Dave Dawson on Guadalcanal Part 10

"Quite!" Freddy grunted, and then gave a little harsh laugh. "But, after all, why should we expect fate to play into our hands? We're just two of many working on the job. It's quite possible that the blasted j.a.p force has already been spotted by one of the other chaps, and our force isn't going to further risk revealing its position by recalling us. Maybe--"

"Here, here, put on the brakes, pal!" Dawson laughed, and nodded his head at the radio. "If and when that j.a.p force is sighted we'll all be recalled and p.r.o.nto. We'll be needed in the sc.r.a.p, and how!"

"Yes, of course, you're right," Freddy said with a slightly sheepish grin. "Still--"

The English youth cut himself off short, stiffened slightly, and blinked toward the east.

"What's the matter, kid?" Dave asked, and turned his own head that way.

"Don't tell me you see something?"

"I'm not sure; I can't say," Freddy replied, and continued to stare hard. "Thought I saw a flash of something out there a way. Like sun on the wings of a plane. Or maybe it was just the sun on a wave."

"Probably," Dave grunted, and strained his own eyes. "But maybe the team to our right has gotten off course and swung closer to us. You--"

"There it is again!" Freddy broke in excitedly, and pointed. "Right out there. And it is a plane, though I can't tell what kind."

Dawson hesitated for a split second, and then as he, too, caught sight of sunlight flashing off the wings of a moving plane he made up his mind, and banked the plane around.

"Maybe we'd better take a look, just in case, Freddy," he said. "Maybe it's one of ours way off course. And then again, maybe it isn't. So we'll go look-see."

Freddy Farmer simply nodded, and made no comment as Dawson brought the Dauntless all the way around, and gave the Cyclone in the nose full throttle. And during the next couple of minutes neither of them spoke.

Both were too busy trying to keep the distant plane in sight. It was more or less between them and the sun climbing up toward the zenith, and for that reason they kept losing sight of the other plane in the sun's brilliance.

They quickly picked it out again, and presently they were close enough to get a good look.

"Hey, what do you know!" Dave cried in astonishment. "That's not one of ours, but whose is it? I sure never saw a job like that before. Did you ever, Freddy?"

The English youth shook his head and frowned at the other plane. It was a double pontooned seaplane with short, stubby-tipped bi-plane wings. It was painted a light, light gray, but carried no markings or insignia of any sort.

"No, I never have," Freddy Farmer finally replied to Dave's question.

"Rather a queer-looking thing, isn't it? A two-place aircraft, too. And what in the world is it doing way out here, I'd like to know? A thing that small certainly can't carry much gas!"

"Just what I'm thinking, too!" Dawson grunted, and took his eyes off the other plane to sweep the surrounding waters carefully. "I'd bet it isn't a land-based job. Must be from some surface ship. And, doggone it, don't they see us coming over? Why don't they give some sign whether they're foe or friend? Maybe I should let them have a burst to wake them up!"

"Not a bad idea, Dave; go ahead," Freddy said. "They--no, wait a bit!

They've spotted us, and are coming over. See?"

Freddy's exclamation was a waste of breath as far as Dawson was concerned. He had already seen the seaplane bank around toward them and came prop clawing across the sky. For some unknown reason, which he didn't bother to fathom at that moment, the old familiar warning of impending danger rippled across the back of his neck. And he impulsively slid the guard off the electric firing b.u.t.ton of his forward guns, and got set to catch the oncoming seaplane in his sights at an instant's alarm.

There seemed no need to be on the alert for danger, however. The figure in the rear pit of the strange-looking seaplane stood up in the slip-stream and waved both hands in greeting. Because of the helmet and goggles the figure was wearing neither Dave nor Freddy could get a look at his face. And a flying jacket covered up whatever kind of uniform he was wearing. In short, the waving figure could well have been a daredevil ace from Timbuktu as far as Dave Dawson and Freddy Farmer were concerned.

"Who the heck are you?" Dave shouted just to let off steam. "Friend or foe? And where in the world did you dig up that crate, anyway?"

Of course the thunder of the Dauntless' Cyclone drowned out Dave's words, but a split second later it was almost as though the two unknowns in the other plane had heard and understood. This time the figure in the pilot's pit stood up, and waved. Then he stopped waving and pointed past the Dauntless. Dawson frowned, then instinctively twisted around in the pit to stare back. He saw Freddy start to twist around, and then violently check himself as wild alarm lighted up his face.

"Dave! Look out! The blasted beggars are--!"

And that's all Dawson heard of Freddy Farmer's screaming voice, for the rest was drowned out by the savage yammer of aerial machine guns. He jerked front just in time to see the seaplane boring straight in at him from the left. It was headed dead for the nose of the Dauntless, and in the infinitesimal period of frozen astonishment Dawson saw the bullets from the guns of the other plane hammer and chew their way through the Cyclone's cowling. And then before he could move the control stick, or jump on a rudder pedal, the seaplane had flashed by him, and his Cyclone was starting to cough raspingly and spew black smoke out of its exhaust.

"Why, you dirty, low down rat!" Dave roared, and dropped the nose of the Dauntless. "You--you double-crossing, cheating b.u.m! I'll teach you to pull a dirty one like that! Come back here and take--!"

But Dawson was simply exploding words, and he ended them with a bitter groan, as more smoke poured back from the bullet-damaged engine, and the power plant quit altogether. He and Freddy had been tricked as neatly as could be. There was no doubt, now, as to whether the occupants of the strange-looking seaplane were friend or foe. They were j.a.p rats, and true to their rotten race they had struck their blow under false colors.

