Dave Dawson on Guadalcanal Part 9

"Could be, sir," Dave replied with a laugh. "Is that subst.i.tute plan you and the Admiral were talking about strictly hush-hush?"

"I guess there's no harm in telling you," the colonel said after a long pause. "Because of the size of this task force we were going to follow a roundabout route to the searching area. However, now that the j.a.ps know that we're here, and have guessed our approximate course, they'll probably have their torpedo planes and dive bombers out combing this area as soon as daylight comes tomorrow."

"And a jolly lot of good it would do them!" Freddy Farmer said grimly.

"Probably true," the colonel said with a faint smile. "No doubt the chaps here on the Carson and those over on the Hawk, could make it quite a disastrous affair for the j.a.ps. But that isn't the point. Our advantage of surprise on this maneuver would be completely lost. We might even sustain some damage, and be forced to put back to port. And that, of course, is the one thing we can't afford to do. There isn't too much time on our side as it is. So the only thing we can do, now, is to carry out our subst.i.tute plan. Just as soon as darkness settles down we're going to change course to due north and sneak right up by the Solomons to the searching area. By light tomorrow we hope to be well north of the Islands and out of sight of their patrol planes based there."

As the colonel stopped Dawson whistled softly.

"That'll be cutting it close!" he said. "Here's hoping we don't b.u.mp into a couple of their destroyers on the prowl, and get our hand tipped."

"Yes, here's hoping!" the colonel said almost fervently. "If they spot us sneaking by the Islands our whole maneuver will go higher than a kite. But we've got to take that chance, and pray as none of us has ever prayed before."

"Amen!" Freddy Farmer breathed softly.

CHAPTER EIGHT

_Eagle's Eyes_

When darkness settled down, the two-carrier task force changed course to due north, spread out considerably, and went churning forward at full knots, and with not so much as a speck of light showing any place. For a couple of hours after evening mess Dawson and Farmer loafed around on deck, as did almost everybody else who was not on duty. Little was spoken, though, in the way of conversation, and then only in low tones.

From bow to stern, and from keel to signal bridge, there prevailed an atmosphere of tense, silent excitement. Everybody aboard knew that the task force would pa.s.s almost within a stone's throw of the j.a.p occupied Solomons some time during the night. And every other split second at least a hundred pair of eyes peered out over the port rail at the wall of night to the west.

Eventually, though, the desire for sleep was stronger than the desire to remain awake just in case. And so one by one the pilots went below. And Dave and Freddy were among the first in the parade.

"This isn't any pleasure cruise, so we might as well catch all the shut-eye we can," Dave summed it up as he stretched out in his bunk.

"It's a cinch the Admiral isn't going to send word around when we reach the closest point to the Solomons, so why stay up on deck staring at nothing but darkness?"

"Quite," Freddy murmured. "And if the force is sighted we'll know about it soon enough."

"Now, isn't that a sweet thought to go to sleep on?" Dave growled, and rolled over on his side. "See you in the morning, sweetheart. Stay up and worry if you want to. But not me!"

"Who said who was worrying?" the English youth snapped. "I was only remarking that--"

Freddy cut himself off short and glared at Dawson's bunk. A faint snore told him that he was addressing an audience that consisted of only himself. He made a face, snapped off the light, and pulled aside the blackout curtains over the ports to let in the night air, and then stretched out himself and thought of his homeland many thousands of miles away. However, he didn't think of England for very long. Sleep soon pulled down his eyelids and off he drifted.

The next thing either of them knew was the blaring of the inter-ship alarm siren, and the hubbub and scuffle of activity on the deck above.

Instantly both were wide awake and leaping out of their bunks.

"Trouble!" Dave snapped. "Let's go. Hey! It's light! We must be past the Solomons!"

"There's one way to find out!" Freddy shot back at him, and grabbed up his helmet and goggles.

Dawson, also, had slept in his clothes so as to be ready for any emergency. So he grabbed his helmet and goggles and followed Freddy out of the cabin. When they reached the flight deck it was to find that all the commotion was caused by the carrier's early patrol getting off for a quick look-see ahead. There was no sign of enemy planes in the dawn-tinted heavens. In fact, as Dawson took a good look toward all four points of the compa.s.s he realized that there was no sign of anything save the flock of ships that made up the task force, and countless square miles of rolling blue-green ocean. He turned to Freddy to make some remark about the situation, but checked the words as Donald Duck blared out an announcement.

"All pilots a.s.signed to special duty will go below for breakfast, and then report to the Ready-Room for briefing!"

"That's us, Freddy, old--" Dave began, and stopped short.

The English youth was already on his way down to eat. Dave chuckled, gave a little shake of his head, and followed his pal. And just thirty minutes later all of the special a.s.signment pilots were gathered in the Ready-Room. Colonel Welsh and the executive flight officer were there, and the colonel started talking as soon as the last pilot to arrive had seated himself.

