Dave Dawson on Guadalcanal Part 18

"Do?" the task force commander echoed in a harsh voice, as his chin came out in a fighting pose. "I'll slug it out with them until I haven't a plane left or a deck under my feet, sir! And I can tell you, sir, that my ships and planes will not be the _only_ ones lost, if the j.a.ps catch us with our bows to those islands. Our forces have _got_ to take Guadalca.n.a.l! And that's all there is to that. We can't let them trim us this time. By G.o.d, no, sir!"

Colonel Welsh smiled, nodded, and lifted his coffee cup and held it poised in midair.

"To whatever happens, sir," he toasted. "And may we have all the best of it!"

The task force commander lifted his own coffee cup, and nodded, too.

"And we will, by G.o.d, sir!" he said through clenched teeth. "Just as long as we've got a ship floating or a plane flying! Amen!"

And the two high ranking officers drank silently.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

_Luck of the Doomed_

"And now, the sixty-four dollar question," Dave Dawson got out in a bitter, puzzled voice. "What in thunder is the big idea? Go ahead and answer, Freddy."

"I can't even make a guess," the English youth groaned, and turned from staring out the empty cabin port. "All I can say is that I am absolutely and completely baffled. I don't understand it at all. What the deuce suddenly caused that Sasebo to have us herded back to this empty cabin again? After the way you raved at him, if he had drawn his samurai sword and chopped off your thick head, I could have understood. But to not so much as bat an eye, and then obviously order that big chap to bring us back here...? Well, it's quite beyond me. Quite!"

"You can say that again for me!" Dawson grunted. "But where do you get that chopped off your thick head stuff, huh?"

"Definitely!" Freddy snapped, and gave him a withering glare. "In future kindly remember that though you may wish to get killed on the spot, because you rile up some blasted cut-throat, _I_ haven't the same desire to die!"

Dawson grinned and let it grow into a chuckle.

"Boy!" he breathed. "I kind of told him a thing or six, didn't I, huh?

Oh, heck, Freddy, I'll admit it was taking a chance. But between you, me, and the flight deck of this tub, I've got a hunch I put a little bee in that guy's bonnet."

"I hope so, but I sincerely doubt it," Freddy Farmer said. "That bloke is n.o.body's fool, even though he may look like one. However, I sincerely hope you are right, Dave. You mean, about trying to make him believe that Admiral Jackson's force is up north off the j.a.panese coast?"

"Yes, that's what I meant," Dave nodded. "And I think he swallowed the bait, too. I'm almost willing to bet that before long he'll swing this task force about and start high-balling back up north. And send out some of his long range scout-bombers, too."

"But maybe he won't," Freddy Farmer argued. "So where does that leave us? I'll tell you! Penned up in this blasted cabin while Jackson's force is hunting for something that isn't there. And, good grief, Dave!

Tomorrow at dawn is the time for the Guadalca.n.a.l attack. If this force goes sliding right on down by Jackson's position, there'll be the deuce to pay. You'll remember what Colonel Welsh kept pounding home to us? If he doesn't drive off this force, at least, the Tulagi and Guadalca.n.a.l attacks may turn out terrible flops. And at a terrible price, too. Gosh!

Things are so blessed well mixed up I don't know what to think. Fact is, I can't think of anything but that we're prisoners here on this confounded vessel. If there were only some way we could escape and get in touch with Admiral Jackson's force."

"Yeah, if only!" Dawson grated with a frown as he twisted one clenched fist into the palm of his other hand. "I'd give my right arm, and maybe a couple of legs, just for a fifty-fifty chance to get out of this jam.

And I've been thinking, too, Freddy."

"Thinking of what?" the English-born air ace demanded as Dawson lapsed into sudden silence.

Dave stared at him for a moment as though he hadn't heard, so engrossed was he with his own thoughts. Then suddenly he snapped his fingers and nodded abruptly.

"About where we are, right now," he said. "And where Admiral Jackson's force should be, if they've been carrying out the search according to schedule. Freddy! If we could only get away in one of those j.a.p crates up on the deck, I think I could find Jackson's force before the fuel gave out. And, of course, if we failed first to raise the force on the j.a.p radio in the plane. Freddy, pal! You and I are wasting precious time, cooling our heels in this place. Remember what I said? If we don't get a break, it's up to us to _make_ one. Well, it's up to us, and now, Freddy!"

