with These Hands (Ss) (2002) (34 page)

"Get at the window," Jim said quietly. "Rayna, if you can shoot, take one of those rifles, but don't waste any shots."

The switch was open and he sat down and slipping on the headphones began to call:

"Calling U. S. Pacific Fleet, any ship . . . calling Pacific Fleet. . . you are running into danger . . . you are running into danger!"

Almost instantly and so quickly it surprised him, a voice snapped in his ear, the tones sharp, incisive: "Come in, please ... identify yourself?"

"Captain James Mayo, master of the freighter Semiramis ... calling from Tobalai ... the enemy has planes waiting to take off ... battleships and submarines in vicinity of Greyhound Strait ... some planes bear American markings..."

Big London's rifle was firing steadily now, and outside shouts of anger could be heard. Above on the tableland a plane's motor broke into a roar. A hail of lead swept the room, but most of it was too high. Rayna was firing now.

Jim stayed at the instrument. "Check with Major Arnold, British Military Intelligence ... two battleships ..."

"Hold it!"

Jim turned his head, gun in hand, to see Ross Mallory in the hall.

"They've been holding me here," Mallory said. "Let me in on this!"

"Is this a double-cross?" Jim demanded harshly.

"Mallory, you start anything now and I'll kill you!"

"Nothing like that. They had me in a tight spot. I was supposed to do the broadcast that made them think the American planes were returning early." Mallory was sweating. "I can't do it, no matter what it costs me. Here ..."

He handed Mayo a notebook.

Jim glanced down at the notebook, open at the page.

"Those are the forces here," Mallory said. "Tell them."

Ponga Jim snapped into the mouthpiece: "Are you there?"

"Waiting," the voice was cool.

"Two battleships, Nagato class . . . three cruisers of the Myokos class, one Furutaka ... at least ten submarines."

The firing was a steady roar now, and leaving the switch open, Jim jumped from the radio and grabbed up a rifle. Down below the men were trying to mount the stairs with Mallory holding it with bursts from a light machine gun.

They tried a rush, but the machine gun and Jim's rifle stopped it. Then a single shot rang out and Mallory backed up, coughing. The long gun started to slip from his hands and Jim caught it, charging halfway down the stairs, the gun chattering.

The crowd of Japanese melted, and Jim raced back up the steps. He grabbed up more ammunition, stuffing it in his pockets. Then, he lifted the machine gun and fired a burst at the nearest gasoline storage tank.

The tracers hit the tank and there was a terrific blast of fire; a wave of heat struck them like a blow. The barracks sagged with the power of it, and then yells and screams lifted and were lost in the roaring inferno of the burning gasoline.

Catching Rayna by the hand, Jim yelled at Big London.

Mallory was dead. Evidently, something crooked he had done in the past had given the spies a hold over him, but he had died a brave death in the end. The three raced down the stairs, forgotten in the roaring flames outside.

Running, they started up a back trail to the plateau above.

Suddenly, from behind them there was a gigantic explosion that almost knocked them to their knees. "The other tank," Jim said.

They ran on, gasping for breath. The jungle had been showered with gasoline and flame, and burning and blackened shreds of foliage were falling around them. They reached the plateau in a dense cloud of smoke. Several Japanese saw them and ran forward. Ponga Jim opened up, firing a burst, then dashed for a plane.

Suddenly, from nowhere, Lyssy was beside them.

"The ship!" he yelled. Flames danced on his brown face and his staring eyes. "The ship, she come!"

Turning, Ponga Jim looked down. True enough, the old Semiramis was below, lying a half mile off shore. Even as they watched, her guns belched fire. She was firing on a Japanese submarine.

Jim wheeled, passing the machine gun to Big London.

"Go to the ship!" he shouted. "Hurry!"

"What about you?" Rayna cried, catching his sleeve.

"I'm going up there," he said.

Then he was gone, running for an idling plane. It was a captured fighter, probably taken from another supply ship taking American planes to the East Indies.

A Japanese was just getting into the seat, and Jim grabbed him, jerking him back. The flyer fell awkwardly, and a mechanic started to run around the plane, but Jim was already in, and in a matter of seconds the plane went roaring down the plateau. Just in time, he eased back on the stick and the fighter shot aloft.

Only a few planes remained on the field, for most of them had taken off just before the explosion of the first tank. Jim leveled off and opened the throttle wide, heading for Greyhound Strait.

What was happening up ahead he could only guess.

There was a silence that worried him. Still, he had far to go. He swung wide, turning to go south of Taliabu.

Like a bullet from a gun, his ship roared through the sky at three hundred miles an hour.

Easing back on the stick, he climbed, reaching for more and more altitude. Then, through a break in the clouds, he saw it, the splendid majesty of the fleet, moving up the sea in formation, but no longer headed for a deadly surprise, now for a battle. Almost automatically, he had slipped into his 'chute.

Then, lower down and ahead of him, already swinging toward the fleet, he saw the flight of false American planes. The decks of the carriers were partially empty, indicating that they had launched aircraft in pursuit of the Japanese warships that had been intended as bait. Jim prayed that they would stay away from the coming battle and not add to the confusion and slaughter.

