He caught his breath. Banking sharply, he swung away to the right, then started climbing. Up he went, a thousand—two thousand feet. He smelled smoke, saw a tiny flame play about his motor, and that was all.
With care and speed born of much training, he dragged out his life raft, inflated it, looked to his parachute, threw back the hood, stood up, climbed upon the fuselage, jumped far and wide, then shot downward.
Five seconds later he felt the pull of his parachute, then settled back to drift silently down toward a blue-black sea.
“What luck!” he muttered. “What terrible luck!”
In that moment all that he had hoped for seemed lost—his part in the big show of the morning, the rescue of his pals, the great attack on Mindanao. If he survived, where would he land? Would he be picked up? How soon? And by whom? To these questions he found no answers, so settling back he prayed for what he needed most—a bit of moonlight before he hit those black waters. And his simple prayer was answered.
CHAPTER XII
UP AT DAWN
When Jack was still in grade school he had often visited his uncle’s farm. In summer he had stayed for weeks at a time. There were ghosts that haunted the lonely country roads at night. Old Jock Gordon, the hired hand, and Maggie MacPherson, the cook, often told weird tales about these ghosts as they sat by the kitchen fire at night.
When he was out late playing with some neighbor boy and had to brave the dark roads alone, Jack had gone on tiptoe. But that didn’t always help, for more than once he saw weird white things moving in the hedge or the willows.
“Ghosts!” he would think, scared to death. But he never ran. A ghost at your back is much more terrible than one you can see. Jack always walked straight toward the ghosts, and always they vanished into thin air.
As he caught the hoarse whisper there on the lonely mysterious island, he thought of those ghosts, and it steadied his mind. He answered the hoarse whisper, then walked straight toward the spot from whence it came. He had gone a dozen paces when a low voice said:
“Don’t come closer.”
Gripping his gun, he stopped.
Out of the brush and the shadows stepped a figure that even in the dim moonlight appeared familiar.
“What are you doing here?” a woman’s voice asked. “How did you come? And why?”
The woman was tall, and rather slender. She wore a broad hat that hid her face.
It’s that slim queen of the island, was Jack’s thought. He had come to think of her as just that, but was astonished to discover that she spoke English fluently.
“Who are you? And what are you doing here?” he countered, taking two steps.
“It doesn’t matter who I am,” came slowly. “It will pay you to stay where you are. I am not alone.”
Jack remained where he was. He seemed to catch sight of shadowy figures in the brush. Visions of flying spears and arrows haunted him.
“We’re two fliers from the United States Navy,” he said, having decided to tell the truth. “Our plane was wrecked. We came ashore on a rubber raft. Now, who are you?” he repeated.
“How are we to know that you are speaking the truth?” the girl asked, ignoring his question. “There’s a Jap raft drawn up on the beach,” she went on.
“Yes. We drew it up.” Jack’s throat went dry.
“Then perhaps you came in it.”
“Do I look like a Jap?” He played his flashlight on his own face.
“Not like a Jap, but you might be a German. All the traders were Germans before the war.”
“All right. Have it your way!” He threw a flash of light into her eyes. By doing this, he discovered an added pair of eyes—small, monkey eyes. The monk was on her shoulder.
“Is that your monkey?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“How did you get that American nurse’s identification tag the monkey wears?” He asked without thinking.
“That!” There was anger in her voice. “That’s none of your affair.”
She went on after a moment, “We want to know about you.”
“And now you know.” He laughed softly.
“Do I?” She returned the laugh.
“Do you know all about those fellows who come here in that queer sort of plane?” he asked.
“Do you?” she came back at him.
“No.”
“Well then, that makes two of us. Thanks for listenin’. Good night.” She was gone.
She’s heard that farewell off here on the radio, Jack thought. Did missionaries have radios? He supposed they did. Queer little world he had dropped into. So she didn’t know much about those two men and the mystery plane? Well, one way or another, he was going to learn more. If they turned out to be Australian, British, or Dutch, they might give the boys a lift to some spot held by the United Nations. Then Stew and he would get back in time for the big push against Mindanao, he thought. Worth taking a chance for that, he assured himself. A very long chance.
