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 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
for something soft.” Jack seized the crab by its back and
tossed it far up on the slope.

“All the same,” Jack snapped off the light. “There was
something up there on that ridge, and it wasn’t a crab.”

“Why? How do you know?” Stew’s voice was low.

“A rock came tumbling down. Thought I caught a flash 58

of something white. I might have been mistaken.”

“We’ve got to watch our step.” Stew spoke in a solemn

tone.

“We sure must,” Jack agreed.

But something more than the thought of danger was

troubling Jack at this moment.

“If we don’t get off this island in a day or two,” he said

gloomily, “we’re almost sure to miss the Big Show.”

“Oh, yes,” Stew breathed. “Say! That’s right!”

“And I’d about as soon be dead as to miss that.” Jack’s

gloom deepened. Occasionally during his watch, when
he listened in vain for the sound of a rescue plane, the
thought of the “Big Show” and the part he wanted to
play in it became a definite goal.

Only the night before, the ship’s commander had said to

him, “We’ve got a little job to do down south of here.
Then, I hope, we’re due to join the big push for the
grandest show of all.”

Yes! The “Big Show”! Whispers had gone around the 59

ship. For two whole weeks rumors had been crystallizing
into facts. They would join other task forces, a dozen
carriers, some big battle wagons, a hundred—perhaps
two hundred—fighting ships, scores of transports and
cargo ships, as well as many fast PT boats. Then all
together, with the greatest fighting force the world had
ever known, they would go after Mindanao.

And what was Mindanao? For the fiftieth time Jack got
out a map, and flashing his pinpoint light on a spot said:

“There it is, one of the largest of the Philippine Islands.”

“MacArthur said he’d go back, and now we’re going,”

Stew said soberly.

“What do you mean, ‘we’?” Jack demanded bitterly.

“Looks as if we’re stuck right here.”

“I’ll be there if I have to swim!” Stew vowed.

“All right. Suppose you sit up for a while and think that
one over,” Jack suggested, “while I grab three winks of
sleep.”

60
 CHAPTER VIII
A LOOK AT A MYSTERY PLANE

Jack awoke with a start. The hot tropical sun shone on

his face. Despite the threat of danger, he had slept
soundly.

“Huh!” He sat up suddenly to find Stew laughing at him.

“That dream of yours must have been a humdinger!”

Stew exclaimed. “You were grinning from ear to ear in
your sleep.”

“Quite a dream,” Jack admitted. “I was back on my

uncle’s farm. It was morning. Birds were singing, and a
rooster crowing.”

“He still is.” Stew chuckled.

“Who still is what?” Jack stared.

“The rooster’s still crowing. Listen.”

Jack listened, and sure enough, there came the lusty

crow of a rooster.

“People!” Jack stood up. “Our island has inhabitants!

Where there’s chickens there’s folks! What do you know
about that? Shall we look them up?”

“Wait a minute!” said Stew in a puzzled tone. “You can’t 61

be sure there are people on these islands. Those
chickens may be wild.”

“Perhaps they are,” Jack agreed. “But that fellow who

flies the howling plane must be human, so we’d better
watch our step, since that means there’s someone on
the island.”

“I meant native people,” Stew corrected. “Many of these

small islands are deserted now. The natives went to
larger islands, or the Japs have taken them off. Perhaps
it’s true here.”

“Could be,” said Jack, “but if we don’t look up the

natives or whoever is on this place, how’ll we eat?”

“I guess it’s emergency rations for us,” Stew replied.

“But that’s not so bad. We’ve got matches for a fire and
there’s powdered coffee.”

“Coffee! Boy! Lead me to it!” Jack jumped up. “If you’ll

make a small fire and get the coffee ready, I’ll look
around a little and see what our possibilities are.”

“And I’m going to have a look at that screamer today or

know the reason why!” Stew told himself as he collected
dried shreds of palm fronds, coconut shucks, and
splinters of wood for a fire.

The crowing rooster had become mysteriously silent. 62

Convinced by this fact that he must be wild, Jack
climbed over boulders and forced his way through briar
patches to reach at last the crest of the ridge.
Not wishing to expose himself to so broad a view, he
threw himself down on a broad rock, then dragged
himself forward for a view of the land that lay beyond.
He let out a gasp of surprise.

Beneath him was a lower ridge, and on outcropping

rocks, with their backs to him, gazing off at the sea,
were two native girls. He knew too little about native
girls to judge their ages, but both seemed fully grown.
They wore short, loose dresses of bright-colored cotton.

The two girls were so strangely different that it seemed

they could hardly belong to the same tribe. “And yet,”
the boy reasoned, “they must.” Both were quite dark,
but there the similarity ended. One was short and
stocky, with a mop of black hair that stood out all
around her head.