Ponga Jim looked down at the formation of planes, then at the fleet below them and ahead. With a grin and a wave to the gods who watch over fools and flyers, he pushed the stick forward. The nose went down and he opened the throttle wide. He was behind them, and with the sun behind him. A perfect start.

The heavy plane went into the roaring crescendo of a power dive, and he saw the air-speed needle climbing up 300... 350 ... 400... 450, and then he was opening up with all six machine guns and the cannon. A fighter below him swerved and suddenly burst into flame. It crashed into another plane, and the two whirled earthward in a tangled mass of twisting metal. His guns were spewing flame again and in an instant he was in the middle of a dogfight, alone against a dozen enemy planes.

He saw a torpedo plane pull up and go whirling out of sight, then a fighter was in his sights, then he was past and the aircraft was a plummeting mass of wreckage. Ack-ack from the ships opened up and anti-aircraft machine-gun fire laced the sky.

Now that the formation had broken the Japanese pilots couldn't locate him as quickly in the confusion of the battle.

Every plane in the sky had American markings. Yet he knew that anything flying was his enemy. Fighting like a demon, and using the ship as though it were part of him, he circled, spun, dove, and climbed, fighting the ship with everything it had. In the middle of it, he glanced upward and saw something that made his heart jolt with fear.

High above he saw a fighter ship peel off of a new formation and come shooting down toward them, and after it a long string of others. The American planes! The returning planes from the carriers! I

Down below he could see the belching guns, and hear the mighty thunder of crashing cannon as the Japanese ships opened fire. But then he was shooting upward, climbing out and praying that he wouldn't be shot down by his own countrymen.

They fell upon the Japanese-piloted aircraft and suddenly Jim could see the method to their madness. Every American pilot had his cockpit canopy slid back. They were taking a horrible buffeting but, at close range at least, they could identify each other. Jim ripped the Perspex windscreen back and wheeled back into the fray.

A ship showed in his sights and he opened up, ripping a long line of holes down the side, and the plane suddenly turned into flame, and fell from sight.

How long he fought he didn't know, or how many ships he downed, but then suddenly, he saw a torpedo bomber headed toward a battleship, and he did an Immelmann and whipped around on the bomber's tail. The rear gunner opened fire on him, but he roared on into the blazing guns, his own, one steady stream of fire.

He was coming in from slightly below and suddenly, a shell from his cannon hit the torpedo on the enemy plane.

There was a terrific blast of fire, and a crash like thunder, and then his own plane, hit by a barrage of flying fragments, dove crazily.

For an instant he righted it, but one wing was vibrating wildly and he knew he was finished. He struggled with the crash belts, a plane dove toward him, its guns roaring, and something struck him a terrific blow on the head.

In a blaze of pain lighted by the burning bomber, and accompanied by the rising crescendo of exploding shells, he turned back to the controls. He dropped toward the water, using his flaps to kill his speed and skipping across the ocean, like a stone. He saw sky and water, his body was pounded by forces he couldn't identify, whirled and slapped and was finally drenched with salty water laced with gasoline. He slipped out of the belts, gave thanks that the canopy was already open, and then lost consciousness.

It was a long time later when he opened his eyes, and for an instant he could not remember what had happened.

Around him were the familiar sights of his own cabin on the Semimmis. He tried to sit up, and pain struck him like a physical blow. For an instant everything was black, then he opened his eyes.

Major Arnold was standing over him, a look of concern on his face. Ponga Jim grinned, painfully.

"Always show up in time for the payoff, don't you?" he said.

Arnold smiled. "I showed up in time to fish you out of the water, and if I hadn't you would have been feeding the fish by now."

"What happened?" Jim asked.

Arnold shrugged. "What would happen? Once our boys knew what the score was they moved in and mopped up.

Seven destroyers sunk, one battleship, and two cruisers.

The fighting is over except for a few cleanup jobs.

"I was with your fleet, and they got planes off the carriers right away and hit the Jap ships from above before they were expecting it. They caught two of the cruisers inside the reef near Parigi and they never got out."

"How about this boat?" Ponga Jim asked.

Slug Brophy stepped up, grinning. He had a welt on his cheekbone and a long gash on his head.

"I got to the Gunner. Longboy had already got loose.

They only left a few men aboard once they had the planes off. So we took over."

"Sounds like it was a swell scrap," Jim mumbled. He looked at Arnold. "I got a jeal crew, William. I got some good boys!"

"Right you are," Arnold agreed. "They handled it nicely."

"Did any of them get away?" Jim asked seriously.

"Only one," Brophy said. "But we got two submarines before they could dive, and laid a couple of shells aboard a battlewagon. The Gunner always wanted to shoot at a battlewagon," Brophy added.

"Here's somebody who wants to talk to you," Arnold said as the girl appeared. "I don't get it, Mayo. Here I am, handsome, with a smooth-looking white and gold uniform, romantic eyes and the figure of a Greek god, and yet you get all the women!"

"It's the poissonality, William!" Jim sighed, grinning.

"It's the poissonality!"