Trouble on His Wings (8 page)

Chapter
Nine

T
HE
ship plowed through the soft
dark of the Eastern Sea, phosphorus curling in straight lines away from the
bow, a small slice of a moon paving the water with silver squares. Within four
or five hours, and still before dawn, they would dock at the Japanese port.

The Jinx rested
against the rail, looking down at the sea, her thoughts a turmoil of misery
but, for all that, looking very lovely in the softness of the night. She became
aware of Johnny standing beside her and she made an effort to rally. “It's
lovely, isn't it? If . . . if only I knew what was going to happen, I might be
able to enjoy it more. I've never been in the Orient until now.”

Johnny dragged
thoughtfully on his cigarette. “Well, if that's all it will take to make you
happy, I can tell you all about it. We're going to be held incommunicado until
hell freezes over. We know too much about Japanese methods in general and the
sinking of an American-owned transport in particular. They know what the US
press would say about the murder of a pilot and Mr. Wu.”

“You mean Mr. Wu—”

“Sure. He's been dead
for more than a day. He tried to escape, they said.” He tossed his cigarette
into the water. It glowed in a bright arc on the way down and then, suddenly,
was extinguished and gone.

“But they can't do
that to us,” she protested.

“No, they may not kill
us, but they'll imprison us—which, as far as I am concerned, is just as bad.”

“But our ambassador—”

“Will never know a
thing about it,” said Johnny.

“But they can't do
it!”

“In almost every
country of the world,” said Johnny, “there must be imprisoned at least one
foreigner, long ago given up for dead, held merely because he knows too much.
Russia, France, England—”

“And the United
States?”

“Who knows?” said
Johnny.

“Then maybe we'll be
held for years and years! Oh, Johnny—”

“Keep your chin up!”
he said, almost savagely.

She wavered, tried and
then succeeded. “I'm sorry, Johnny.”

They stood in silence
for some time and then heard footsteps approaching. It was the captain,
smiling, hissing and bowing.

“Good evening. We come
to Nagasaki very soon now. I regret that I shall be forced to deliver you over
to other agencies. Is there anything which I can do?”

“You've done quite
enough,” smiled Johnny. “We appreciate your kindly hospitality. But there is
one favor I might ask.”

“Yes?”

“You might,” snapped
Johnny, “give me those pictures back and let me go free. You'll never succeed
in covering this up. How do you know that pilot didn't get away? Must you add
crime to crime, and hold neutrals prisoners? What if the world hears about
that?”

“The pilot,” said the
captain, sadly, “was mistaken by our airmen for Mr. Wu and was sent, I trust,
to his fellow birdmen in heaven. I saw him sink. It is to be regretted.
Military expediency, Mr. Brice, is a God difficult to serve. There is one thing
I can do.”

“What's that?”

“Naturally you are
interested in your pictures. They are very excellent. We have, of course, complete
facilities aboard, and we took the liberty to finish them. It has become
customary for us to record our activities, and perhaps foreign works and
vessels, wherever possible, and we are indebted to you for your aerial views of
our diving battle planes. We can learn much from them. The technique of our
pilots was most ragged and, with the aid of your pictures, may be pointed out.
Perhaps, if you would like to see them—”

“It's the sadist in
him,” growled Johnny. “All right, I'll look at them.”

“It is I who offer the
favor,” quietly reminded the captain.

He led the way down
into the officers' salon where, copying the fashion of the United States Navy,
motion pictures took up part of the burden of morale. After the evening show,
the projector was still in place and the captain rang for the operator. With
some pride he indicated the projector.

“It is much different
from the day of the samurai, eh, Mr. Brice? Japan has come far. Our Navy is
every bit as modern as your own and, who knows, may some day be as large.”

The operator came and
went away again to bring back Johnny's film. There was no positive print, only
the negative, and though black and white were reversed, making the diving
planes like weird ghost ships against a black sky, the excellence of the photography
was apparent even to the Jinx.

Johnny sat very still.
He watched the planes coming down, watched the water coming up, saw his shot of
Mr. Wu's secretary getting hit, witnessed the testimony of his own news sense
in every foot of that film. It was all there, the man-o'-war, the ship's gig,
the
rising sun
insignia on the warplane wings. It was, he knew, the action shot
of the year, done in brilliantly clear photography. As the film whirred out, he
felt a little sick at his loss, realizing that, in his pride, he had forgotten
it for a moment. He heard the operators clattering the reel into its flat can
and then gathering up all his equipment.