“Regular fuzzy-wuzzy,” Jack told himself.

The other girl was rather slender, and her hair, though
black and curly, had a tendency to lie down.

The short stout one held a live chicken by its feet.

“There goes our rooster,” Jack thought.

The tall girl had a bunch of small wild bananas slung

over her shoulder.

“Oh, well,” he thought, “they may have left a bunch of 63

bananas still on the stalk near here.”

Just then the tall, slender girl, turned halfway around.

Startled, not wishing to be seen, Jack drew back.

When he looked again the two girls were walking along

the rocks. He got a profile view of them. “Yes,” he
thought, “they are very different.” Both were barefoot,
but the tall one walked with a joyous spring, while the
other one just plodded along. With a laugh the tall girl
lifted the bunch of bananas to her head, then, with this
crown, she moved away as regally as a queen.

When they had vanished into the bushes he slid back

down the rock to his own side of the ridge. After
following the ridge for a short distance he took a
different route toward their beach.

To his great joy, half way there he came upon a cluster

of banana plants growing in a narrow run.

A small stream went trickling and tumbling down the

center of the run. Taking a collapsible drinking cup from
his pocket, he bent over a pool to fill the cup, then
started in surprise. In the soft sand by the pool was the
fresh imprint of a bare foot.

“They’ve been on our side of the ridge,” he told himself.

“Half way down the slope. I wonder if they saw us?”
This discovery disturbed him. One never could tell about
natives in these wild islands.

The water was fresh and cold. 64

“Umm! Cold spring!” he murmured. “Water supply.” He

made a mental note—he must follow that stream back
to its source.

When he arrived at the banana patch, he discovered

more evidence of their visitors, if they might be called
that. One banana plant was minus a freshly cut bunch
of bananas.
Selecting a fine bunch that was still green, he cut it off
with a sheath knife, shouldered it, and went back down
the ridge.

“We’re not alone here,” he said, when he reached camp.

“How come?” Stew asked.

“Natives beat us here. I saw two of them. They had our

rooster. But I got some bananas.”

“I see,” said Stew. “How come you picked green ones?”

“They’ll be all right when they ripen,” Jack explained.

“When they ripen on the plant, bananas are not fit to
eat. They lose their flavor and become tasteless; also
the skin bursts open and the ripening pulp is attacked
by insects. We’ll hang this bunch up to ripen in the
shade, and eat them as they ripen.”

They drank coffee and nibbled at the chocolate.

“Were those natives armed?” Stew asked. 65

“Oh, sure!” Jack smiled.

“Spears or clubs?”

“Knives,” said Jack. He might have added, “and smiles,”

but did not.

“What’ll we do about the natives?” Stew asked.

“Nothing. At least, not till night. You can’t tell about

natives. They must live in a village or a camp.”

“Sure. We’ll have to find out where it is.”

“We’ll slip around at night and have a look at them.”

“Then we’ll know better what we’re up against. That’s a

good idea,” Stew agreed. “But when it comes to seeing
that screamer, I’m in favor of having a long-distance
look in the daytime. If it’s a plane, and they’re Japs or
Germans, we’ve got to see what can be done about it.”

“We’ll wander up along this side of the ridge after a

while,” Jack replied. “That plane, or whatever it is, must
be on this side. I think the native village is on the other
side. We’ll try to dodge the natives for the present.”

Eager to explore the island and solve its mysteries, they 66

were soon working their way along the sloping side of
the ridge. Almost at once they came upon a hard-
beaten trail that ran along the smoothest portion of the
slope.

“Native trail,” was Jack’s verdict.

“That doesn’t sound too good to me,” said Stew. “We

may meet some of those big boys with long spears.
They have a playful way of fastening flying squirrels’
teeth to the point of a spear, for barbs. If you do get the
spear out, the teeth stay in.”

“Look!” Jack stopped suddenly to examine a soft spot in

the trail.

“Hoof prints!” Stew exclaimed. “But shucks! They’re

small. Those animals can’t be very dangerous!”

“Can’t they?” Jack laughed. “Little wild boars with long

noses and curved ivory tusks. Let me tell you, a palm
tree makes pretty tough climbing, but if you ever hear
one of those little porkers grunting behind you, you’ll
climb one easy enough. We don’t dare fire a shot.”

In the end, their fears proved groundless. They walked

the length of the slope, some three miles, and came at
last to a place where the island sloped away in a series
of treeless ledges.

On the last ledge, which sloped very gradually into the 67

sea, there was something resembling a plane. Two men
were moving about it. Since they were still half a mile
away, they could make out very few details of this
strange setup.