And a blow they had struck, too! No doubt about that, either. Their well placed bullets had finished the Wright Cyclone, and the Dauntless was nosing down toward the waters of the Southwest Pacific below. And the danger wasn't pa.s.sed, either. With a dead engine the plane was just a gliding target for those two j.a.ps in the seaplane. They had only to sneak up under and out of reach of Freddy Farmer's rear pit guns, and drill the scout-bomber like a setting hen on a fence.

And as thoughts crashed through his brain Dawson twisted around quickly to be ready to do what little he could when the seaplane came winging back. Freddy Farmer had swung his guns around, and was waiting to catch the seaplane in his sights if he got the chance. Not a word had he spoken since his cry of alarm to Dave, but the look of raging anger on his flushed face indicated that he was _thinking_ plenty.

Dave caught that look in one flashing glance and then whipped his gaze out across the air s.p.a.ce to where the strange-looking seaplane was circling about slowly just out of range of Freddy's guns.

"What the heck?" Dave gasped impulsively, and scowled. "What's wrong with those rats? Afraid to come in for the kill? Holy smokes! They've got us cold, darn their rotten hides."

"That's what I'm wondering, too," Freddy Farmer said in a tight voice as he spoke for the first time since the sudden attack. "They're either afraid, or else they _aren't_ j.a.ps!"

"Huh?" Dawson gulped. "What do you mean by that, Freddy?"

"Just crippling a chap's engine wouldn't suit j.a.ps," the English youth replied. "They have to slaughter, too. That's half the enjoyment for them, blast their black hearts. So they must be afraid that I'll pick them off, if they come in closer. Or maybe they're hoping we'll bail out. _Then_ it would be more fun for them!"

"Yeah!" Dawson grunted, and took a quick look down at the surface of the water now less than two thousand feet below the wings of the helpless Dauntless. "Yeah! Or maybe they want to play target practice after we land in the water. Maybe that would be even more fun for the dirty killers. Gosh, I'm sorry, Freddy. I'm a sap, a dope, and I should be--"

"Don't be silly!" young Farmer snapped at him. "Cut it out, Dave! We're both equally at fault for letting them slip in on us, and falling for that fake pointing business. But, good grief! What else would anybody have done in our shoes? Nothing. At least nothing, and have been human.

Man! If only they'd come in just a little closer. I'd give them something they'd not forget, the dirty blighters!"

But Freddy was simply "shooting the breeze" to let off steam, too. The j.a.ps were sticking to their distance, and even if they suddenly should come ripping in it was questionable whether Freddy would be able to stop them from cutting the helpless Dauntless to pieces, to say nothing of bullet riddling its two occupants.

However, the strange-looking seaplane did stay well clear, and a couple of moments later Dave stall-landed the dead engined plane in the water.

As soon as the plane stopped mushing forward and began to settle slowly by the nose, Dawson unsnapped his safety harness, twisted the little valve k.n.o.b that automatically inflated his "Mae West," and then gave Freddy Farmer a hand in getting the collapsible rubber life raft over the side. Into it they tossed the few things they could take with them and then climbed in and shoved off from the sinking plane.

Neither of them spoke. Both were thinking the same thing, and didn't wish to alarm the other by speaking of it. In short, both were thinking of the strange-looking seaplane now circling about above them, and waiting for it to come gun spitting down in its power dive of death. But finally Dawson broke the silence as he stared up at the circling plane.

"All right, killers!" he got out hoa.r.s.ely. "The stage is all set. Here we are. Just a couple of clay pigeons named Joe. Come on down and do your dirty work. We've got a few million pals who'll even it up for us some day. So come on down, darn you! We can take it, see? You're darn right we can!"

"Easy, Dave, old man!" Freddy soothed, and placed a hand on Dawson's knee. "It isn't going to help any to rave at the beggars."

"Who says it isn't?" Dave rasped, and kept his gaze fixed on the circling plane. "It makes me feel better, anyway. Oh, don't worry, kid.

I'm not blowing my top, or going off the beam. I just figure it's curtains, and, by gosh, I've got a few things I want to get off my chest. I hate those rotten--Well, for the love of Mike, maybe I am going nuts, and seeing things! Do you see what I see, Freddy? Or am I just looking at a sky mirage? _That doggone plane is flying away!_"

And that was the truth! The strange-looking seaplane had circled down to some five hundred feet above the floating life raft, and then suddenly flattened out and was now making tracks toward the northeast.

"No, it's no mirage, Dave," Freddy said in an awed voice. "The blighters are certainly leaving us. But why, I wonder? Dave! Maybe they've sighted one of our planes, or one of our ships, or something!"

Dawson didn't make any reply. Wild hope choked up in his throat, and he eagerly searched both sky and water. However, that's all he saw. Just sky and water, save for the seaplane that was fast becoming a disappearing dot in the northeast. Freddy helped him look, and for ten minutes neither of them spoke. Then Dave groaned and gave a little shake of his head.

"Well, if it was a ship or a plane, it's gone now," he grunted. "So it looks like we'll have to keep each other company for a spell longer, pal."

"Oh, yes, quite," Freddy Farmer murmured, and nodded absently. "A blasted funny business this, though. I still can't make up my mind if those seaplane beggars _were_ j.a.ps. Why did they just force us down, and then let us alone? That's definitely not j.a.p style. And to say that that seaplane was--But, man! That's impossible! Definitely!"

"What is?" Dave wanted to know.

"That it was one of our planes, and they shot us down by mistake,"