When Kentucky and two of his night fighting comrades made their way back to the carrier they were greeted with enthusiasm.
“You did it!” The Commander gripped Kentucky’s hand. “You broke up their formation! Not a torpedo found its mark. But where is Ted?” His voice dropped.
“We don’t know, sir,” said Kentucky, wrinkling his brow. “We had to scatter, and go on our own.”
“Of course.”
“Red saw him climbing for altitude, sir—thought his motor might have been smoking.”
“Yes, sir. That’s the way it was,” Red put in. “After that the moon went under for quite a while. When it came out his plane was gone. I thought I saw a white gleam like a parachute in the moonlight quite close to the water, but I wasn’t sure.”
“We’ll hope he made a safe landing,” said the Commander. “We have to go in about a hundred miles. The Marines go ashore at dawn. We must furnish them a protecting screen. You boys have done a fine job. Now get some chow and rest. We’ll need you again soon. It’s going to be a long pull for you, but this is war.”
The moon had come out just in time for Ted’s landing. He sank beneath the sea, lost his grip on the rubber raft, then came up for air.
The moon was still out. His raft was some ten yards away. After disengaging himself from his chute, he swam to the raft, then worked himself into it with great care. This accomplished, he paddled to his chute, squeezed the water out of it as best he could, then deposited it on one end of the raft.
He took off his clothing. The air was warm. He was not uncomfortable. After wringing out his clothes he put them all on again except his heavy flying jacket. He was warm enough without wearing the jacket.
Then, with feet on the chute and head on the inflated edge of the raft, he sprawled out in absolute repose.
“Nothing I can do right now,” he assured himself. “Might get a little sleep.” He recalled the words of his father.
“You may have to bail out and land on the sea,” his father had said. “If you happen to find yourself in a fix like that,” his father had rambled on, “you may feel like praying that there will be no violent storms, that God may send birds to light on your raft so you can catch and eat them, that He’ll send fish, not sharks—all that sort of thing.
“Well, if you feel that way about it,” his father had paused, “it won’t do you any harm. But for my part, I’d rather pray for wisdom and skill, for the good sense to relax and take it easy, to save my strength and my skill for catching fish and birds and preparing them for food. I’m convinced that there is a power within us or about us that does give us both skill and wisdom if we only ask for them.”
“A power within us or about us,” Ted repeated slowly, “that gives us skill and wisdom.” At that, rocked by small waves, he fell asleep.
Kentucky never needed much rest when he was in a fighting mood. Two hours of sleep, a stack of pancakes, three cups of black coffee, and he was ready to lead his fighters out over the island that lay like a dark, gray shadow rising out of the sea in the first flush of dawn.
One by one the planes left the carrier. Fighters, scout planes, dive bombers, torpedo planes—all thundered away toward their target.
Leading them all, Kentucky felt important and very happy.
“Hot diggity!” he exclaimed to the morning air. “This is what I call life! And here’s where we pay the Japs a little on account for Pearl Harbor.” He was thinking of little Joe Kreider, his pal from Kentucky.
He’s gone, Kentucky thought soberly. Japs got him in that sneak attack on Pearl Harbor. Gone, but not forgotten. He gave his motor a fresh burst of gas.
Then he saw it, a big old four-motored Jap snooper slipping out for a look at their carrier.
“Hot dog!” Kentucky’s plane shot skyward and then came plunging down in a steep curve. His two guns poured hot lead into the snooper’s right outside motor. The motor, almost cut away, hung by shreds.
Before the snooper could right itself, Kentucky was back, firing away at the other right motor. He set it smoking. The big plane tilted, rolled over, then went plunging toward the sea.
All this had happened in the space of seconds. Enough time had elapsed, however, for other things to be brewing. Suddenly two of his fighting pals joined him, while from up beyond there came the sharp rat-a-tat-tat of machine-gun fire.
Rubbing his eyes, Kentucky peered into the brightening dawn. A half mile or so before him he made out the shadowy forms of several planes circling wildly, with guns blazing.
His triggerlike mind took in the situation in an instant. “Hey! Red! Blackie! Jean!” he roared into his radio. “Hold up! Circle Back! BACK!”
