Dave Dawson at Truk Part 3

"But if we could get several of their carriers!" the n.a.z.i said fiercely.

"We ..."

"We will hope for that," the j.a.p stopped him, "but we will be content with one carrier force. It will be enough for the present. Now, before you go I want you to look at this map of Honolulu. I will show you the quickest way to reach the address I have given you. Your carrier may not remain in Pearl Harbor long, so you must not waste time making this important contact."

There was the crackle of paper, the faint shuffling of feet, and then nothing but silence. Dave Dawson took that moment to turn his head slowly until he met Freddy Farmer's wide, angry eyes. But he gazed into Freddy's eyes for only an instant, for he suddenly noticed not four inches from the end of his nose a long quarter-inch crack between two of the wall boards. Young Farmer spotted it almost at the same time. And holding their breath, the two air aces inched over until they each could put an eye to the crack.

At first Dawson could see nothing but the shadowy interior of a filthy room. Dust, dirt, and dried yellow mud were everywhere. Sc.r.a.ps of rags were strewn all about. And there were several empty rusty cans lying about on the filthy floor. He gave all that but a pa.s.sing glance, because as his eye became adjusted to the bad light inside he was able to see the head and shoulders of a uniformed figure. His heart leaped up to clog his throat when he saw that it was the uniform of a Naval Aviation Ensign. The man was standing side to, so Dave had only a profile view of the face. And it was a very ordinary face. No single feature stood out prominently. He had seen thousands of faces just like it. He could see, though, that the hair below the service cap was straw-colored, and he guessed that the eyes were sky blue. And the neck, perhaps, was just a little thicker than the average neck of a man of that height.

Of the other figure in the room, though, he could see nothing. No matter how hard he pressed his eye to the crack, a sliver of wood on the other side of the wall board blocked out everything else.

And then from out of nowhere, it came!

A sixth sense, more than his ears, told him that there was sound and swift movement behind him. He jerked his head around, caught a flash glimpse of Freddy Farmer turning his head, and then the California sky fell down on top of him. All the bombs in the world exploded inside his head, and the whole world was made up only of dazzling white flashes of lightning. But unconsciousness did not engulf him at once. He knew that he was lunging out with both hands, and clawing at rough coa.r.s.e fabric.

He even heard a snarl, a cry of pain, and the scream of a fiend gone completely berserk.

But whether that scream came from his own lips, or from another's, he did not know. A split second later, he didn't know anything at all. The California sky crashed down on him again and drove him deep into a yawning chasm of utter darkness and silence.

CHAPTER FOUR

_Vanishing Death_

For a long, long time Dave Dawson stared at the limitless expanse of cream white. And then little by little the throbbing ache ceased to befuddle his brain, and he became conscious of the fact that the expanse of cream white was the ceiling of a room. He also became conscious of the fact that he was flat on his back in a bed, and that the countless smells of a hospital were in his nostrils. To his right was a window, and when he slowly turned his head on the pillow he found himself staring out at the clear blue, cloudless California sky. He closed his eyes for a moment, but when he opened them again the scene was still the same.

"What the heck!" he heard his own voice mumble. "What happened, and what am I doing in a hospital?"

"Well, it's jolly well time you woke up!" spoke the voice of Freddy Farmer in his ear. "Don't tell me you got hit that hard. You've been snoring for hours. How are you, old thing?"

Dawson turned his head to the other side and blinked in amazement at young Farmer propped up on one elbow in a bed next to his. Freddy's face was slightly pale around the edges, and there was a patch of surgeon's plaster just above his right eye, but the English-born air ace was grinning from ear to ear.

"Boy, what did you stop with that iron skull of yours, kid?" Dave mumbled. "But never mind that. First tell me what gives around here, anyway? The old brain seems to have gone off on a little solo flight. I can't seem to remember a single thing that.... Hey! Wait a minute! That shack! We ..."

"Quite!" Freddy Farmer interrupted with a grimace. "And here we are. You and I are a couple of dopes, Dave. We were so blasted interested in what was going on _inside_ that shack that neither of us gave a thought to what was going on _outside_. And so we got bashed good and proper. The blighter wearing civilian clothes did it, I'm sure. The one who was a j.a.p. I got just a flash look at him before the gun he held in his hand bounced off your head and connected with mine."

"The dirty rat!" Dawson grated, as more memories came flooding back. "He must have heard us, or seen us through the crack in those wall boards, and slipped out while that other guy was looking at the map. Hey, Freddy! That other guy! He was a Navy pilot! An ensign!"

"I know," Freddy replied grimly. "I saw that, too. And the dirty beggar's n.a.z.i. Gosh, we sure made a mess of things, Dave. I feel like a blasted fool for being caught so easily."

"You don't feel any worse than I do!" Dawson muttered, and gingerly fingered the patch of surgeon's plaster that he discovered on his left temple. "But how did we get here? And it's full daylight outside! Have we been out cold this long, or did we come to and walk back to here?