“Lovely, eh?” said the
captain.

The Jinx stifled a
sob. She knew what Johnny was thinking and feeling. She got up and started
toward the hatchway at the rear of the salon, dabbing at her eyes with the
handkerchief. The operator failed to see her, and his arms were so loaded that
he failed to realize his course. He bumped her and the cans clattered in every
direction. The ship was rolling so that many went far, and the sailor, with one
tortured eye on the captain, hastened to pick them up. The Jinx was quick to
help him, stacking the cans into his arms. The operator glanced at that most
precious of the containers—Johnny's—to make sure it was still there. Then he
stumbled out into the passageway and was gone.

Johnny went up on
deck, following her. They stood at the rail once more.

“If I'd had a chance
like that!” snapped Johnny. “You dope! Why didn't you try to grab that can?”

“He checked it. It
wasn't any use. You saw him look at it. Besides . . . I felt so bad . . . I
didn't even think—”

“Bah!” snarled Johnny.
He was aware of Irish standing morosely in the dimness. “You know what
happened? She had her hands on our film and didn't even make an effort to steal
it!”

Irish looked sadly at
the Jinx. “There's one thing you've got to learn in this business,” he said.
“If we was all honest, how do you think we'd ever get any pictures?”

“I'm sorry,” wept the
Jinx.

“We couldn't have
gotten away with it anyhow,” said Johnny, feeling guilty for taking out his
rage on her. “He looked at the container to make sure. Oh, well,” he sighed,
“it's been a long time since I saw Nagasaki.”

Chapter
Ten

T
HE
Jinx awoke in frozen terror,
well knowing that somebody was in her room. She would have screamed if a hard
hand had not bruised her lips.

“Shut up!” whispered
Johnny. “We're in Nagasaki. The anchor just went down and we're waiting for
dawn to dock.”

She saw that it was
still dark.

“Get dressed, and make
it snappy,” said Johnny.

She heard him close
the door and knew he was waiting on the other side. She slid out and got into
her clothes without turning on a light. She was both frightened and hopeful by
his manner.

A moment later she
stepped into his room. Irish leaped up off a bunk, his dark eyes blazing with
excitement. Johnny doused the light and cautiously opened the door into the
passageway, while Irish took the Jinx by the arm and steered her after him.
Only small blue globes were burning in the tunnel of steel. No one was in
sight. Johnny cautioned them to silence and crept onward.

They had reached the
door that led to the deck when Johnny stiffened and, sweeping back his arm,
slammed his companions against the steel and held them there. A Japanese
marine, betrayed by his white bands, was standing just beyond.

Johnny's hands slid
slowly outward. The sentry moved and Johnny jerked back. Once more he advanced,
and then grabbed for the man's arms and mouth. The marine dropped his rifle, but
Irish caught it before it could clatter to the deck.

The darkness of the
floor gave forth struggling sounds and the Jinx supposed that Johnny was having
a difficult time subduing the sentry. It seemed to take much longer than it
should have, and she began to breathe swiftly as she momentarily expected them
to be uncovered by another guard. No marine had been far from them so far on
the trip, and now they were in port, it was certain that they would be put in
less easily escaped confinement, if found wandering at this hour.

She almost cried out
when she saw the Japanese marine stand up in silhouette against the lights of
the shore, which could be seen through the open door. But it wasn't the marine.

Irish stepped out to
the deck, glancing all around. He walked confidently across the planks to the
rail and paused there, casually examining the lights ashore and the water
below. He moved along, pausing now and then while Johnny and the Jinx held
their breath. An officer came down a ladder and passed Irish, who recalled
himself in time to refrain from saluting. The officer disappeared into a
companionway and then Irish beckoned stridently to Johnny and the Jinx.

Silently they rushed
to the rail and saw a
bumboat
below. It had a lantern burning, but the boatman
was asleep atop his wares, waiting until the crew and dawn found him.

Johnny went down the
side, gripping the
painter
. When he stepped on the
foredeck
of the bumboat, the
movement startled the Japanese awake. Johnny dived across the cargo and the
clean crack of his blow came faintly to the deck. He put on the straw hat and
coolie coat, to make his silhouette better, and then lifted up his arms to
receive the Jinx.

