. “Remember Pearl Harbor!”

Skimming in over the sea, they peppered the deck of a destroyer with slugs until not a man was left standing on deck. Lowering their aim, they began to puncture the destroyer’s thin hull.

A film of oil appeared on the water. “Give it to her!” Kentucky shouted into his phone. “We’ve struck oil. Let’s make it a gusher!”

Just then a dive bomber came screaming down to lay its egg squarely on the destroyer’s deck.

“That got her!” Kentucky exulted, as the craft exploded. “Come on now. Gas is low. Let’s beat it back home for chow.”

It was such a day as a flier would never forget.

As they sped away, Marines from barges and small boats were swarming ashore. The stepping stone to Mindanao was now all but won.

“Jeepers!” Kentucky exclaimed into his mike. “I wish Jack and Stew—yes, and Ted too—could have been in on this. Wonder where Ted is right now? We’ll have to take a look.”

Ted was not faring badly. The balmy breezes had dried out his clothes, and dawn had come, but there was no sign of their task force.

“Gone in for the kill and then the landing,” he thought. “And I’m out of it. Worse luck!”

“But then,” he reflected. “Things might be worse.” He had done his bit. He had helped block the attack of those enemy torpedo bombers, and he had shot down two of them—he was quite sure of that.

He munched a chocolate bar for a time. Then he examined the fishline packed in his emergency kit. “Think I’ll try it out,” he murmured. Taking a strip of pork rind from a small bottle, he fastened it on his hook. Then, paying out the line little by little, he watched the white spot as it sank.

“Yes, there are fish!” He became greatly excited as three big blue fellows came cruising in. One of them made a dive for the bait, but changed his mind and shot away.

Ted lifted the line a yard, causing the white spot to shoot upward. A second fish made a dive for it, but before he made contact the first one circled back like a plane aiming at a target, and grabbed the lure.

“Got you!” Ted breathed, giving the line a quick jerk.

He had hooked him, but the fish was game. He shot this way, then that, then circled round and round.

I don’t want him any more than a little, Ted thought. I’m not hungry enough to eat raw fish, and in this sun he wouldn’t keep. He began playing the fish, trying him out.

Then, all of a sudden, a large blue shadow appeared in the water, a darting shadow. No, it wasn’t a shadow—it was a ten-foot shark. Streaking through the water, sleek and ugly, the shark hypnotized the boy. This lasted only ten seconds, but long enough. Too late Ted realized that he was about to exchange his blue fish for a shark.

The shark swallowed the fish, hook and all. At once Ted felt the line shoot through his fingers. Gripping desperately, he checked the line. He felt his raft being towed rapidly through the water.

The shark went down. The raft tilted at a dangerous angle. A hundred thoughts sped through the boy’s mind. He might be lost for days, perhaps weeks. Without food he must perish. No line, no fish, no food. But if the raft went over? What then? Soaked to the skin, he would in the end be obliged to yield his line. Then a happy thought struck him. In his emergency kit were other hooks, and in his parachute many lines. He opened his hands, the line slid through his fingers. The raft settled back. He was safe. The shark was gone.

“Whew!” he exclaimed, rubbing his burned fingers. “This life on a raft is not all it’s cracked up to be. You—”

His thoughts were interrupted by the rumble of thunder off in the distance. Or was it thunder?

He listened more closely. “Bombs!” he exclaimed. “They’ve made contact! Hurrah! Hit ’em hard and often, boys! Hit ’em hard!”

Would they take the island? He knew they would. No stopping the victorious Americans now. Island after island had fallen into their hands.

Other victories would follow. This island today, he thought. Mindanao the day after tomorrow. If only I can get back to the fleet before we tackle Mindanao, he thought with a touch of despair. “God, send someone to pick me up,” he prayed. “Please God, I don’t know much. Give me wisdom. Help me to get food from the sea and the sky. Send me back to my buddies.”

After that there didn’t seem to be much left to do but rest, relax, and watch for smoke on the horizon or a plane in the sky.

The rumble from the west died away, then rose again. The battle might last all day. Cruisers and destroyers would move in to shell Jap positions. The carrier would stand by. Perhaps the task force would slip away under cover of darkness. “If it does that, I’ll be sunk,” he murmured disconsolately.

He had managed to bring along a small canteen. He took a sip of water. He recalled that you were supposed to be able to get water by pressing out fish meat. He’d have to try that.

The sun was hot. It had been a tough night. He was tired and his head ached. Finally he stretched himself out and fell asleep.

A little more than an hour later he awoke with a start, clutched at his head with sudden violence, and grasped something hard and horny with each hand. He held on grimly, though his head and shoulders were being beaten unmercifully by something hard and sharp as a crowbar. He let out a gasp as some knifelike thing cut at his wrist, but still he held on.

At last, half standing up, he gave a mighty heave to bring a great bird with a ten-foot wing spread, down upon his raft.

“Oh! A gony!” he exclaimed. “You rascal! You nearly wrecked me! What were you doing on top of my head? Resting? Well, I’ll give you a good, long rest!”

The bird was an albatross, largest of all sea birds. Ted had learned a great deal about them from the old sailors, who called them gonies. They followed ships for thousands of miles, sleeping on the sea, or soaring miles on end, with their long, narrow wings spread wide.

This one, beyond a doubt, had been following their task force, but had been frightened away by the big guns.

“What’ll I do with you?” he demanded of the bird.

His answer was a snap on the ankle from its powerful jaws.

“I should kill and eat you,” he exclaimed. “You’re worse than a Jap! But I won’t—not yet. Men don’t eat gonies unless they have to. It’s supposed to bring bad luck. I’ll tie you up, that’s what I’ll do. Then we’ll try our luck together. If I’m rescued, you go free. If not, you get eaten.”

The gony winked as if he really understood. Then for good measure, he nipped at Ted’s ankle once more.

“You’ll be some company,” Ted said, as after binding the bird’s feet, he fastened a wide strap taken from his parachute about its wings and body.

Late in the afternoon he caught a fairly large fish. After pressing water from its meat, he drank a little. “Not impossible,” was his verdict. He ate some of the meat, then offered a bite to his gony, who, to his surprise, swallowed it.

“You must be a young fellow,” he said. “Friendly and green, like myself.” He laughed, and felt better.

Just as the sun was sinking in the west he saw a dark smudge that soon obscured the sun. “A ship!” He became greatly excited. Another smudge, and yet another. “The task force!” he exclaimed, standing up and nearly overturning his raft. “If only it would come this way!”