Dave Dawson on Guadalcanal Part 6

"There they are, Dave!" he cried, and pointed. "Right up ahead, there.

Lord! A mess of them, what? Looks like the whole blasted Navy. I can count two carriers, half a dozen cruisers, and twelve destroyers!"

"Thanks, that saves me the trouble," Dave grunted, and squinted ahead.

"Yup! That's a task force sure enough. And, boy, look at those destroyers skipping around! Fat chance j.a.p subs would have getting close to those flat-tops. I wonder which is the Carson? They both look the same to me."

"I don't care which is which," Freddy replied, and kept his gaze riveted on the flotilla of battle craft drawing closer and closer. "I'd much rather know where they are headed. After we've been put aboard, I mean."

"Well, keep your shirt on, sweetheart," Dave choked him off. "You'll find out soon enough, and--Oh yeah! There they are. I was wondering if either of those flat-tops had any planes up. Didn't think they'd leave it all to the destroyers. The whole works is hardly making any headway."

Freddy Farmer didn't make any comment. He had followed the direction of Dave's pointing hand with his eyes, and was watching the three sections of Navy scout-patrol planes circling about high in the air above the coasting task force. And a moment or two later, as though the task force commander had heard Dave's comment and decided to do something about it, every ship picked up speed and swung from a southeasterly course to one due south.

"What the deuce, now?" Freddy Farmer breathed to n.o.body in particular.

"Why are they heading south? Have the j.a.p rats put a landing party ash.o.r.e on Admiral Byrd's Little America?"

"Well, they've sure got a long ways to go to reach it!" Dave said with a laugh. "But if you use your head and your eyes, little man, you'll soon catch on to the idea that the carriers are about to take their planes aboard. So they've headed into the wind, which happens to be from the south. Now, anything else you'd like explained?"

If there was, the slightly red-faced Freddy Farmer didn't ask. He simply gave Dawson a withering look and then watched the scouting planes aloft circle around and down and land aboard one of the carriers like so many soldiers on parade.

"Splendid!" he breathed. "Darn good show. Those Navy chaps are a bit of all right when it comes to flying."

"And okay in a lot of other things, too," Dave added absently. "Well, it won't be long now. We're changing course to cut down the distance.

Wonder how we're going to get aboard them? Swim?"

"I certainly hope so in your case!" Freddy snapped, and let it go at that.

By now all of the sleeping pilots were fully awake, and were gathered at the chain rails to fill their eyes with the impressive sight. The air was filled with complimentary remarks by the Navy pilots aboard. And for once the Army pilots had nothing to say. They were witnessing something being done in expert fashion, and there was no room for chiding wisecracks.

Signal flags fluttered up aloft the destroyer carrying the collection of pilots, and signal flags in answer were seen to break out from one of the carriers. A moment later the task force ships maneuvered about into a change of position, and during the next few minutes too many things happened too smoothly to give either Freddy or Dave a chance to take in the entire picture. Colonel Welsh and the destroyer's commander stepped out on the bridge along with the next in command. Names were called out.

The pilots were split into two groups, one group a.s.signed to one side of the destroyer, and the other group to the other side. Dave and Freddy were a.s.signed to the port side, and in less time than it takes to tell about it, the destroyer ran up close alongside one of the carriers that was practically stationary in the water. The destroyer was warped in even closer, and at a command from the bridge the pilots went up rope ladders and in through an opened hull door of the giant carrier towering high above the destroyer.

And no sooner were they aboard the carrier than a young ensign took their names, and turned them over to a seaman who in turn led them to their a.s.signed quarters. As a matter of fact, so smoothly and with precision had everything functioned, that Dave's first move when he entered the cabin he and Freddy were to share was to sit down on one of the bunks, give a little shake of his head, and expel air from his lungs.

"Boy, some navy!" he breathed. "No wonder they boast about it, plenty.

Gosh! Seems like only a couple of seconds ago we were bouncing along on that tin can. And now here we are aboard this big baby that feels as motionless as the Empire State Building. Only it isn't. She's boiling off knots, now."

Freddy glanced out the port at the dawn-tinted waters sweeping past, and nodded half-heartedly.

"Quite," he murmured. "But now that we're aboard, what next, I wonder?"

The English-born air ace didn't have to wonder long. The last word had hardly left his lips when the inter-ship speaker (nick-named Donald Duck) barked forth with orders.

"All pilots report to the flight deck at once! All pilots report to the flight deck at once!"

"That's us!" Dawson grunted, and made a pa.s.s or two at his tunic to straighten out a few of the wrinkles that actually weren't there. "Hit the deck, Freddy! Top side with you, sailor!"

"Don't!" the English youth groaned, and took a quick glance at his reflection in the small wall mirror. "You talk bad enough as an Army man."

"Every day it comes more compliments!" Dawson mocked, and led the way through the cabin door.

Some twenty or so seconds later they were up on the flight deck and with the members of the group gathered just under the signal bridge. Up there they saw a lot of Navy gold, but it was Colonel Welsh who spoke to them.

"You gentlemen have come aboard this carrier to take part in a difficult and hazardous operation against the enemy forces in the Southwest Pacific," he began. "The details of the operation will be explained to you in full, later. Right now, though, I want to impress upon you that you are all guests of the officers and crew of this carrier, and as such will refrain from thoughtlessly interfering with the general routine of the ship's company."

The colonel paused and grinned.

"I'm including myself in these instructions," he said, "because, frankly, this is my first visit aboard a carrier at sea. And I, too, am mighty curious to see what makes one of these flat-tops tick. However, this is no time for sight-seeing, so I am asking you gentlemen to confine your movements to the officers' quarters, and the flight deck.