The rope slipped in
her fingers and burned them. But, uncomplaining, she came down to the deck of
the bumboat. Irish was instantly beside her, slashing the painter with the
purloined bayonet of the sentry.

Footsteps were
sounding on the deck and Johnny batted out the bumboat lantern. The footsteps
ceased, while the bumboat drifted with the current down the side of the
warship. It bumped into others, similarly tied, whose occupants muttered
irritably, half asleep, while Irish shoved away from them.

Suddenly from the deck
there came a ringing shout. Johnny seized the
sculling oar
and the water boiled
around the blade. The bumboat shot out away from the man-o'-war and lunged
toward the bright lights of the docks far away.

They had no idea
exactly what was happening. They heard commands being fired and, once, a wail
of pain, which indicated the sentry's chagrin. But they had not found out yet
that the prisoners were not still aboard the ship.

“You're too soft,”
whispered Irish, working another oar. “You shoulda dumped him into the boat
with us.”

They were no longer
steering toward the docks. The Jinx saw a cluster of colored lights on the
starboard and guessed that would be their destination.

Minutes passed with
painful slowness, and the warship's outlining lights grew farther from them.
Abruptly long blades of light reached into the heavens and stabbed down to
sweep the water.

“Pull!” pleaded
Johnny.

“I've worn out both
arms already,” grunted Irish.

The lights came nearer
and nearer, and then Johnny whispered, “Get down, both of you!”

They ducked, feeling
the bumboat turn in a swirl of foam. Johnny took more time with his stroking on
the sculling oar. He was drifting back toward the warship now and, by putting
no strength into his work, still kept it far away. The searchlights caught the
boat and held it. Johnny put up an arm to keep the light out of his eyes and
eased up on his work. The lights went away and then, as though to catch any
trick, again focused on the bumboat. But Johnny placidly approached the
warship. The searchlights went elsewhere, not concerned with one of many such
craft, doubtless on its way out to sell fruit to the sailors.

A swift heave on the
oar almost tipped over the boat and Johnny snapped, “Let's go!” He turned, and
they again darted toward the colored lights.

After minutes, each
one hours long, they neared their goal. The Jinx could see the shape of a cross
outlined in lights on the ground, but it was not until they grounded on the
concrete of a ramp, and square buildings loomed above them, that she understood
that this was a seaplane base.

Johnny sloshed into
the water and then he and Irish lifted out the girl. Johnny pushed a bill into
the boatman's hand who stared stupidly at what was, to him, great riches.
Johnny made a motion with his fist and pointed out toward the warship again and
the boatman jumped willingly to his sculling oar and made off.

They went on cautious
tiptoe up the ramp toward the hangars. Lights were shining within and the sound
of wrenches and hammers came to them above the mutter of voices. The silhouette
of a great plane stood against these lights. It was a bomber, destined for
service on the Chinese front and being put in readiness for a dawn takeoff.

The Jinx was afraid
that Johnny might attempt to attack these mechanics. There were too many of
them. They swarmed over the wings, trailing long gas hoses, checking equipment,
testing struts and engines.

The trio pressed into
the shadows of oil drums and crept closer into the hangar. Once they had to
cross an open space and the Jinx was certain that they would be seen, in the
light now as they were. But with the blinding small bulbs in their hands, the
mechanics saw nothing.

In a moment Johnny was
under one of the great wings, pressed against the cart which carried the hull
of the seaplane down to the ramp.

They lay there,
hearing men walk over their heads, and waited for something to happen. Shortly,
it did. The warship, convinced at last that the quarry had flown, turned on
siren and whistle full blast to call all signalmen in the harbor to their
posts. Launches were darted away from her hull and the whoop-whoop-whoooooop of
the insane siren seemed to drive them away.

“They'll comb this
town!” whispered Irish.

Johnny signaled for
silence, though nothing could have been heard in the bedlam of that black
harbor. The mechanics, curious as to the disturbance, leaped down off the wings
and ran out on the ramp to stare at the cruiser, now dimly seen in dawn.

“Quick!” said Johnny,
squirming out from against the truck and leaping to the cabin door. He boosted
the Jinx inside and almost threw Irish after her.

“You can't take off!”
said Irish. “They'd have fighters in the air! These engines—”

“Grab that wheel!”
snapped Johnny, throwing his palms down on the starters and throttles.