Pulling his companion into the shadow of a rock, Jack

unslung his small binoculars for a look. Instantly his lips
parted in surprise.

“That plane has no propeller!” he exclaimed.

“Probably took it off for repairs,” Stew suggested.

“Who knows?” Jack was clearly puzzled. “It doesn’t look

quite like any plane I ever saw.”

“What are the men like?” Stew asked. “Give me a look.”

“Huh!” he grunted, when he held the binoculars to his

eyes. “White men—not Japs. Not in uniform. Might be
anybody.”

“Probably German traders who stayed here,” Jack

suggested. “These islands were full of them before the
war.”

“In that case I’m for getting off this island mighty
quick!” Stew declared.
“How?”

“Natives might help us. But say! What’s going on?”

Steve’s voice rose. Jack hushed him up.

“Look!” Stew insisted in a whisper, handing back the

binoculars. “They’re gassing her up! Aren’t those
kerosene barrels?”

“Sure are,” Jack agreed, after a look. “But you could put
gas in them.”

Fascinated, the boys watched until the strangers had 68

finished fueling the plane and had rolled the barrels into
a crevasse, where they covered them with driftwood
and dry palm fronds.

“Mighty secretive,” Stew whispered.

“So are all the islanders these days. This is war. We—
look!” Jack’s whisper was shrill. “They’ve climbed in to
take off and they haven’t any propeller!”

“Good joke on them!” Stew chuckled. “They won’t get

far.”

The plane was facing the sea. When the brakes were
released, it slid slowly down the slope into the water.
Ten seconds later the plane let out a low squeal, then
started gliding over the blue sea. The squeal rose to a
howl. Faster and faster went the propellerless thing until
at last it left the water to sail away at tremendous
speed.

“What do you know about that!” Jack stood staring until

the plane was a mere speck in the sky. “That’s
something I won’t believe—a plane without a propeller
that squeals and howls and goes faster than any plane
you or I ever saw. Come on! Let’s go down there for a
better look at those fuel drums.”

“But there might be more men.” Stew hung back.

“Nonsense! If there were others they wouldn’t have 69

hidden the drums!”

“Guess you’re right.” Stew followed Jack.

Once they were at the spot the plane had just left, they
were convinced at once that the mystery plane actually
burned kerosene, for the air was filled with kerosene
fumes and the buckets and barrels smelled of it.
“Kerosene, beyond a doubt,” Jack exclaimed. “Think of
doing four or five hundred miles per hour on kerosene!

“Come on! Let’s get out of here! They may come back.”
He led the way rapidly up the slope.

70
 CHAPTER IX
THE TAGGED MONKEY

There was little room to doubt that the trail they had
followed was used by natives as well as by animals, for
on their way back they came upon fresh prints of bare
feet in the soft earth.

Stew had uncomfortable visions of poisoned arrows and

darts from blowguns flying at them through the brush,
but Jack, gripping his automatic, marched straight
ahead.

Arriving at the spot where the narrow stream tumbled

down, they decided to follow it to its source. In just a
moment they found themselves confronted with a
problem. They had come to a thicket of thorny bushes.
These formed an arch over the stream.

“Just one thing to do—pull off our shoes and wade it,”
Jack decided.

“Go native.” Stew laughed as he kicked off his G.I.

brogans.

“Whew! Cold!” he exclaimed as he plunged his feet into 71

the water. But on they went. Tumbling down a steep
slope the stream formed many pools, some fairly large.
As he waded through one of these up to his knees, Jack
exclaimed:

“There are fish in this pool! I feel them tickling my

toes!”

“Great!” Stew was an ardent, though usually an unlucky,

fisherman. “Got a line?”

“I sure have!” Jack pulled a hook and line from his

pocket. “I took it from the rubber raft. They all carry
them now, just in case.”

“And you brought one along, just in case,” Stew

laughed. “Wait till we’re out in the clear and we’ll hook
our dinner.”

Just then Jack paused to listen. From up stream there

came the sound of splashing water, then of rocks rolling
down, and after that a hoarse grunt.

“Wild pigs!” Stew whispered.

“Probably doing a little fishing on their own,” Jack

suggested.

“Boy! Wouldn’t a young porker taste good roasted over

the coals! And here they don’t take ration points!” Stew
laughed.

“But they do take shots,” Jack protested. “And shots are

out. We’re not going to bring those natives down on us,
not before we’ve had a good look at them.”

“Boy! Oh boy! Are we in a pickle!” Stew exclaimed. “If 72

some old boar comes down this stream looking for
trouble he’ll force us into a fight. If we shoot and miss,
he’ll tear us up.”

“Tell you what!” Jack decided after a moment’s thought.

“We’ll keep going as long as we can. Then we’ll work
our way back up the bank into the bush and let that
drove of porkers pass.”

