Barry Blake of the Flying Fortress Read online

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ADRIFT

  The moment that Barry’s wheels touched the wave-packed sand, he knew hehad made no mistake. The beach was hard and smooth enough for atake-off. Best of all, its length at low tide made a runway as perfectas could be wished.

  A hundred feet from Crayle’s bomber, Barry stopped his plane.

  “Everybody out and swing her around!” he cried, unfastening his safetybelt. “Maybe we won’t have to take off in a hurry, but we’re going tobe prepared.”

  Glenn Crayle and his six team mates were standing rather gloomilybeside their ship. Evidently they had been laying full blame for theirpredicament on the pilot. Crayle’s sulky, handsome face was flushedwith anger as he glared at the newly arrived crew.

  “Couldn’t you find a beach of your own to set down on?” he snarled. “Ordid you just want to be chummy? If you came to bum gas, you’re out ofluck, Blake. Our tanks are dry.”

  Barry ignored him. With a pleasant nod of greeting he spoke to theother crew’s navigator, a blond, worried-looking chap.

  “We came down to ask if you fellows wanted a ride home,” he said. “Ofcourse, if you had any gas left it would help, but I think we stillhave enough left to take both crews back to base. What do you say?”

  The other’s worried frown vanished.

  “What can we say, except ‘Thanks?’” he answered heartily. “It’s prettyswell of you to risk a landing on this beach just to pick us up.”

  “That’s right!” the co-pilot agreed. “This island is enemy territory.You could have just gone on and reported us forced down here. Why youdidn’t do that, after what happened an hour ago, I can’t understand.”

  “Forget it!” smiled Barry Blake. “Help us turn our plane around, andpile in. We don’t want to hang around here till some Jap patrol planefinds us.... Coming, Crayle?”

  “No!” blurted the other pilot furiously. “Tonight there’ll be a chanceto find a Jap boat or plane along shore and transfer its gas. If noneof my crew has the nerve to take that chance with me, I’ll do it alone.”

  There was no answering such a crack-brained statement. Crayle’sproposition hadn’t one chance in ten thousand of accomplishment, evenwith a full crew to help him. Barry turned away with a shrug.

  Crayle’s crew followed him. The combined teams lifted the tail ofBarry’s plane and walked it around. Now the bomber was facing in thedirection from which she had come. As Barry Blake stooped to crawlthrough the belly hatch, Crayle’s co-pilot, Ted Landis, halted him.

  “Wait a minute, Skipper,” he said. “Crayle was lying when he told youour tanks were dry. We have nowhere near enough gas to reach PortDarwin, thanks to his stunting, but if we put it with yours, we’d allbe sure of getting home. Shall we get it now?”

  Barry hesitated. What Ted Landis proposed was common sense. On theother hand, Crayle would certainly prefer charges of mutiny, assaultand everything else he could contrive if they drained the tank of hisplane against his orders.

  “All right, Landis,” the young Fortress skipper decided. “We’ll dothat. And we’ll take Crayle along whether he wants to come or not. Wecan all testify that he is not behaving like a sane man. Drain off thatgas, Mister, and let’s get away from here the minute it’s transferredto our tanks.”

  The crew of the stranded bomber hurried back to it at Landis’ heels.Ignoring Crayle, the co-pilot and his engineer dived into the openhatch. The others stood beside it, blocking their furious skipper’s way.

  “I’ll have you all court-martialed!” Crayle shouted, completely besidehimself. “Stand away from that hatch—”

  “_Crayle Lied When He Said Our Tanks Were Dry!_”]

  “Look out!” yelled a member of his crew. “Here come the Japs—they’reon to us!”

  The droning of airplane engines swelled to a snarling roar. Over thetreetops came a twin-engined _Mitsubishi_ bomber, but she was notheading toward the two B-26’s. Evidently she had just taken off fromTanimbar on patrol, with no idea that enemy planes were so near. HerJap crewmen were probably more surprised than the Americans. Swerving,she opened fire with her bow and belly weapons as she started her climb.