As they began swinging back, speaking in a low tone, he continued: “That’s only a bunch of Zeros putting on a show for us. It looks like a fight, but it’s only a sham battle. None of our planes are in there. We’re in the lead.”
Through his earphones he caught low grumbles and some unprintable words.
“Come on, now,” he invited. “Get into formation. You know the lineup. We’ll join in their game, all right, but on our own terms.”
They climbed rapidly and joined in wing-to-wing formation, Kentucky in the lead and Red bringing up the rear. Red carried a gunner, the best the Navy knew, in his rear cockpit.
“Now! Come on down! And give it to them for my old pal Joe and all the American boys lost at Pearl Harbor!” Kentucky shouted into his mike. And down they came.
CHAPTER XIII
THE JET PLANE
In the meantime Jack had decided on a bold stroke. He was not sure that at this time it was a wise thing to do, but his burning desire to make his way back to the carrier and resume his post of duty there had all but driven him to it.
As he paced back and forth on the beach, guarding camp and wondering about his strange night visitor, he recalled the words of his uncle Dan who had fought in the first World War:
“You’ll be in danger many times,” he had said in a serious, friendly voice. “Your superior officers will not always be present to make decisions for you. You’ll sometimes have to make them for yourself. Always keep this thought uppermost in your mind: you are worth a great deal more to your country alive than dead. Don’t take unnecessary chances.”
“Am I planning to take unnecessary chances now?” he asked himself. Though he did not know the answer, he was willing to take the risk.
One more thing had made a lasting impression on him. “Jack, my boy,” said his uncle, who limped as a result of wounds received in France, “the thing I want most to tell you is this. While you are in service you will have comrades, many boon companions, and if you treat them right, as I know you will, you’re sure to make attachments that will last as long as you live. You see, Jack, you’ll be living under difficult conditions, enduring hardships, and facing great dangers together. Your souls will be tried as by fire and you’ll be welded together, the way steel is welded.”
Yes, Jack thought now, Uncle Dan was right. We have grown closer and closer to one another. There’s Stew and Ted, Kentucky, Red, the Commander, and all the others. We’ll never forget one another. That’s one reason why I’m so eager to get back to the Black Bee.
Yes, he decided finally, I’ll do it, even if it does mean taking a chance. I’ll do it the first thing in the morning.
Then he awakened Stew for his watch, stretched himself out, and fell asleep at once.
He was up again before dawn. “Tell you what!” he exclaimed over a cup of coffee. “I’m going to find out who those fellows are.”
“The men with that queer plane?” Stew asked.
“Yes. We’ve got to know. They might help us get back to our ship.”
“And then again they might not—they might do just the opposite,” Stew suggested.
“That’s a chance we’ll have to take. You’d better stay here and sort of look after things,” he suggested. “I may discover something big. We might want to get off this island in a hurry.”
“Get off?” Stew stared. “Yes, but how?”
“There’s the Jap raft, you know. It’s seaworthy. We’ve got supplies of a sort, enough to last us weeks with the birds and fish we’d catch. If it seemed the thing to do, we could slip the raft out into the current and get away rather rapidly.”
“I suppose so,” Stew agreed.
Jack stood up. Should he tell Stew of the night visitor? After a moment’s thought he decided against that.
A half hour later, after hurrying over the native trail, he found himself slipping silently through the brush toward the camp of the strangers. “I’ll just look before I show myself,” he whispered to the empty air.
All of a sudden he stopped to listen. A low, whispering wail had reached his ear.
“Too late.” His hopes fell. “They’re off.” Yet as he listened the wail died away.
“Probably testing their motors,” he assumed. Once more he crept through the brush. Three times the wail rose and fell, but he pushed straight on until the smoke from a campfire told him he was close to the edge of the tangled mass of palms and tropical brush beside the strangers’ camp.
Choosing a young date palm, whose fronds sprouted close to the ground, he crept to it and crouched there a minute. Rising to his knees, he parted the slender fronds to look away to the sloping rock.
The mysterious plane was some distance away. The two men talked and laughed while they refueled the plane. The language they spoke seemed strange to Jack, though he was too far away to understand what they said, even if they had spoken English.