“As long as we can” was only another ten yards, for

suddenly the old guardian of the drove caught their
scent and came charging down upon them.

By a mighty struggle they forced their way back into the

brush just before the ugly beast with chop-chopping
jaws and gleaming tusks came charging past.

The lesser fry, about a half dozen of them, had just

stampeded past, when the old boar turned and came
charging back upstream. This time he made no mistake.
His beady eyes were upon Stew.

As he lowered his ugly head preparing for a charge,

Stew drew his automatic, but Jack, swinging a knife that
was a cross between a sheath knife and a machete,
struck the angry beast a cutting blow across his ugly
snout.

With a loud squeal and an angry grunt, the mad

creature came on. Jack let him have it again, neatly
carving out a curled ivory tusk.

Before he could swing again the pig reared, gnashed its 73

teeth, then tumbled back into the stream, to go rushing
away.

“Boy! But that was close!” Stew exclaimed, when after a

short wait they resumed their journey upstream.
At the top of the brush canopy, to their surprise they
came upon a tiny lake. All rimmed round with gray
rocks, it was blue as the sky above, and in its clear
water many tropical fish were moving.

“Boy! Any rich man in America would give a fortune to

have this in his back yard!” Jack exclaimed.

“Yeah, sure,” Stew agreed. “But a fish is a fish and I’m

having some broiled for supper.”

“Here’s the line.” Jack held it out to him. “Try your luck.
I’m going up higher to find the spring.”

A few yards farther up, the stream forked, and at the

head of the first fork he sought and found a cool,
bubbling spring. And beside that spring was the telltale
mark of a human foot.

“Must be a big village of natives,” he told himself.

“Sooner or later, we’ll have to cast our lot with them,
but I’m bound I’ll have a look at them first.”

Jack filled his canteen and stood for a time staring off at 74
the sea. Once he imagined that he caught the scream of
that mysterious, propellerless plane, but in the end he
decided that it was a wild parrot’s call.

At last his gaze was fixed on one spot. Raising his

binoculars he took a good look.

Something out there on the sea, all right! he assured

himself. Pretty far out. Looks like a raft or a partially
submerged plane. It’s sure to drift this way. Current and
wind are both right. If it were only a plane we could put
in working order.
When he returned to the small lake, he found Stew the
proud possessor of a fine string of fish.

“Grubs,” he explained. “I got grubs out of a rotten log

and used them for bait.”

“Come on,” said Jack. “We have enough fish for this
time. In this climate they won’t keep.”

“Just one more,” Stew begged as he cast in his line. He

had the fish at once, so with a sigh he gathered up his
catch, strung on a crotched stick. Then they were off.

“The thing that burns me up,” said Jack, as they made

their way down the slope, “is that the old Black Bee may
at this very moment be ganging up with a lot of other
fighting ships for a whack at Mindanao.”

“And if she is,” Stew groaned, “we’ll miss the biggest

show of the whole war.”

“That’s right,” Jack agreed. “Biggest and best.” 75

“‘Remember Pearl Harbor,’” Stew quoted. “How can we

forget? We’ve just got to get off this island—even if we
have to borrow that propellerless plane or walk right in
on the natives and say, ‘Here! Give us a lift in your
canoes.’”

“We’ll have to make haste slowly,” Jack replied

thoughtfully. “We probably couldn’t fly that plane if
those fellows gave it to us as a present. Imagine a
plane that flies without a propeller!”

“I can’t,” said Stew.

“But you saw it, didn’t you?”

“I sure did, on the outside. Sometime I’ll see the inside
of it, too. You watch my smoke!”

“I’ll watch.” Jack laughed.

“But they may not come back.”

“Something tells me they will. There’s still enough

kerosene hidden away in that giant crevasse to take
them round the world. Looks like their base.”

After that the boys tramped on in silence.

The fish, broiled over a fire of coals, were delicious.

When they had devoured the whole string, Stew
thought of dessert.

“How about a banana?” he suggested.

“They haven’t had time to ripen yet,” replied Jack. Stew 76

sprang to his feet, took one look at the tree from which
the bananas hung, then exclaimed in a whisper:

“Jeepers! Look who’s here!”

On top of the bunch, holding a banana, sat a small

monkey with a dried-up manlike face.

“Wait!” Jack whispered. “I’ll give him a surprise!”

Creeping up very softly, he suddenly popped up within
five feet of the monkey.

Oddly enough, the monkey did not appear to be the

least bit startled. Looking Jack in the eye, he stared at
him solemnly for a space of seconds, then with both
tiny hands gripping it, he held out the banana.

“Somebody’s pet!” Stew exclaimed.