  “Man those guns!” yelped Crayle. “That Jap will be back for us. Insidewith you!”

  Without a second’s hesitation the team obeyed. A moment before they haddefied his orders, but this was different. In a fight they’d stand bytheir skipper, crazy or not.

  Barry’s team was already inside. His Marauder’s engines bellowed. Likea startled seagull she swept down the long, straight beach. As Barrylifted her into the air he saw the Mitsubishi coming back.

  “Good grief!” he gasped. “She’s going over Crayle’s plane at a thousandfeet.... She’s going to _bomb_ as well as strafe it!”

  Climbing as he turned, he was still too far from the Jap for his.50-calibers to take effect. In a matter of seconds the _Mitsubishi_would drop her bomb at point blank range. The stranded Marauder’s crewwouldn’t have a chance!

  Evidently one member of Crayle’s team had realized this and decided tosave his own skin. He was running for dear life toward the jungle. Astracer bullets began streaking past him he flung himself flat.

  Leaning hard on the controls, Barry fairly whipped his plane around.Already Chick Enders was firing his bow gun. The two weapons in the topturret were raving.

  “Riddle the Jap!” Barry shouted. “Don’t let him drop that egg—Oh-h-h!”

  The slender, deadly shape of a falling bomb had caught his eye. To theagonized nerves of the watchers its descent seemed as slow as a fallingleaf’s. Deliberately its pointed end dipped downward, aiming straightat Crayle’s doomed plane.

  Barry did not wait for the explosion. With his jaw set like a rock, heheaded his B-26 for the enemy. The bomb’s blast barely jolted the airabout him.

  “Catch the Nip before he loses himself in the clouds!” Chick Endersmuttered, reaching for a new belt of ammunition. “He’s trying to runfrom us, and that’s his only chance.”

  “He won’t make it, Chick,” Barry replied through clenched teeth. “We’remore than a hundred miles faster.... You boys in the turret—startripping that _Mitsu’s_ belly. _Now!_”

  The turret guns chattered. A second later, Chick’s bow gun joined them.The Marauder was overtaking her enemy as if he were anchored.

  Smoke burst from the Jap’s fuselage. Flame licked at his left engine.He staggered like a wing-shot goose under the slashing American fire.His guns were still talking back, but their aim was nervous and poor.

  All at once a great ball of flame appeared just behind the Jap’s wings,and his nose dropped seaward. Swathed in fire, he plummeted into thewater.

  Barry banked sharply, turning back toward the island. The bombed B-26was blazing on the beach. At the jungle’s edge a lone figure laymotionless.

  “They’re all dead, Skipper,” Hap Newton muttered. “Let’s go home beforethe Nips send out a flock of Zeros to shoot us up....”

  “Wait!” Barry Blake exclaimed sharply. “That bird on the beach isn’tdead yet. I saw him move.”

  Barry swung away in a big circle and came in toward the end of thebeach. The others of his team realized what he intended; he was goingto land, regardless of risk, to save the neck of a coward who haddeserted his fighting crew-mates. At best it meant that they all wouldfail to reach Port Darwin on the gas that would be left. At worst, theZeros from Tanimbar would catch and strafe them on the beach.

  Yet not a man questioned their skipper’s decision. Each one was readyto back up Barry’s judgment with his life. The crew of _Sweet RosyO’Grady_ would remain a smoothly functioning unit as long as it existed.

  Barry’s second landing was as careful as his first. Rolling as near tothe burning bomber as he dared, he set the brakes, and followed HapNewton through the hatch. The man they had come to rescue was sittingup about fifty yards away.

  “It’s Crayle, the yellow pup!” Hap grated.

  “It _would_ be!” Chick bitterly exclaimed. “I alw
ays knew a hot pilotof his stripe would be a quitter when the real test came.”

  Barry Blake said nothing as he helped his crew turn the plane aroundfor a quick take-off. He was wondering whether Crayle’s dazed mannerwas real or faked. A trickle of blood from the pilot’s foreheadsuggested a head wound. The man was mumbling unintelligibly when theyreached him.

