Dave Dawson at Truk Part 2

"Perhaps it's the soldier's, and he let him look at it," young Farmer offered.

Dawson just shrugged at that, and said nothing. He raised his eyes and stared at the shack into which the two figures had disappeared, and then presently he turned and looked questioningly at Freddy Farmer.

"Well?" he said.

"Well, what?" the English-born air ace replied innocently.

"You know exactly what I mean!" Dawson snapped. "Do we take a look to make sure, or do we just skip the whole thing, and start back to the base?"

"What do you think?" Freddy instantly countered with a question of his own. "Shall we, or shan't we?"

Dawson hesitated a moment, and then pointed at Freddy's shoes and socks.

"Put them on," he said. "Maybe it'll just be a horse-laugh on us, but maybe it isn't as it should be. It isn't picking season around here yet, and by rights I don't think there should be anybody living in those shacks. I ... Oh, heck! Call me a curious cuss if you want to, but things like this get my curiosity clicking. I have to find out one way or the other."

"As though I hadn't known you long enough to realize that!" Freddy Farmer grunted, and began putting on his socks and shoes. "But for once I'm with you. It's aroused my curiosity, too. How do we operate? Walk right up there, or steal from bush to bush, your American Indian style?"

"Neither!" Dawson snapped, and pointed to their right. "We use our heads, instead! We go back that way and circle up the rise from that end. Then we walk along with the shacks covering us. That way, if _we're_ surprised we can say that we were just taking a look at the lay-out. Just remember, one of them has a gun. And he might be the kind of a guy who asks questions _afterward_."

"And right you are, for a fact!" Freddy Farmer breathed, and tied the last shoelace. "Your way suits me quite all right. As you Yanks say, there's no need to have somebody pull our necks out."

"You and Yank lingo!" Dawson groaned. "But skip it. Let's go, and ...

But, hey! What about your feet, Freddy?"

"They'll last," young Farmer a.s.sured him, and stood up. "It was only a pebble, anyway. Let's get going."

Only a pebble. Just a tiny fragment of stone. Yet the presence of that pebble in Freddy Farmer's shoe was to send them both into the Valley of Death, and perhaps even to change the entire course of the war in the Pacific!

CHAPTER THREE

_The Talking Shack_

"It's the next shack beyond this one, Freddy," Dawson murmured softly as he laid a restraining hand on his friend's arm. "Just hold it a second, and see if we can hear anything. Somehow I like this even less. The door shut, and every shade drawn, such as they are. Or am I just getting jumpy?"

"Well, anyway, shut up, if you want us both to listen!" Freddy Farmer breathed back at him.

Dawson grinned, made a face, and then with Freddy standing motionless at his side, he listened intently for any sounds coming from inside the shack just beyond the one behind which they crouched. And he did hear sounds. So did Freddy Farmer. The m.u.f.fled and completely indistinct sound of two people talking. A tremor of excitement rippled through Dawson, and he squeezed Freddy's arm. A moment later, though, he frowned silently and wondered if perhaps he and Freddy weren't just being a couple of fools. After all, this wasn't the war zone. They weren't behind the enemy lines, or even their own lines. This was California, and what if they did see a soldier and a civilian go into one of the crop pickers' shacks? So what? And maybe that gun wasn't a gun after all. Freddy and he would certainly look awfully foolish if the pair inside that shack should suddenly come out and see them crouched there gaping wide-eyed like a couple of kids playing cops and robbers.

Those and other disturbing thoughts floated through his brain as he frowned at the shack. He turned his head and looked at Freddy questioningly. And the look young Farmer gave him in return indicated clearly that the English-born air ace was entertaining pretty much the same thoughts.

"Maybe it's stupid, huh?" Dawson formed the words with his lips.

Freddy nodded slowly, but at the same time a sort of half puzzled and half stubborn look glowed in his eyes. And then in the very next instant what indecision either of them may have had was wiped away by a cry of anger coming from the shack beyond. At least it sounded like anger to them both, although the sound was still too m.u.f.fled to permit them to pick out individual words.

"Well, that tears it as far as I'm concerned!" Dawson grunted. "I'm going to get a better look, whether it seems screwy or not."

"Me, too, and right with you," Freddy Farmer replied. "There are some bushes there against the back of the place. No window to peek through, but we can certainly hear clearly through those loosely fitted boards.

Good grief, what places for people to live in!"

Dawson nodded, and said nothing. He simply left their place of hiding and eased over to the protection of a line of scrub bushes. Keeping behind them, he swiftly made his way to the rear of the other shack.

There he crouched down low and pressed an ear to the rough boards.

Freddy Farmer quickly followed his move, and together they heard the high-pitched voice that was speaking inside.

"... must not fail!" it said. "What I have given you must reach its destination as quickly as possible. However, not at the risk of your being suspected for one single minute. Do you understand?"

"Of course I understand!" a harsh voice replied. "Do you think I am a fool? Do you think I am a baby playing at a man's game?"

"What I think is of no importance," the high-pitched voice replied.