“Wish I hadn’t come,” he observed. Then, “But I really must know about them. No sense beating about the bush.”
The men ceased laughing. The sound of their words changed. One of them climbed to the plane’s cockpit. The motor howled once more. So loud was its final scream that it hurt Jack’s ears. Then it faded away.
“They’ll be off in a minute,” he breathed, rising to his feet. “It’s now or—”
No. He settled back. The man on the rock hurried away.
“Oh Jerry!” the one in the plane called in perfect English. “Bring an alligator wrench.”
Jack heaved a sigh of relief. So they spoke English! They must be okay. At that he stepped boldly out from the brush and walked straight toward the plane. The man in the cockpit was bent over working on something. He did not raise his head until Jack was within three yards of the plane. When he did look up, he started at the sight of Jack. His figure stiffened. His right hand dropped.
“Stand where you are!” he commanded. “Who are you? What do you want? And how did you come here?” The man spoke with a decided accent.
“My uniform should tell you what I am,” Jack replied evenly.
“In war, uniforms mean nothing!” the man snapped. His gray eyes matched the gray of the bushy hair about his temples. He was no longer young. Between his eyes were two lines that told of work and strain.
“I’m sorry.” Jack apologized. “I had no intention of startling you. I’m an American fighter pilot, whether you believe it or not. I was shot down nearly two days ago and floated ashore here.”
“That’s okay, son.” The man’s smile was not unfriendly. His accent, Jack thought, made him English or Australian. “We have to be careful, that’s all. This plane is a secret weapon.”
“It must be,” Jack grinned. “I never before saw one that burned kerosene, had no propeller, and yet went like the wind.”
“Of course not,” the man admitted. “There aren’t a dozen of them in the world.”
“May I look at it?” Jack took a step forward.
“Not a glance. Stay where you are.” The man’s lips formed a straight line. “We’re not allowed to show anything. In fact, you’re too close right now.”
“Oh, that’s all right.” Jack stepped back. “I’m just naturally curious.”
“Oh, sure.” The man smiled again. “Wait. I’ll climb down and we’ll have a cup of coffee. My partner’s gone for some tools. The hiding place is quite a distance away, just in case.”
“I see,” said Jack. “Just in case the Japs happen along.”
“Something like that,” the man agreed. He took a step down, then paused. “You might be wondering how we got our supply of kerosene in here right under the Japs’ noses,” he suggested.
“It does seem odd,” Jack agreed.
“It happens to have been here,” the stranger went on. To his own surprise Jack found himself wondering if the man was telling him the truth or raising a smoke screen of falsehood.
“You see, my partner and I once had trading concessions on some of these islands. The Japs forced us off, but before they did that we hid our fuel. Thought we might want to come back, which we did. But we hardly expected to come in a craft like this.” He laughed softly.
The man climbed down, poured two cups of hot black coffee from a gallon thermos jug, then invited Jack to a seat on a large flat rock.
“So you like our little ship!” the man said, warmed by the coffee. “It’s really a honey. Nothing in the world was ever like it.”
“It sure walks on air,” Jack agreed.
“So you’ve seen it fly?” He gave Jack a sharp look.
“Yes.” Jack told of seeing it leave the island.
“You’d like to know a lot about it?” The man smiled.
“Naturally.”
“Some things I can’t tell you. All I can tell you has been printed in magazines all over the world. Strange you haven’t read them.”
“We’ve been at sea for a long time.”
“Yes, of course.” The man appeared to have accepted Jack’s story as true. “And the facts about our jet plane haven’t been out very long.”
“Jet plane? Is that what you call it?” Jack studied the plane with redoubled interest.
“That’s what it is. It gets its power from jets of air mixed with exploding gas. The jets come out from some part of the plane. I’m not permitted to tell exactly what part. You’ve often watered a lawn, I suppose?”
“Yes, quite often.”
“Remember how the hose sort of kicked back when the water came rushing out?”
“Sure,” Jack grinned. “I’ve been soaked more than once by just that.”