"Now that you've brought up the subject, I fancy that I could find our force, too," the English youth replied with a nod. "It would be blasted close, but I think I could find it if I _had_ to. But so what, Dave, old thing? It all boils down to the same problem we've faced since that two-faced blighter shot us down. How in the world are we going to escape?"

"_Make_ the break, as I just said," Dawson came back quickly. Then, looking steadily at his pal, he continued, "Make a break for both of us, I hope. But maybe it'll turn out a break for only _one_ of us. Get what I mean, son?"

"Yes, and go on," Freddy said quietly. "That doesn't worry me a bit.

I'm a very lucky chap, you know."

"Thanks, and it's been nice knowing you, you b.u.m!" the Yank air ace said with a grin. And then in a deadly serious tone he went on, "It might be curtains for one of us, Freddy, though I hope and pray not. However, you never can tell, you know."

Dawson ended the last with a faint hunch of his shoulders, and an adequate gesture with both hands. Freddy Farmer looked at him for a moment, and then snorted softly.

"All right, old chap, all right!" he finally got out. "What do I have to do? Get down on my blasted hands and knees and beg? What in the world are you driving at, anyway?"

"Just this, pal!" Dawson came right back at him, and stuck out his jaw.

"Both of us, or one of us, anyway, has got to grab one of the j.a.p crates up on the flight deck, and scram. Now, hold everything a minute, and let me finish. I know that we are locked up here, and no way to get out. So we've got to make a way, such as this. We bang on that door, there, and shout our heads off. Somebody is bound to come. We tell them we want to make a deal with Suicide Sasebo. In short, if he guarantees that we'll be taken to j.a.pan as special prisoners of war, then we'll--"

"Definitely, no!" Freddy Farmer snapped. "I wouldn't give that blighter the satisfaction of--"

"Clam up your yap, will you?" Dawson hurled at him. "For cat's sakes, let me finish, dope! I'm simply telling you what we're going to say, _not_ what we're going to _do_! So just keep your shirt on, mug, and let me finish. Okay! We bang and thump on the door there. Some guy comes, and we give him a song and dance about how we're willing to swap military info for a square deal from Sasebo. It stands to reason that the guy will either go tell Sasebo on the run, or take us there. Okay.

Remember that last trip?"

"What do you mean, do I remember that last trip?" the English-born air ace asked.

Dawson groaned and made the motions with his hands of twisting an invisible neck.

"What do I mean, he says!" Dave grated. "I mean this, pal. To go see Sasebo we have to walk along the flight deck, and weave in and out among all those planes, okay. Supposing we suddenly duck under a wing, leap into a c.o.c.kpit, and kick the engine into life, and--and away we go, huh?"

"I'm with you all the way, old thing," Freddy Farmer said quietly. "Of course you know that, what?"

Dave grinned, reached out a hand and slapped the English youth on the back.

"My pal, always!" he said, and meant it. "Well, that's what I mean, kid.

Maybe we both wouldn't make it, but--doggone, it, Freddy! One of us has just got to make it. The way those planes are parked up there we could get off before they knew what the heck was going on! Am I right, or am I right?"

"Don't bother asking me," Freddy replied, "because I'm all for the idea.

But there's one thing I think we'd better check, Dave, just in case we don't make it together."

"Shoot, pal," Dawson said instantly. "What's on your mind?"

"The approximate location of Admiral Jackson's force," the English youth replied at once. "I think we'd better agree where it is, or at least where we think it is. You see what I mean?"

Dawson nodded, and started to speak, but at that moment he experienced a crazy, daffy feeling. He felt as though there were a third person in the room, and as if that third person were listening to everything that was said, and--and chuckling up his sleeve.

"I don't think we have to worry about that, kid," Dawson replied. "I think we both know just about where Admiral Jackson's force should be.

The big idea is, can we grab a plane and scram away from this tub? In other words, are you game, Freddy?"

The English youth didn't reply at once. He just stared at Dawson, and smouldering fires glowed in his eyes.

"And to use a thoroughly Yank expression," he eventually said, tight-lipped, "what do you think, eh?"