“He sure is!” Jack agreed. “And look! There’s a silver
chain around his neck!”

“Here, monk!” Going closer, he patted his shoulder, and

said in a quiet voice:

“Jump, boy, jump!”

And the monkey jumped. A moment later the little

monkey was nestled in Jack’s arms.

“What do you know about that!” Stew exclaimed.

“And what do you know about this?” Jack echoed. “This

chain on his neck is tagged. Why, it’s the identification
disk of an Army nurse. What do you suppose that
means?”

“Might mean almost anything,” said Stew. “Perhaps she 77

came ashore here, shipwrecked, or something, and the
natives ate her.”

“That, in my estimation, is out,” Jack said, stroking the

monkey’s head.

“How come?”

“If that were true, this monkey must have belonged to

the natives. The theory would be that they saved the
tag and put it round the monkey’s neck.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Just this. Monkeys are very particular about the

company they keep. If this one belonged to the natives
he’d never make friends with a couple of plane-wrecked
white men.”
“All right then, he belonged to the nurse. The monkey
escaped, but the nurse was eaten.”

“I still think you’re wrong,” Jack insisted. “It will be dark

in a short time,” he added. “We’ll just wander over for a
look at the natives. Then perhaps we’ll know what to
think.”

“And perhaps we won’t,” Stew laughed softly. “Anyway,

it’s worth trying.”

78
 CHAPTER X
“HIST THERE! YOU!”

Two hours later, peering from a thicket of tall ferns and

sprouting palms, the two boys were witnessing one of
the most fascinating moving pictures from real life that
they had ever chanced upon. About a broad fire of coals
was a group of thirty or forty natives. Some were seated
on palm logs, and some were standing. All were talking
and laughing.

“Um-m-m! Lead me to it!” Stew whispered.

The object of his desire hung dripping over the glowing

coals. A small porker, bound to an iron rod that slowly
turned him over and over, had reached a shade of
delicious, golden brown.

“And barbecued pork is the thing I am fondest of.”

Stew’s whisper betrayed real agony.

“We’ll barbecue one some time,” was Jack’s only reply. 79

He had been studying the group intently. They were a
motley throng. There were big, dark-skinned men in the
group who could have placed him across a knee and
broken his back. There were dark-eyed, laughing
children that anyone could love.
The men, for the most part, wore cotton trousers. Some
of the women wore dresses, some only cotton skirts,
and some were in native grass skirts.

“There’s that tall, slim one turning the roast,” Jack

whispered.

“What tall, slim one?” Stew replied.

“Oh! I didn’t tell you!” Jack laughed softly. “I’ve seen

her before.”

“You would!” Stew mocked.

Over near one corner of the fire two dusky maidens

were baking some sort of cakes and stacking them in
appetizing piles. The roasting of the porker appeared to
have been left to the tall, slim girl. She turned and
twisted it, prodded it with a huge fork, then turned it
again. At last, taking up a large knife, she cut off a slice,
held it up, and blew on it to cool it.

At once from the throng rose an expectant murmur.

Stew joined in.

“Keep still, Stew!” Jack warned in a whisper.

Without really knowing why, Jack had brought the

monkey on his shoulder. Now the little fellow stirred
uneasily.

The girl at last handed the slice of bronzed pork to an

old man with a long, wrinkled face.

Carving off a small portion, he put it in his mouth. For a 80

space of seconds his face was a study. Then it was
lighted by a wide grin. He said a single word. At that the
crowd exploded with joyous anticipation.

“It’s done. The porker is roasted. And we don’t get even

a bite,” Stew groaned. “What a life!”

Then a strange thing happened. The crowd lapsed into

silence. Only the snapping of bursting coals could be
heard as the natives bowed their heads while the girl
said a few words in a low tone.

“Grace before meat,” Stew whispered. “What more can

you ask?”

“Plenty,” was Jack’s reply. “The Nazis and the Japs also
pray. Then they go out to massacre women, children,
and helpless prisoners of war. We’ll wait and see.”

As if this scene awakened memories in his small brain,

the monkey on Jack’s shoulder stirred, danced for a
second, then gave an immense leap that landed him
almost in the center of the throng.

“Now we’ve got to beat it! They’ll be looking for us!

Let’s scram!”

It was a disconsolate Stew who trudged along the

native trail toward their camp. “Lot we gained by that!”
he grumbled. “Just a look at a grand feed! They were
putting slices of pork between cakes when we left.
Besides, we lost our monkey!”

“We know more about the natives now,” said Jack. 81

“Lot more. They say grace and eat nurses!” Stew

mocked.
“We couldn’t prove that. Perhaps the nurse gave them
her dog tag.”

“Fine chance!” Stew lapsed into silence.