“That’s the sort of thing that makes our ship go. The jets come out at great speed and just push the plane along. It practically flies itself.”
“How about taking me along on your next flight?” Jack held his breath.
“Impossible. We can’t take a soul on board. No, not even if he were wounded and would die if we left him. It’s that much of a secret. So much—so very much depends upon this plane.
“But I’ll tell you a little more about it,” the man went on, sensing Jack’s disappointment. “It burns kerosene. You’ve noticed that, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“It’s hard on fuel. We have to carry a belly tank if we want to go far. The Italians made a plane somewhat like this one. But it just ate up the fuel. If you’ve got to land every half hour for fuel, your plane’s no good. We’ve overcome that. But this plane still has weak spots.”
Jack wondered what the weak spots were, but dared not ask. “Should be fine in the stratosphere,” he suggested.
“Say! You do know planes, don’t you?” the man answered with respect in his tone.
“A little,” Jack admitted.
“Of course it’s good in the stratosphere. That’s where a propeller-driven plane breaks down.”
“Nothing for the propeller to get its teeth into,” suggested Jack.
“That’s right. But our baby here goes fastest when there’s the thinnest sort of air in front of her to create friction. Five hundred miles an hour? Say! That’s nothing!”
Jack stared at the plane with sheer admiration.
Suddenly Jerry, the stranger’s partner, came up with an alligator wrench in his hand.
“Got to get busy and step out on the air.” With that Jack’s newly found friend was gone, just like that. Nor did he return. Not five minutes had passed when the mystery plane let out the squeal of an expiring porker, lifted its voice to the pitch of a fire siren, started to glide, touched the sea, cast back a spray, then was in the air and flew swiftly away.
Jack had searched for the plane to make whatever discovery he could concerning it, but he was not sure that he had accomplished anything.
CHAPTER XIV
TED’S GONY
On that same morning, as the Black Bee and her escort of fighting ships knifed in close to their target, Kentucky and his short, tight formation cut through the masquerading Japs like a reaper through a field of wheat. When their guns had ceased blazing away and they swung around for one more sweep, they saw two planes falling in flames, and a third rolling over and over.
The remaining Japs had time to recover partially from the sudden shock, but when the “grim reapers” came roaring back, the Zeros were again swept by a whirlwind of fire.
One wise little brown boy in goggles, who had climbed high, came swooping down on the tail of a plane, but its gunner took care of him with neatness and dispatch.
With their number cut in half, the Zeros faded away.
But here were the U. S. bombers and torpedo planes. They were coming in fast. It was time now to join the covering screen escorting the big boys to their target, and Kentucky wheeled his four-plane formation about to shoot away and join their comrades.
The bombers had been shown maps and photographs of the island they were to attack. “This,” their Commander had said, pointing at a map, “is the air field, quite a distance from the beach. You will go after that first, destroying all planes on the ground. Then you will attack their headquarters here, and their fortified positions there.
“I need not tell you,” he had said, addressing all his men—pilots, fighters, bombardiers, torpedo men—“that the life of many a Marine depends upon the manner in which you perform your task. I know that to a man we can count on you.”
There had been a low murmur in response.
“I might say,” the Commander had added, “that this island is to be a steppingstone to Mindanao.”
“Oh! Mindanao! Mindanao!” had come in a chorus.
“Yes, Mindanao, only a few hundred miles away, in the Philippines,” he went on. “And with this island in our possession we shall be able to soften up Mindanao for the final attack.”
“Mindanao,” Kentucky thought now as he gripped the controls. “They say the Japs have a prison camp there, where our men are starving and dying. We’ll walk in there some day and take that big island. We’ll free the prisoners. What a day that will be! Then it’s Manila, and after that the China coast. Boy! Will we harvest a sweet revenge for the things those Japs have done to the American prisoners!” He studied his instruments, looked to the loading of his guns, glanced back at his formation, then, drawing a long breath, murmured:
“Well, Tojo, here we come!”
The dive bombers climbed to twelve thousand feet. Kentucky and his fighters kept straight on. As they neared the island he spoke a few words of instruction through his mike to his three companions. Words came back to him. Then, opening his throttle wide, he set his motor roaring. Coming in fast and low, they took the Japs by surprise. Scores of little brown men were racing for the airfield when they came in, nearly grazing the palm trees. Some thirty planes were still on the field.