"Both you and I are but cogs in a great wheel that will crush the world.

There is a saying in my native tongue that describes it perfectly, but I will not bore you by repeating it, as you do not speak the j.a.panese language. And when translated into your native tongue, German, it has no meaning at all. So forget that I mentioned it. You have your work, and I have mine."

A moment of silence followed, and Dawson was filled with a terrible fear that the thunder of his pounding heart could be heard beyond the loose board wall of the shack. He didn't dare turn his head to look at Freddy for fear that even that slight movement would create a sound that might be heard inside the shack. A j.a.p and a n.a.z.i inside there? It seemed incredible! Like a crazy Hollywood concoction he had seen at the base movie house only the night before. It was ...

But the one who was obviously a n.a.z.i was speaking again.

"I was told that all my orders would come from Berlin."

"And so they have, in a way," the one of the high-pitched voice replied smoothly. "To be transmitted to you through me. Your country, and mine, fight this war together. It does not matter who gives the orders, or who performs them, so long as the enemy is defeated. Now, tell me, when do you sail?"

"Tonight," the other replied. "I must be back aboard the carrier within two hours."

"And so you will be," the j.a.p a.s.sured him. "There is no need for us to talk much longer. Here is the address of the one you will call on in Honolulu. Show him this, and he will know you come from me. He will probably give you additional information. Guard it well until you have placed it in the hands of Admiral Shimoda at Truk."

"But that is foolish, stupid!" the n.a.z.i snarled. "My carrier force may not go within a thousand miles of Truk! And ..."

"Do not worry about that!" the other cut him off. "The American dogs have met him with a few minor successes of late, and it has gone to their heads. They will act boldly now, and that is what Admiral Shimoda wishes. Yes, I am sure that your task force will steam to within easy flying distance of Truk. When your carrier reaches that point you will see to it that you take off without creating _any_ suspicion and fly at once to your destination. When you reach Truk you will be under the direct orders of Admiral Shimoda. It may be that he will desire that you return to your carrier for future use. If so, you can safely leave it to him to arrange matters so that your own force will pick you up as a pilot who unfortunately has been forced down into the water, and has floated about in his rubber life raft for a day or two."

"I would rather be sent to China to work there!" the n.a.z.i growled. "I am sick of these swine Americans, and pretending to be one of them."

"I can sympathize with you there," the j.a.p purred. "I am sick of living under their rule, too. But at least I have the chance to travel often across the border into Mexico. There is a country that we will make great, once we have conquered the world. The Mexicans are ... But I wander. Speak to Admiral Shimoda of your wish to go to China. Perhaps he will agree with you. However, there is other work for you to accomplish first, before carrying information to Truk."

"Other work?" the n.a.z.i asked sharply.

"Important work," was the instant reply. "And very important work. When you go to that address in Honolulu you will be given a number of water flares, so small that you could carry them all in one pocket and the bulge they made would not be noticed. But they give off a powerful light that burns for four or five hours."

"Water flares?" gasped the n.a.z.i. "For what use?"

"An important use," the j.a.p replied. "Right now there are three American carriers in the San Diego Basin. You know that yours will sail tonight.

Perhaps the other two, with their forces, will sail also. It may be, though, that only your carrier will stop at Pearl Harbor. Later it may meet the other two carriers at sea. You do not know now, and neither do I. However, you can keep our Pacific patrol forces informed of your own position. The water flares. I will explain their use briefly, and the one in Honolulu will give you detailed instructions. It will be an easy matter for you to learn the position of your carrier, and its force. An equally easy matter for you to learn the strength of your force, and whether others have joined it. So! Each evening you will put all that information down on special paper that you will be given in Honolulu, and put it in a watertight pocket attached to the flare. Then, unseen, you will throw the flare into the water. It is so constructed that it will not break into light for three or four hours. That is so that your carrier will be far out of sight range by then. However, come darkness, all of our submarines will surface to re-charge their batteries. Perhaps one of them will see the flare. Or perhaps one of our long-range patrolling Kawanishi flying boats will sight the flare, and land beside it. Perhaps not the first night you are at sea, or the next, or the next. But one night a flare will be picked up, and we will know all we need to know to set our trap of destruction for a future date."

"That sounds very interesting!" the n.a.z.i said eagerly. "I shall enjoy doing that kind of work. Let us hope that a dozen of their swine carriers make up the force of which mine will be a part!"

"Let us hope so," the j.a.p replied, with a little laugh that chilled the blood in Dawson's veins, "but let us not count on it. The American dogs are not fools, all the time. We have shown them what happens to fools.

But if it be only your carrier, that will be enough. From the information you throw into the water each night we will be able to guess accurately the destination of the force. Then at the right moment Admiral Shimoda's forces will destroy it completely. The victory will be just what is needed in j.a.pan, and in Germany, too. And the Americans will cease to be so foolishly bold. They will hesitate, and that will give Admiral Shimoda the necessary time he desires to re-enforce his ground forces and break the American grip on New Guinea and the Solomons."