Jack was not thinking of the natives now, but of Ted,

Kentucky, and all the other fellows on the Black Bee. “If
they attack Mindanao before we get back to the ship, I’ll
never recover,” he thought.

“Hush!” Stew stopped to listen.

Faint and far away they caught a long-drawn wail like a

bow drawn slowly over the C string of a violin.

“The Howler is coming back to roost,” said Stew.

“Sounds that way,” Jack agreed.

“Boy! I’d like to have one more look at that plane!” Stew
said eagerly.

“We’ll take a good look one of these times,” Jack

assured him. “We’ve seen enough for one day.”

They stood there listening until the howl of the rapidly

approaching mystery plane had reached its height, then,
as on that other night, wavered and ceased.

“They’re here all right,” Stew said, as they paused on a 82

tall, barren rock to look back. On the spot where the
plane had been parked before, they caught the gleam of
a wavering light.

When they reached the beach, ready to start on the last

quarter mile of their walk, they paused once more. The
tide was coming in. Above the rushing sound of the
breakers on the beach they had caught a bump—bump
—bump. After ten seconds of listening, they heard a
loud crash.

“What’s that?” Stew asked in surprise.

“Don’t ask me. Let’s go see.” Flashlight in hand, Jack

was clambering over the rocks.

“It’s a life raft,” he called back a moment later. “Waves

threw it on the rocks. Come on! Let’s grab it before a
bigger wave carries it back.”

It was a large raft, wet and slippery. They got a good

ducking before they had the raft high and dry. They
were soon to learn that it was worth their effort.

“It’s a Jap raft!” Stew exclaimed. He had discovered

Japanese characters on a sealed metal cannister.

“Must have come from a carrier,” suggested Jack. “Too

big for a cruiser or a destroyer.”

“I’ll bet it came from that carrier we spotted!” Stew

exploded, becoming greatly excited. “Boy! Oh boy! Our
bombers got them!”

Jack was not too sure of this. However, they soon 83

established the fact that the raft was undamaged and
had no broken lines attached to it, so it could not have
been blown from the carrier by a bomb. Then Jack was
convinced that the Japs must have lost the raft in trying
to launch it while under fire, and that the carrier must
have been sunk.

“That’s swell!” he sighed. “Means we’ve been some use

to our country. I hope Ted and all the rest got home
safely.”

“It’s great news!” Stew agreed. “But that means our

task force finished that job twenty-four hours ago, so
where are they now?”

“You tell me,” Jack sighed.

“But say!” Stew exclaimed. “There are three or four big

sealed cans attached to the raft. Let’s cut them loose
and take them in.”

“Sure! That’s what we’ll do!” Jack agreed. “Then we’ll

open them and see what kind of luck we’ve had.”

They carried away the three large cans, to open them

later by the light of a small fire built among huge rocks,
where the glow would not show.

One can they found to be filled with food—packages of

rice and tea, bars of bitter chocolate, and small tins of
fish. They put away these supplies against some evil
day.

The second can also contained some food. Besides this 84

there was a quantity of first-aid material. Finding this in
good condition, they stowed it away carefully.

The last can promised to be the grand prize, provided

they could figure it out. It was a small radio sending set,
powered by electricity generated by turning a crank.

“It’s an imitation of our American emergency radio,”

Jack declared after looking it over. “Take a lot of doping
out, but it’s our best bet for getting in touch with our
ship. We’ll get busy on it first thing in the morning.
“And now,” he added in a changed voice, “how would
you like to grab a few winks of sleep while I guard camp
and solve some of the problems of the universe?”

“Nothing would suit me better.” Stew yawned. “It’s been

a long day.”

It was a gloomy little world Jack watched over that

night. Dark clouds had come rolling in at sunset. They
had thinned out a little now, giving the moon an
occasional peek at him.

“Just enough to give some prowler a shot at us in the 85

night,” he grumbled to himself. He wished he knew who
those men were with the propellerless plane. How was
he to find out? Ask the natives? But were these natives
to be trusted? Missionaries had beyond a doubt been
here, but they weren’t here now. “How long does it take
these primitive people to drop back into their old ways?”
he asked himself. But he found no answer.

“Things will work themselves out,” he reasoned

hopefully.

After that he gave himself over to thoughts of the folks

at home. Dad and Mom seated by the fire—Patsy in the
house next door, studying perhaps, or entertaining one
of the 4-H boys. How shadowy and far away it all
seemed now.

He was deep in the midst of all this when suddenly, as

the moon cast a patch of light on his beach and the
cluster of palms not twenty yards away, he was startled
by a voice at his very elbow.

“Hist there! You!” it whispered.