"Well, we made it, we think," he began. "Nothing was sighted last night, and right now we are on the edge of the area to be searched. The searching patrols are to be made in relays. That is, all of you will go out and fly your patrols, and as you are returning to refuel the Hawk will launch her planes to take up where you left off. Here on the table in front of me are envelopes containing patrol courses and instructions for every flying team. Your names are printed on the outside, so before you leave come up and get your envelope. Well, I guess that's all, except this. We feel, now, that the j.a.p snooper business late yesterday afternoon didn't do us any harm. At least we hope and pray that it is like that. However, there is just a chance that the j.a.ps have managed to trail us somehow, and will attempt to cross us up by launching a land-based attack. For that reason, keep your radios open all the time you are in the air. You may get the call to come back here in a hurry."

The colonel paused, started to make a gesture of dismissal, but checked himself.

"Now, there's one more thing I'd better mention, though you'll find it included in your sealed orders," he said. "And it is this. The safety of this task force is of prime importance. At least, until we have found this unknown j.a.p force and are engaging it. I mean by that, if any of you get into any personal trouble, such as being jumped by surprise by j.a.p planes, or something goes wrong that forces you down into the drink, don't count on any help from this task force. You will be strictly on your own. In short, as you will learn when you read your individual orders, you are _not_ to make radio contact with this task force _unless you sight j.a.p surface units of three or more ships in number_. One reason for that is to prevent any j.a.ps from listening in on your wave lengths, and learning of the force's existence in these waters by taking a bearing to locate our position. And the reason it must be three or more j.a.p ships that you sight is because the j.a.ps might possibly try to decoy us into a favorable position for them. Well, that is all, now.

Good luck, and G.o.dspeed to all of you. We have two days and one night in which to accomplish this mighty difficult job. If we don't sight that j.a.p force today, then we've absolutely _got_ to do it tomorrow. The attack on Guadalca.n.a.l and Tulagi will begin on the morning of the third day--whether we succeed, or fail. And so it's up to you pilots. And I know you'll make the grade. Good luck, again."

As the colonel stopped talking there was no burst of applause, or anything like that, from the pilots. Each man simply nodded gravely and then went up to the table to collect his sealed orders. Dave got the envelope for Freddy and himself, and without stopping to open it the pair hurried top-side to where their aircraft was waiting with prop already ticking over. Settling themselves in the aircraft, they took out their orders and read them over carefully. The course they were to fly extended out over the water for some three hundred and fifty miles in a dead northwest direction. They were to keep at an alt.i.tude of eight thousand feet, unless clouds or storms interfered, and their code call was to be Tiger, just as it had been yesterday.

"Okay, Mister Navigator," Dave said, and pa.s.sed the course chart over to Freddy. "You keep track of our position, pal. And don't bother to explain if you get us lost. Just jump over the side and leave your parachute behind, see?"

"Oh, really?" the English youth growled. "Well, don't worry about me, my good man. I'll take care of my end, thank you. Just concentrate on keeping us _in_ the air. Matter of fact, I think it's rather silly of me to take you along. Perhaps I should speak of that to Colonel Welsh, right now."

"Do, sweetheart, by all means!" Dawson snarled, and pointed a finger toward the sky. "I'll be up there waiting for you when you get back!"

Freddy started to say something in return but checked himself as he caught sight of the signal officer pointing his flag.

"Get going, Dave," he said, and winked. "Off we go, and luck to both of us, old thing."

"Right on the old beam, pal," Dawson replied, and turned front. "You, me, and this baby with wings. Maybe we'll all be heroes of the task force, come sundown."

"You be the hero," Freddy laughed at him. "All _I_ want to be is _lucky_, and to find the j.a.p force!"

"And you've really got something there, kid!" Dawson agreed instantly, and then gave his attention to the flag pointing signal officer on the flight bridge.

Just three minutes and twenty seconds later Dawson took the Dauntless off the flight deck and nosed it up toward the early morning sky. He kept on going up until the altimeter said eight thousand feet. There he leveled off, set his course according to the instructions Freddy Farmer gave him, took a last look down at the Carson that was launching her planes at the rate of one every fifteen seconds, and then turned front and settled himself comfortably in the seat. Minutes later the task force was out of sight far behind and Freddy and he were alone in a world of dawn light and limitless expanse of ocean below.

CHAPTER NINE

_Fate Is Fickle_

"How you doing, Freddy? Having fun, huh?"

As he asked the questions Dawson twisted around in the seat and grinned.

They were close to the end of their patrol "beat." Soon they would turn around and retrace their air tracks to the carrier Carson.

"Me?" the English youth echoed with a forced smile supposed to indicate mock happiness. "Why, I never had so much fun in my life. Such wonderful sun-filled air. And isn't all that water down there just beautiful? I could just sit here and look at it all day--I don't think! Man! I wish we could get a look at something. Anything would be perfectly all right with me."

"And how!" Dave breathed, and pushed up his goggles. "Boy! Am I sick of looking at water. When we took off I was all hopped up and bubbling over with expectations. But no more now. Nothing can take the starch out of you like looking for something, and not finding it. So I guess this isn't our day, pal. At least not this patrol. If there's any j.a.p force around these parts, it's down there under water, and I can't see it."