Well, I guess that's all--except for one thing. All of you are to report to the Ready-Room, on the hangar deck, at five o'clock this afternoon.

And--But there I make my first b.o.n.e.r!"

The colonel stopped and grinned apologetically at the Admiral in command of the task force. Then he turned back to the pilots.

"Air Forces pilots will report at five o'clock," he chuckled. "And Navy and Marine Corps pilots will report at two bells, or whatever the correct number of bells it is. Anyway, all of you be there. That's all, and dismissed."

The pilots let out a cheer for the colonel and then broke up into groups of two and three and began to wander along the smooth flat surface of the flight deck. They didn't wander about very long, however.

There were few planes on deck, and the dawn sun climbing up over the horizon reminded each and every one of them that what was really in order was a little food. Particularly Freddy Farmer, and it was he who led the straggling procession down below decks to the pilots' mess room.

And when he and Dave had eaten their fill of Navy chow they went to their quarters to arrange their personal belongings that had been taken aboard from the destroyer, and to chew the fat a bit. They did little of either. At least, that went for Dave. Just to "relax for a couple of shakes" he stretched out on his bunk, and the next thing he knew Freddy had him by the shoulder and was shaking him hard.

"Out of it, Dave, old thing!" came Freddy's m.u.f.fled voice to his sleep-lulled brain. "Out of it, I say! You want to be late and get off to your usual bad start? Blast you, man! Out of there, or you get this whole pitcher of water, and I promise it!"

Dave blinked and blinked some more, and finally sat up on the bunk.

"Huh?" he groaned. "What's cooking? Where are we, and what's the idea of trying to break off my arm? And--Holy smokes! Where are we, anyway?"

"You can ask the navigation officer, later!" Freddy snapped. "Right now, move yourself, and get presentable. We've just about two minutes to get to the Ready-Room. Come on, Dave! Prop-wash the sleep out of your brain, will you? Lord! You're more bother than my maiden aunt!"

Dawson blinked again, started to speak, but checked himself as memory came rushing back into his brain. Instead he let out a yell, jumped off the bunk and cracked the top of his head against the bunk above. And he let out another yell.

"Doggone it!" he growled, and rubbed the top of his head. "Why don't they build these cabins big enough so a guy can move around without killing himself? Hey! Where's my tunic? Where's my cap? Hey, Freddy!

What did you do with my stuff? Oh! Here it is. Two minutes to go, huh?

Then what are we waiting for, pal?"

Freddy Farmer snorted and went outside alone, but in just about less time than it takes to tell about it Dave went out and caught up with him. And together they made their way to the Ready-Room on the hangar deck. It turned out that they were the last to show up, so when they entered the door was closed and Colonel Welsh rose from where he was sitting with the task force's commander at the head end of the room. He waited a couple of minutes for feet to stop shuffling around. Then he grinned and made a little half salute with one hand.

"Now it comes, Gentlemen," he said with a chuckle. "Now you'll get the answer to the one question that has burned holes in the brain of each and every one of you since the moment you received word to report to H.Q. at Sydney. Or could I be wrong?"

The short, hooting laugh that spread from lip to lip of those present was proof enough that the colonel had hit the nail right smack on the head. Every last one of them had thought of little else but the reason he had been summoned to H.Q. at Sydney.

"Well, here is the picture," Colonel Welsh continued, but there was no smile on his face now, nor any light note in his voice. "The Southwest Pacific Command is going to try and beat the j.a.ps to the punch. In other words, we're pretty sure that the j.a.p is about set to let fly with another of his blows at us, so we're going to beat him to it. In brief, we're going to go after them in the Solomon Islands."

The colonel paused for breath, and a mounting murmur of suppressed excitement ran its course about the Ready-Room. n.o.body said anything, though, not even a whispered word of comment to his friend sitting next to him. On the contrary, each man simply hitched forward a little more on the edge of his chair, and kept his attention riveted one hundred per cent upon the Chief of Combined U.S. Intelligence.

"The a.s.sault upon the j.a.p-occupied Solomons," he went on presently, "will be a two part affair with land, sea, and air forces cooperating throughout. The first part will be the capture and holding of an airport on Guadalca.n.a.l Island. And the second part, which will be carried out simultaneously with the first part, will be the capture of Tulagi on Florida Island some twenty-two water miles north of Guadalca.n.a.l. That is what we have made plans and arrangements to carry out. However, a good part of whether we do it or not will depend upon you pilots."

The senior Intelligence officer paused again and for a moment let his keen eyes roam over the collection of faces before him.

"I doubt that any of you will be taking any active part in either of the two surprise attacks of which I've spoken," he suddenly hurled the thunderbolt at them. "Your job will be to find, checkmate, and stop cold j.a.p forces that could prevent us from carrying out either of these attacks successfully. To put it bluntly, we have information and data which indicates that a large j.a.p sea, land, and air force is forming at their Truk Island base in the Carolinas preparatory to moving south against our positions on New Guinea, if not directly against Australia itself. In fact, we believe that this huge j.a.p force is already on the move. But just exactly where it is, we can only guess. Your job, and the job of those aboard the other carrier in this force, will be--to find that j.a.p force _at all costs!_ We have got to find that force and either destroy it or make it turn back. If we don't then thousands of American soldiers, sailors, and airmen will be forced to give up their lives in vain. No matter what, you have got to find this j.a.p force that is somewhere between Truk Island and the New Guinea coast!"

As the colonel paused again, not a man moved. Not a man hardly so much as breathed. Everyone sat motionless, eyes on the colonel's grave face, and thoughts fixed squarely upon the do or die order that had been issued!