Startled, but standing his ground, he gripped his
automatic, then in his hoarsest whisper answered:

“Hist back to you!”

86
 CHAPTER XI
NIGHT FIGHTERS

Jack’s conclusions regarding the Black Bee’s fight with

the Jap task force were correct. After he and Stew had
been driven from the scene of fighting and had
abandoned their plane on the sea, the U. S. dive
bombers had come in for their deadly work. Diving from
twelve thousand feet, they had released their bombs at
a thousand feet. Some bombs missed their mark.
Others made contact. One fell forward on the Jap
carrier, killing a gun crew. Two fell almost directly on the
propeller, rendering it useless. While the carrier ran
around in wide circles, the torpedo bombers closed in.
Judging the enemy’s probable position at a given
moment, they released their “tin fish” with such deadly
accuracy that one side of the carrier was blown away.
Just as the Japs began abandoning ship, the carrier
blew up.

A squadron of U. S. dive bombers that had arrived too 87

late to work on the carrier, went after the fleeing
cruisers, which did not pause to pick up their own men
struggling in the water. Two cruisers were sunk, and one
left in flames.
Ted had limped back to his own waters to make a crash
landing in the sea close to the Black Bee, and to be
picked up by a PT boat. All in all it was a glorious fight.
One U.S. fighter and his gunner were permanently lost.
They had been seen to fall flaming into the sea. A
service was read for these men by the chaplain.

The Commander lost no time in letting his men know

that this battle was in the nature of an accident and that
the real goal of the task force at that time still lay
ahead.

All day they steamed rapidly toward the west.

“It’s Mindanao,” Kentucky, Ted’s flying partner, said to

him. “We’re going to hit them where they live, in the
Philippines. And will we take revenge!” Kentucky’s eyes
were half closed as he looked away to the west. Ted
knew that at that moment he was thinking of “the best
pal I ever knowed,” as Kentucky had expressed it to
him, whose grave had been dug the day after the
smoke cleared from Pearl Harbor.

“Did the Commander tell you it was going to be

Mindanao?” Ted asked.

“No. But I’m plumb certain it has to be from the course 88

we’re taking,” was the answer. “Just you wait an’ see!
Some evening about sundown we’ll be meetin’ up with
another task force. An’ then, man! You’ll really see some
fightin’ ships!”

They did fulfill a rendezvous at sunset, but the force

they met did not fit into Kentucky’s picture. It consisted
of four transports, three cargo vessels and their escorts,
two cruisers, and three destroyers.
The two forces moved into position, then steamed on
toward the west. Two hours later the Commander called
Kentucky into the chart room. Since Ted was with him at
the time, he invited him to accompany them.

“You too may be in on this,” he said to Ted as they

entered the brightly lighted cabin. “So you might as well
know what it’s all about.”

Wasting no time, he led the boys to a large chart spread

out on a table.

“This is where we are,” he said, pointing to a spot on

the chart with a pencil.

“And this is about where we were during the battle with

the Jap task force, is it not, sir?” Ted too pointed.

“Right,” said the Commander.

“Then Jack and Stew, if they made it, are on one of

these three islands?” Ted pointed again.

“That seems probable.” Then, reading the look of 89

longing on Ted’s face, the Commander added,
“Everything in its time, son. We do not desert our boys
if it can be helped. I am sure you shall yet play a part in
the rescue of your buddies.

“But now,” his voice changed, “there is other work to be

done—dangerous work. This island,” he pointed once
again, “is our present destination.”

“Not Mindanao then, sir?” Kentucky heaved a sigh of

disappointment, for the Commander had pointed to a
small island just inside a coral reef.
“Not Mindanao this time.” The Commander smiled. “This
is to be a step in that direction. At present we do not
have a force large enough for that undertaking. But
some time we’ll hit Mindanao, and hit it hard,” he
added.

“That’s good news, sir,” said Kentucky.

“Now we have another mission.” The Commander’s

voice dropped. “The troops we are convoying tonight
are to be landed shortly after dawn. Just before dawn
we shall attack, using planes and warships.”

“Tear them to pieces!” Kentucky beamed.

“We hope to. But first,” the Commander weighed his

words, “we may run into trouble. And that’s where you
boys come in.”

“What sort of trouble, sir?” Ted asked quickly.

“Land-based torpedo planes, perhaps.” The Commander 90

spoke slowly. “We are not quite sure the Japs have
them. We do know there’s a landing field on the island.”

“We’ll take them fast enough if they come after us, sir.”
Kentucky squared his shoulders.

“At night it is not so easy,” was the quiet reply.

“Night!” Ted stared.

“Your squadron has been making practice flights at

night recently,” said the Commander. “That wasn’t for
fun.”
“I—I suppose not.” Ted was trying to think what going
after torpedo bombers at night would be like. “Exciting,”
he told himself. “And very dangerous.”