  Barry’s fingers quickly explored the gash in the injured man’s scalp.Crayle winced but voiced no protest. The wound, Barry found, was nomore than a shallow cut. Nowhere else on Crayle’s clothing did he seeany sign of blood.

  “Shell-shocked,” was the young skipper’s verdict. “His mind hassnapped, fellows. Maybe he’ll get over it shortly, but just now we’llhave to treat him like a baby. Help me carry him back to the plane,Hap.”

  “Let me, Skipper!” Fred Marmon said, taking Barry’s place. “I’ve beenfeeling useless ever since that _Mitsubishi_ torched down.”

  Despite their awkward burden, they broke into a run, conscious that anysecond might bring the snarling of Zero engines overhead, and a hail oftracer bullets. Barry, first into the belly hatch, turned to liftCrayle’s shoulders through the low door. Mickey Rourke, the last man,glanced up before ducking inside.

  “Here they come, sir!” he cried, as he dived through the opening. “FiveZeros, flying low from Tanimbar.”

  The bomber’s engine pulled her down the runway like a scared shadow.Her guns were spitting before she was in the air. One Jap explodedabove her, and the others scattered briefly. As the B-26 climbed, theycame in from all angles, stabbing at her with their tracers.

  Again and again Barry’s plane was needled by bullets. Twice shereceived shell hits as she roared up toward the sheltering cloudceiling. A second Zero fell away with his engine smoking. Then a shellhit Mickey Rourke’s tail gun.

  Barry heard the little Irishman’s yell over the intercom, and guessedits meaning. He zoomed sharply—the last thing that the pursuing Japexpected. Fred Marmon’s gun blasted the Nip plane an instant before theB-26 plunged into the clouds.

  “We’ll just stay here for a while,” Barry declared. “The Jap bulletsmissed my instrument panel. We can fly in any direction we choose aslong as our gas lasts. What’s your suggestion, Curly?”

  “Wait till I glance at my chart,” replied the navigator. “There’s amass of little islands at the southwest of us—part of the Babar group.We might set down there unobserved, especially if the ceiling is low.Of course, we’ll take big chances on finding a place to land.”

  A moment later he gave the compass course. Barry, who was flying duesouthwest, made the necessary correction.

  “How far is the island we’re aiming at?” he asked.

  “About a hundred miles,” Curly told him. “It’s not one island, but anest of little ones. The Japs are less likely to have them guarded.”

  “Good reasoning,” Barry commented. “I’m flying at a steady two hundredm.p.h. Figure out just when we’ll be six or eight miles from thenearest island, and let me know. I’m setting down on the water. If thiscrate fills and sinks too quickly, we’ll drown with her, but it’s worththe risk. We’ll probably be able to reach our rubber boats. In thatcase we can keep out of sight of Jap shore patrols until dark, and thenpaddle to land.”

  “Skipper,” said Hap Newton solemnly, “I wish I had half of your brains.In your place, I’d probably have tried to land. Of course, the Japswould spot the plane sooner or later, and the hunt would be on. Thisway we’ll have a swell chance of foxing them.”

  “We’ll still be three hundred miles from Port Darwin,” Chick Endersspoke up. “Maybe we can swipe a Jap motor launch some night—”

  “Don’t be so modest,” Hap broke in. “Why not a plane while we’re aboutit? I’d rather take a chance of getting shot down by our own fightersthan be potted like a sitting duck on the water by Jap Zeros.”

  “Hold it down, fellows!” Barry Blake ordered brusquely. “We’re hittingthe pond in a very few minutes. Get out of your parachute harness, andgrab a brace. Fred, you and Soapy Babbitt loosen the topside hatch soit won’t jam when we come down. Mickey Rourke will come forward so hewon’t be trapped in the tail if things go wrong. Hap, stand by thoselevers that spring the rubber rafts. Curly, the minute you give thesignal, we’ll cut the engines and nose down.”