Breaking formation, the “four horsemen” zoomed in upon the planes and the racing pilots. With machine-gun fire they sent the Japs scurrying for shelter. Then with tracer bullets they riddled the grounded planes.
Leaving the field in flames, they swung skyward to rejoin the screen of fighters, bombers, and torpedo planes.
Ten minutes more and the air was filled with the rattle of machine-gun fire and the island became an inferno of bursting bombs.
The torpedo planes discovered three cargo ships and two destroyers in the small harbor and, coming in low, released their “tin fish.”
Bursting torpedoes added their horror to the general confusion of sound. A ship exploded, another keeled over and sank, and a third was run aground. Jap destroyers streaked away, but even their top speed was no match for Kentucky and his followers.
“After them, fellows!” he shouted. “Remember Pearl Harbor!”
Skimming in over the sea, they peppered the deck of a destroyer with slugs until not a man was left standing on deck. Lowering their aim, they began to puncture the destroyer’s thin hull.
A film of oil appeared on the water. “Give it to her!” Kentucky shouted into his phone. “We’ve struck oil. Let’s make it a gusher!”
Just then a dive bomber came screaming down to lay its egg squarely on the destroyer’s deck.
“That got her!” Kentucky exulted, as the craft exploded. “Come on now. Gas is low. Let’s beat it back home for chow.”
It was such a day as a flier would never forget.
As they sped away, Marines from barges and small boats were swarming ashore. The stepping stone to Mindanao was now all but won.
“Jeepers!” Kentucky exclaimed into his mike. “I wish Jack and Stew—yes, and Ted too—could have been in on this. Wonder where Ted is right now? We’ll have to take a look.”
Ted was not faring badly. The balmy breezes had dried out his clothes, and dawn had come, but there was no sign of their task force.
“Gone in for the kill and then the landing,” he thought. “And I’m out of it. Worse luck!”
“But then,” he reflected. “Things might be worse.” He had done his bit. He had helped block the attack of those enemy torpedo bombers, and he had shot down two of them—he was quite sure of that.
He munched a chocolate bar for a time. Then he examined the fishline packed in his emergency kit. “Think I’ll try it out,” he murmured. Taking a strip of pork rind from a small bottle, he fastened it on his hook. Then, paying out the line little by little, he watched the white spot as it sank.
“Yes, there are fish!” He became greatly excited as three big blue fellows came cruising in. One of them made a dive for the bait, but changed his mind and shot away.
Ted lifted the line a yard, causing the white spot to shoot upward. A second fish made a dive for it, but before he made contact the first one circled back like a plane aiming at a target, and grabbed the lure.
“Got you!” Ted breathed, giving the line a quick jerk.
He had hooked him, but the fish was game. He shot this way, then that, then circled round and round.
I don’t want him any more than a little, Ted thought. I’m not hungry enough to eat raw fish, and in this sun he wouldn’t keep. He began playing the fish, trying him out.
Then, all of a sudden, a large blue shadow appeared in the water, a darting shadow. No, it wasn’t a shadow—it was a ten-foot shark. Streaking through the water, sleek and ugly, the shark hypnotized the boy. This lasted only ten seconds, but long enough. Too late Ted realized that he was about to exchange his blue fish for a shark.
The shark swallowed the fish, hook and all. At once Ted felt the line shoot through his fingers. Gripping desperately, he checked the line. He felt his raft being towed rapidly through the water.
The shark went down. The raft tilted at a dangerous angle. A hundred thoughts sped through the boy’s mind. He might be lost for days, perhaps weeks. Without food he must perish. No line, no fish, no food. But if the raft went over? What then? Soaked to the skin, he would in the end be obliged to yield his line. Then a happy thought struck him. In his emergency kit were other hooks, and in his parachute many lines. He opened his hands, the line slid through his fingers. The raft settled back. He was safe. The shark was gone.
“Whew!” he exclaimed, rubbing his burned fingers. “This life on a raft is not all it’s cracked up to be. You—”
His thoughts were interrupted by the rumble of thunder off in the distance. Or was it thunder?