“In the past,” the Commander spoke once more, “our

task forces have been destroying their torpedo planes
long before they reached us in the daytime. So—”

“So they’re going to come after us in the dark, sir?”

Kentucky suggested.

“Our Intelligence Service has strongly hinted at it,” said

the Commander. “So,” he drew a deep breath, “I
thought you, Kentucky, would like to call for four
volunteers to be ready for night fighting, just in case
they come after us.”

“Count me in on that, sir—that is, if you think I’m good

enough,” Ted volunteered.

“You’re plenty good,” said Kentucky. “Your plane was 91

shot up. Got a new one yet?”

“Sure have, same kind of a plane,” said Ted.

“Good. Then you’re on,” Kentucky agreed.

“We’ll be in the vicinity of the island by midnight,” said

the Commander. “Have your planes in position ready to
take off at a moment’s notice. Two destroyers will move
in close far ahead of us. If Jap planes take off they will
notify us. You won’t forget the soldiers crowded on
those transports? Transports are vulnerable.”

“We won’t forget, sir.” There was a look of

determination on Kentucky’s lean face as he left the
chart room.
It was an hour after midnight when word came from the
radio cabin that twelve night torpedo bombers had left
the shore of the Jap-held island.

At once there was hurried, excited action, but no

confusion. The four night fighter planes were warmed
up. The fliers took their places, tested their guns,
studied their instruments, then settled back.

Besides Kentucky and Ted, there were Red Garber and

Blackie Dawson. The ship carried no better fighters than
these.

“Remember, fellows,” Kentucky called just before they 92

parted, “the thing to do is to rip right in and get them
confused. That way they’ll think there are a lot of us.”

“And they’ll start shooting one another up,” Red

laughed.

One by one they cleared the deck to soar away into the
night.

The night was not all dark. The moon came out at
times, but not for long. Clouds went scudding across the
sky.

“We’re not a moment too soon,” Ted thought as in a

brief period of moonlight he caught sight of a dark bulk
against the night sky.

“There they are!” came in a quiet tone over his radio. It

was Kentucky speaking. “Let’s bear down on them.
Can’t hold formation. Every man for himself. Choose
your targets carefully. We can’t have lights on. They’d
get us sure. But let us not shoot one another up.”
They bore down upon the advancing enemy.

It was an exciting moment, but to Ted everything

seemed strangely unreal.

“Like a dream,” he told himself.

He knew soon enough that it was no dream. 93

Underestimating their combined speed, he almost ran
into the foremost enemy plane. He was seen, but by the
time guns rattled, he was not there. Going into a stall,
he circled left, then came up below the bomber
formation.

“Well, I had a look at them,” he told himself. They were

powerful two-motored planes. He had tried as he
passed under them to estimate their speed.

Suddenly, off to the right there came the quick rat-tat-

tat of machine-gun fire.

“That’s Kentucky!” He thrilled to his fingertips. “I

wonder what luck!”

That was all the time he had for speculation. He was

now behind the enemy formation, swinging into
position. And there, again, was the moon. To his great
joy, he found that the bombers were between him and
the moon, where they could be clearly seen.

With a sudden increase in speed he came up on the last

plane, let out a burst of fire, then, swinging right,
poured a second volley into the next plane. Then again
all was dark.

To his surprise, in the midst of this darkness he heard

gunfire—heard it again, and yet again. “They’re at it!”
he exulted. “Fighting one another.”

Then suddenly the sky about him was all alight. A

hundred yards away a big Jap plane had burst into
flame.

With a gasp, he pointed his plane’s nose down and 94

dropped into space. He was not a second too soon, for
the exploding plane all but blew him into the sea.

When he had righted himself, he wondered momentarily

whether or not that plane was his kill.

Then the moon came out. By that time some of the

bombers, now badly scattered, were some distance
away. Once again the moon painted a picture. A small
plane, like a catbird after a hawk, darted at the bomber.

“Kentucky!” he shouted aloud. “Good old Kentucky! Give

it to him!” He saw the flash of fire, heard the rattle,
then his picture was gone.

Ten seconds later the sky was lighted once again by a

burning bomber sinking toward the sea.

Off to the left another bomber exploded with a roar.

One of the other night fighters had gotten his man.

“They’re scattered now,” Ted thought as he set his plane

climbing. “Their torpedoes will never reach their marks.
They—”

His thoughts were interrupted. The moon having come

out once more, he found himself above a Jap torpedo
plane. Tilting his plane at a rakish angle he fired straight
down. His shots were answered by a burst of fire from a
small free machine gun. The slugs ripped into his motor.
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