There was no time for
Irish to change his mind. The engines ground stridently and then caught with a
roaring blast which shivered the hangar. Staring over Johnny's shoulder through
the front ports and down at the ramp, the Jinx was amazed to see that the
mechanics only glanced back, and then looked forward once more. They were too
intent on the ship's siren and the flashing messages to read anything but an
early arrival of the plane's crew into the sound. Johnny nursed the throttles.
Irish wanted to shout with glee at the stupidity of the crews.

But they were not
allowed more than two or three minutes of grace. A petty officer, suddenly
realizing that all was not well, trotted up the ramp toward the ship, frowning
concernedly up at the turrets.

“Now!” cried Johnny,
slamming all guns ahead.

Four engines, too cold
to be even, crashed out, their crescendo swelling up, up, up, until the truck
began to move down the rails which led into the sea.

The crews turned,
staring at the moving monster, unable to believe that it was really moving,
despite the testimony of their eyes. And then they leaped to the right and left
off the tracks, and threw themselves flat to escape the wings.

Down the track the
plane sped to hit the water in a sheet of spray, engines still full on and
warming with each passing second. The
flying boat
wallowed as it plowed through
the small waves, gradually rising up higher and higher in the water, until it
reached its step. They were skimming across the harbor through dim, gray light,
and both Johnny and Irish whipped the controls right and left to avoid bobbing
bumboats. Their speed made all the harbor blur, and then they were no longer
crashing in the waves, but flying smoothly over the warship they had so lately
quitted—the officers of which had no way of knowing that here went their
quarry.

Johnny yelled, “What's
happening at the seaplane base?”

The Jinx fumbled down
the bomb racks until she came to a cross-barred turret, which startled her by
swinging with its guns. She looked back at the beach to see a searchlight
popping off and on, as its shutter blinked out a strident message.

“They're signaling!”
she cried.

Johnny hauled back on
the stick. “Stall or no stall, baby, you've got to grab yourself some air.”

“She's only making a
hundred and eighty, full gun!” cried Irish.

“What do you want for
a nickel?” shouted Johnny.

Belatedly the warship
had the message. Two of its sister cruisers, already awakened by the siren's
din, also had the message. An antiaircraft gun far behind them slapped a ball
of fire into the air. Others crashed immediately after it.

Johnny left the
controls to Irish and struggled back beside the Jinx, to stare through the
turret slits at the harbor, so swiftly falling away from them.

“There they go!” he
cried, and the Jinx followed his finger to see the two plane catapults on their
warship's deck belch white smoke as they were fired. For an instant their
planes were going too fast to be visible, and then they bobbed down toward the
water and, with engines roaring, began to streak upward.

“On cold engines,”
said Johnny. “Those guys have got guts!”

The two Navy planes
were fighting for altitude and, for the moment, were left far behind. Johnny's
seaplane bomber roared mightily as it curved upward, taking a course eastward.

 “Get forward,”
ordered Johnny, taking the machine gun in his hands. Clumsily he fumbled for
the loading handle and then pulled it. A moment later the gun stuttered and the
belt began to churn through the breach. It was a .50 caliber Matsubi.

The Jinx, deafened by
the roar, went back to Irish. He gave her a grin, and she saw with a shock that
he was truly delighted to be in the middle of such a scrape.

Johnny's gun kept
rattling. Overhead an engine screamed and another series of barks was in the
air. Johnny bellowed directions to Irish and the big ship heeled over for a
moment. The Matsubi fixed itself upon the nose of the diving
Nakajima
and let
go. The
tracer
laced a spider web around the Japanese pilot's head and he
pulled up, startled to find opposition.

The other ship dived
and Johnny gave it its medicine. No one knew better than Johnny that he could
not hit the sea below, much less a moving plane, but these pilots had great
respect for a Matsubi. They had fired the .50 caliber slugs themselves. They
drew off from the flying fortress, having no way of knowing how well manned it
was, and not half as anxious to greet their ancestors as the government would
have other governments believe. The flying fortress itself was impregnable to a
pursuit plane. They were sure of that. They had been told it often enough.

Johnny watched them
hang on some thousands of yards
astern
. The bomber was going into the rising
sun, which came swimming out of the mountains ahead and in a few minutes would
be shining for them out on the Pacific. Pursuit planes were not likely to love
the idea of going straight on out to sea.