He listened more closely. “Bombs!” he exclaimed. “They’ve made contact! Hurrah! Hit ’em hard and often, boys! Hit ’em hard!”
Would they take the island? He knew they would. No stopping the victorious Americans now. Island after island had fallen into their hands.
Other victories would follow. This island today, he thought. Mindanao the day after tomorrow. If only I can get back to the fleet before we tackle Mindanao, he thought with a touch of despair. “God, send someone to pick me up,” he prayed. “Please God, I don’t know much. Give me wisdom. Help me to get food from the sea and the sky. Send me back to my buddies.”
After that there didn’t seem to be much left to do but rest, relax, and watch for smoke on the horizon or a plane in the sky.
The rumble from the west died away, then rose again. The battle might last all day. Cruisers and destroyers would move in to shell Jap positions. The carrier would stand by. Perhaps the task force would slip away under cover of darkness. “If it does that, I’ll be sunk,” he murmured disconsolately.
He had managed to bring along a small canteen. He took a sip of water. He recalled that you were supposed to be able to get water by pressing out fish meat. He’d have to try that.
The sun was hot. It had been a tough night. He was tired and his head ached. Finally he stretched himself out and fell asleep.
A little more than an hour later he awoke with a start, clutched at his head with sudden violence, and grasped something hard and horny with each hand. He held on grimly, though his head and shoulders were being beaten unmercifully by something hard and sharp as a crowbar. He let out a gasp as some knifelike thing cut at his wrist, but still he held on.
At last, half standing up, he gave a mighty heave to bring a great bird with a ten-foot wing spread, down upon his raft.
“Oh! A gony!” he exclaimed. “You rascal! You nearly wrecked me! What were you doing on top of my head? Resting? Well, I’ll give you a good, long rest!”
The bird was an albatross, largest of all sea birds. Ted had learned a great deal about them from the old sailors, who called them gonies. They followed ships for thousands of miles, sleeping on the sea, or soaring miles on end, with their long, narrow wings spread wide.
This one, beyond a doubt, had been following their task force, but had been frightened away by the big guns.
“What’ll I do with you?” he demanded of the bird.
His answer was a snap on the ankle from its powerful jaws.
“I should kill and eat you,” he exclaimed. “You’re worse than a Jap! But I won’t—not yet. Men don’t eat gonies unless they have to. It’s supposed to bring bad luck. I’ll tie you up, that’s what I’ll do. Then we’ll try our luck together. If I’m rescued, you go free. If not, you get eaten.”
The gony winked as if he really understood. Then for good measure, he nipped at Ted’s ankle once more.
“You’ll be some company,” Ted said, as after binding the bird’s feet, he fastened a wide strap taken from his parachute about its wings and body.
Late in the afternoon he caught a fairly large fish. After pressing water from its meat, he drank a little. “Not impossible,” was his verdict. He ate some of the meat, then offered a bite to his gony, who, to his surprise, swallowed it.
“You must be a young fellow,” he said. “Friendly and green, like myself.” He laughed, and felt better.
Just as the sun was sinking in the west he saw a dark smudge that soon obscured the sun. “A ship!” He became greatly excited. Another smudge, and yet another. “The task force!” he exclaimed, standing up and nearly overturning his raft. “If only it would come this way!”
CHAPTER XV
THE SECRET BOOK
On the island of mysteries Jack watched with increasing astonishment as the jet plane soared away. It climbed up until it looked to be the size of a star, let out a scream, then faded with the speed of sound into the blue sky.
“Some plane!” he exclaimed, straining his eyes for one last glimpse of it. A plane like that could change the whole science of aviation. Yes, it’s a military secret, but whose secret? That’s the question. He was about to begin his homeward journey when a book, lying on the rocks, caught his attention.
Murder at Midnight, he read on the cover. “So that’s what they read!”
Picking up the book, he flipped it open, then a whistle escaped his lips. Two thirds of the pages of the original book had been replaced by pages on which clippings had been pasted. “A scrapbook! How strange!” He stood staring at it.