This is the Naval Base Hospital, isn't it? And ..."

"Slow up, old chap!" Freddy Farmer stopped him with a raised hand.

"Don't ask so many questions at once. In fact, just shut up and I'll tell you all I know. I woke up earlier this morning, and an hour or so later Vice-Admiral Carter came in to have a talk with me, and ..."

"Vice-Admiral Carter?" Dawson gasped, and half sat up in spite of the stab of white pain that cut through his left temple. "Do you mean the base commandant?"

"Are there two by the same name?" young Farmer snapped. "And will you please shut up while I try to tell you?"

"Okay, okay!" Dave growled. "Go ahead. But skip the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. Just give me the facts."

"I'll give it to you as I jolly well see fit!" Freddy shot right back at him, but tempered it with a grin. "Well, Vice-Admiral Carter came in to find out from me what had happened. Did you know, Dave, that we're mighty lucky to be alive?"

"Well, every time I move my head quick, I don't feel so doggone lucky,"

Dawson grunted. "Then what?"

"Well, it seems fairly evident that we both would have been done in proper by that j.a.p, if he had been given more time," young Farmer said.

"But it seems that one of the managers of the orange groves happened by just at that moment. He saw the j.a.p, but didn't recognize him as such.

Thought he was a tramp trying to find out what he could steal from the shacks."

"Name one thing that even a tramp would want out of that hole," Dave said. "You saw the inside, didn't you? And ... Okay, Okay! I'm sorry, sweetheart. Go ahead and talk."

"Just interrupt me once more with that big mouth of yours, and you can jolly well sing for the truth!" Freddy warned. "Well, he called out to the j.a.p, and the j.a.p fired a shot at him. He missed, but the manager didn't give him the chance for a second shot. He dropped flat on his face, and when he got nerve enough to poke his head up for a look, it was just in time to see the j.a.p, and the chap in uniform, disappear over the brow of the next hill. And when the manager got up enough nerve to give chase--and blessed if I blame him, in view of the fact that _he_ had no gun--it was much, much too late. So he came back and found us, listening to the birdies singing, as you would put it. He went down the valley to the nearest phone and called the base. They sent out an ambulance for us. The vice-admiral a.s.sured me that neither of us has a fracture of any kind, just a bad b.u.mp, so they let us more or less sleep it off."

"Well, that was white of them, anyway," Dave said. "I suppose you told the vice-admiral the story?"

"No," Freddy replied. "I started to, but the old brain was still spinning too much. The vice-admiral told me to rest up some more, and that he would come back when both of us could talk. I told him about the ensign and the carrier, though. And that worried him no end, too!"

"And why not?" Dawson said, as his heart began to pound. "If this is the next day, then the carrier has sailed!"

"I suppose so," Freddy muttered. "I didn't have the chance to ask the vice-admiral. He left in a hurry, and ..."

Young Farmer stopped short as the door of their room suddenly opened and the base commandant, followed by a Navy senior surgeon, stepped inside.

The grim look on Vice-Admiral Carter's face faded the instant he saw they were both awake. A smile flashed across his rugged face, and he lifted one hand, and gave a little shake of his head.

"Relax, both of you," he said. "We can do without formality here. Well, Dawson, I see that you have come around, too. How do you feel?"

"Not too bad, sir," Dave replied, and grinned. "I'm sorry I was out of it the other time."

"Ah, so Farmer told you of my other visit, eh?" the base commandant murmured, and perched himself on the end of Dawson's bed. "Well, if you both feel up to it now, I want to have a talk with you. What about it, Commander? Is it all right?"

The vice-admiral addressed the last to the navy surgeon who had entered with him, and he received an immediate reply in the affirmative.

"Oh, yes, sir," the officer said. Then with a little laugh, "They both have pretty tough heads, for which they can certainly be thankful."

"Thankful in more ways than one," the vice-admiral grunted, and Dave had the feeling he was thinking of how that j.a.p had been scared away from completing the job. "Now," the senior officer continued, and looked from one to the other, "let's have the complete story as nearly as you can remember it. And try to remember everything, if you possibly can. The situation is mighty serious. Mighty grave."

Ten minutes later Dave and Freddy Farmer had finished relating every detail of their experience. Each had confirmed the other's story and had added one or two overlooked details. Vice-Admiral Carter listened through to the very end without once interrupting with a question. Now he sat perched on the end of Dawson's bed balling one clenched fist into the palm of the other hand, and scowling thoughtfully down at his movements.

"There's one thing I want both of you to think about hard," he finally broke the silence. "It's just possible that it may have skipped both your minds thus far. The name of that pilot's carrier. Did he or the j.a.p mention it?"

Dave and Freddy looked questioningly at each other. Then they both looked at the base commandant and shook their heads.

"No, sir," Dave spoke for them both. "The name of his carrier wasn't mentioned once. But I can tell you what one it was, sir. I mean, he said that it was sailing tonight. I mean, last night. So all you have to do is ..."

Dawson stopped as the vice-admiral shook his head.