  There were no more wisecracks. Barry’s crew obeyed orders withoutwasting a motion, and waited quietly for the next development. Only HapNewton spoke during those last minutes of flight.

  “I’ll take care of Crayle, Skipper,” he said. “He’ll be easy to handle,dazed as he is. I’ll inflate his lifejacket and boost him through thehatch.”

  “Ready, Skipper,” Curly’s warning came a few moments later. “Time to godownstairs.”

  Hap Newton cut the throttles. As the engines’ roar died out the plane’snose dipped seaward. When they broke through the low ceiling the waterrolled barely a thousand feet beneath.

  The ocean, Barry noted with thankfulness, was calm, except for a long,smooth ground swell. He must time his landing so as to set his shipdown in the middle of a watery valley. Thus he could kill her forwardmotion against the waning slope of the swell ahead, and the shell-tornbomber might float for a good many seconds. If he should miscalculateand strike a crest, his plane would dive like a fish.

  One glance only he spared for the island that lay nearest, a full sixmiles away. It was tiny—little larger than a city park. The Japs mighthave posted a guard or two on it, but at this distance they couldeasily fail to notice a bomber landing on the water with a dead stick.

  The long, oily swells now swept along barely a hundred feet below him.Barry picked the valley where he must try to set down.

  “This is it, fellows!” he warned.

  Every man in the plane except Crayle held his breath. The next secondsseemed age-long. Then came the shock.

  Fixtures flew from the bulkhead above the radio panel. Green waterpoured in through the shell holes in the bomb bay. It roused thehalf-stunned men to desperate action.

  Hap Newton had already sprung the rubber life rafts. These were nowfloating on either side of the plane, attached to it by light lines.Soapy Babbitt and Fred Marmon were first through the topside hatch, byBarry’s orders. Next came Mickey Rourke, the little tail gunner. Beforeclimbing out, Mickey tossed a queer-looking bundle to the men outside.It was a long, oilskin covered parcel wrapped in a Mae West lifejacket.

  “Don’t let it get away from yez,” he grunted, as he pulled himself up.“That bundle may be worth the lives of all of us before we’re through.”

  Chick Enders was the fourth man out, Curly Levitt the fifth. Theycrouched on the slippery, rolling fuselage, and reached down to takeCrayle’s limp weight from Hap Newton and Barry.

  “Hurry, you two!” Chick shouted. “This crate’s sinking fast.”

  Salt water was already three feet deep in the cockpit, as Barry turnedsharply on his co-pilot.

  “Up with you, Mister!” he snapped. “I’m last!”

  For the first and only time, Hap Newton was guilty of an act of mutiny.He seized Barry in a gorilla-like grip and literally hurled him throughthe opening overhead.

  “You’re worth three of me, Skipper,” he panted, “in everything butpounds!”

  On top of the waterlogged plane, Barry twisted himself around like acat, to face the hatch. Hap’s head and shoulders were over the edge asthe bomber’s nose dipped suddenly.

  “Quick, you idiot!” the young skipper cried. “She’s going under! What’sholding you, Hap!”

  “My feet!” the co-pilot gasped. “They’re tangled in a parachute harnessor something. Don’t wait for me, Skipper!”

  Barry grabbed the bigger man beneath the arms. His feet found apurchase on the hatch combing. With every muscle of his body straining,he added his strength to Hap Newton’s.

  “Now,” the thought wrenched at his brain, “something’s _got_ to giveway!”

  It did. Like a cork from a bottle Hap’s big body popped out of thehatch. B
oth men went under water. Breathless, stroking for dear life,they fought to reach the surface. The water seemed like a living enemy,clutching them, pulling them down. Their lungs were on fire.

  They broke surface together, gasping, not far from one of the rafts.Fred Marmon’s whoop of joy blended with the splash of paddles.

  “The plane—where’d it go?” Hap Newton gulped.

  “To Davy Jones’s locker!” Fred answered as he reached past Crayle tograsp the co-pilot’s hand. “We thought it had sucked you and theSkipper down with it.”

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