A moment later he nearly dropped it in his excitement. “It’s all about that mysterious plane! What a find!” he whispered.
Sitting down upon a flat rock, he began to read. There were articles in English, French, German, and Italian. Many he could not read at all, but the articles in English were more than enough to satisfy his curiosity. Much that he read about equalizers, reflecting blades, direpeller blades, slip streams, and burbles he understood only in part. At last he came to an article which gave him the desired information. This article read in part:
“Rocket propulsion, of course, is not a new thing; the basic idea is centuries old. As applied to aerial warfare it was employed on a crude basis even in World War I. The Italians made public an experimental flight of a propellerless jet-type plane several years ago. Long before that, automobiles were driven by rocket engines, and special rockets for making meteorological soundings in the substratosphere were in use....
“Nevertheless, the Anglo-American jet-propelled airplane represents the broadest application of the principle yet achieved.
“The jet plane carries no oxygen for its engine: its jet propulsion engine uses oxygen from the air. This engine has fewer parts and is of simpler construction than the traditional engine. It operates a mechanism which compresses the air. This air is mixed with atomized fuels such as gasoline, kerosene, alcohol, or some other fuels of the hydrocarbon family, rich in hydrogen. From that point forward the operation is the same as in the rocket engine; that is to say, the gas is released and ignited, the resulting expansion and emission through the jet providing the power....
“The development of the jet engine was made possible by a number of recent scientific achievements. One was the development of new alloys capable of withstanding extreme heat. The gases in combustion produce temperatures of 1500 degrees and over, and it is only in recent years that materials to resist such temperatures have been produced....
“Smoothness, simplicity, and evenness of power are three of the principal characteristics reported by pilots who have flown the new fighter plane powered by jet propulsion....
“Says one flier who has flown this plane: ‘It is the smoothest ride I’ve ever experienced in any plane. The first time I climbed into the cockpit I was naturally a little nervous about first contact with an entirely new method of propulsion. My nervousness persisted while I started the engines and until I started to taxi across the field for the take-off; then it dawned on me that this plane was even simpler to operate than a primary trainer. I flew it through all the maneuvers I wanted for twenty minutes, then landed, and taxied up to the line.
“‘I wanted to check the fuel before resuming flight, so before turning on the main switch to read the electrical fuel gauges, I stuck my head out of the cockpit and shouted, to warn the mechanics to stay clear of the propeller, completely forgetting that I didn’t have any propeller.’...
“Jet propulsion is necessary if we are to exceed the possibilities of propellers. A propeller literally screws its way through the air. The blades cause a partial vacuum. The greater the density of the air, the greater is the efficiency of the propeller. As we rise, the air becomes thinner. Finally a point is reached at which no propeller will ‘bite.’ The ceiling has been attained.
“With jet propulsion, exactly the opposite holds good. The less air there is, the more efficient is the motor. If the ejected gas has an expansion efficiency at rest of 40 feet in one-hundredth of a second—a rate of 4,000 feet a second—the same force exerted in motion would increase the speed up to a point where the maximum efficiency is reached at something like 10,000 miles an hour. Jet propulsion gets better and better as speed and height increase.
“As a matter of fact, with a fuel composed of liquid oxygen and gasoline, jet velocities of 12,000 feet a second have been obtained.”
There was one important question the article did not answer. How was the plane operated? Could he drop into the pilot’s place, set the plane screaming, and sail away at once? Jack wanted very much to know. Already he pictured himself slipping into the mystery plane and soaring away. “For,” he told himself, “we must get away from this island and back to our ship. We can’t miss the attack on Mindanao.
“Besides,” he added, catching his breath, “what a sensation I would create if I were to come swooping down to land that plane on the deck of the old Black Bee!
“I’d probably get myself shot up before I landed.” His face sobered. “But that could be taken care of some way.”
He tried to think what it would mean to come into possession of such a plane. “All depends upon who those fellows are,” he mused. “If they are our allies and I swiped their plane, I would very likely be put in the brig. But if they are Germans, and I got their secret weapon away from them, my picture would make the front page of every paper in America. I’d probably be made an admiral.” He laughed huskily. “What a life!”