CHAPTER FOURTEEN
_Satan Strikes_
It was a perfect day. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and from horizonto horizon the rolling blue Pacific was flooded with gold from the sunhanging on high. In addition to it being a perfect day the mighty Yankcarrier force steaming westward was a sight to catch the throat of eventhe most self-centered landlubber. In perfect battle array, withcruisers out on both sides, and the destroyers darting about like waterbugs, the mighty armada traced a pattern of creamy white wakes on thegold-tinted blue that looked like a painting from another world.
It was indeed something to see and remember always, but Dave Dawson andFreddy Farmer hardly noticed. Slumped down in one of the crash netsaboard the Carrier Trenton, they stared out at the rest of the forcewith gloomy eyes and furrowed brows. They were depressed, unhappy, andlicked. Only sheer doggedness would not let them admit the lattertruth. But it seemed true just the same. For three days, now, they hadbeen with Vice-Admiral Macon's force, and for all the good they weredoing themselves, or anybody else, they might just as well have beenback at San Diego teaching Navy fledglings to fly.
"Well, what now, little man?" Dawson suddenly broke the long broodingsilence between them. "Shall we start all over again for the umptiethtime? I mean, check on the fighter pilots once more?"
Young Farmer didn't reply for a moment. He rubbed a hand down the sideof his face, shook his head, and sighed heavily.
"What's the blasted use?" he groaned. "That Nazi rat we're looking forcan either make himself invisible, or else he just isn't with thisforce. And that last is what makes me feel like such a fool. What abeautiful trick of fate if that lad is actually thousands and thousandsof miles from where we are right now. You know, Dave, we've seen a lot,and we've done our full share of things, but this business is thequeerest ever. The trailing destroyers haven't even reported sighting asingle water flare. Maybe _we_ just dreamed everything!"
"You're telling me?" Dawson growled. "For two cents I could dive rightover the side and do the world and the war a big favor. What saps we'vebeen, and still are! Things are certainly screwy in life. Just imagine,a little suggestion and, bingo, all this is the result. It's enough todrive a man nuts, permanently."
"It is, and it has, as far as I'm concerned," Freddy Farmer muttered."But what did you mean by a little suggestion?"
"The one I made," Dawson said. Then with a shake of his head, hecontinued, "And just how many centuries ago was it, anyway? Oh well, itwas back in San Diego. It was raining, remember, and I suggested that wetake a little walk? That's what I mean. If I'd only stuck to reading mybook, and not listened to you crab about the California weather, wewouldn't be here."
"Oh, so it's all my fault, is it?" young Farmer flared up. "Well, let mejolly well tell you that I...!"
"Easy, Freddy, easy," Dawson cut him off and laid a hand on hisshoulder. "I don't mean that at all, pal. We both started this businesstogether, and we both stubbed our toes. Let's not go flying at eachother's throats, huh? That would make us a pair of fine guys, I don'tthink. I'm sorry if you got me wrong, kid. But let's not blow our tops,huh?"
Freddy Farmer smiled, and there was far more than apology in it.
"Of course, Dave," he said. "I forgot myself, and I ask you to forgiveme for being such a blasted fool. I certainly don't deserve yourfriendship when I act like that. And I guess you know, Dave, that yourfriendship means more to me than anything else in the world. That's thetruth, old thing."
"I know it is, Freddy," Dave told him quickly, "And it is the way I feelabout you. So ... well, that's that, kid. And now we're back where westarted. What do you think we should do now? Start making the rounds ofthe carriers again, with a prayer? Or should we go to Vice-AdmiralMacon, and tell him we're a couple of flops, and ask him to assign us toactive flight duty with these boys, and maybe earn our board and keep alittle?"
"Whatever you say suits me," Freddy Farmer replied with a shrug. "Thevice-admiral has been awfully decent giving us the run of the entireforce as he has. Frankly, though, I think that everybody else is notonly getting fed up with us popping in and off their flight decks, andsnooping around, but they are also becoming very suspicious. Much moreof this and we'll upset the morale of the force. After all, they'regoing into battle soon. And chaps about to go into battle don't want acouple of mysterious nobodies flitting about them. But if you think weshould pay another visit to the other carriers, then I'm with you, nomatter what anybody thinks. Well, what do you say?"
"Well, I guess ...," Dawson began and then stopped.
He stopped because he caught sight of the vice-admiral's aide hurryingtoward them across the flight deck.
"Oh," he said out of the corner of his mouth. "I guess what we do nexthas already been decided for us. Here comes Lieutenant Commander Clarke,and he's not just out getting the sunshine. You and I, Freddy, are aboutto go see the Old Man of this carrier force."
And the truth of that statement was proved a couple of moments laterwhen the lieutenant commander reached them.
"The vice-admiral sends his compliments to you two gentlemen, andrequests that you come to his quarters at once," the Naval officer said."Follow me, please."
A few minutes later the two air aces were alone with Vice-Admiral Macon,a short, thick-set man with a face that could look hard as nails oneminute, and all custard pie and sunshine the next. Right now hisexpression was sort of in between. He nodded politely as Dawson andFarmer presented themselves, and with a friendly wave of his handindicated that they were to be seated. Then after searching their facesfor a moment, he spoke.
"No luck yet?" he said.
"No, sir, I'm sorry to report," Dave replied for both of them. "Andfrankly, sir, I cannot understand it. We have visited every carrierseveral times, as you know, of course. And we have seen every fighterpilot at one time or another, yet I will swear that the man we want wasnot one of them. There's just one thing that occurs to me now, sir. Isevery fighter pilot who was with the force in San Diego still with it? Imean by that, sir, because of the mission now being carried out, haveany fighter pilots been transferred to torpedo or scout-bomber ordive-bomber squadrons, since the force put to sea?"
The force commander thought a moment, and then shook his head.
"No," he said bluntly. "Every man is serving just as he did when theforce was at San Diego. The only changes have been the fighter pilotsthat were taken aboard at Pearl Harbor. I'm afraid that you're wastingyour time, gentlemen. And I do know that you are causing a considerablemystery among the flying officers of the force. I do not like that, andsomething must be done about it. That is one of the reasons why I sentfor you."
The vice-admiral paused as though to take time out to select his nextwords.
"Another reason," he went on a moment later, "is that by sundown tonightwe will be within eight hundred miles of Truk. Unless you find your manby then ... if such a man _does_ exist in my force ... you will beassigned to one of the squadrons for active duty, and are to forget allabout this other business. We will be going into action tomorrow,and ... well, nobody in my command is taking this cruise just for theride. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," Dawson replied instantly. "As a matter of fact, sir, justbefore your aide summoned us to your quarters, we had decided to requestpermission to see you so that we could ask to be put on active flyingstatus. We admit it, sir. We just have been along for the ride. And weappreciate more than we can say the freedom of movement that you havepermitted us. So if we still haven't accomplished anything by sundown,sir, we both will be willing and eager to serve in any capacity you deemfit."
The vice-admiral nodded, and then glanced questioningly at FreddyFarmer.
"Captain Dawson speaks for both of us, sir," the English-born air acesaid at once. "I am not only willing and eager to serve in any way youwish, but I will consider it a great honor, sir."
For the first time since their entrance the vice-admiral gave them asmile. It was warm, sympathetic, and full of understanding. "Thank y
ou,gentlemen," he said. "The entire force will be glad to have you flyingwith us. Your past records are not exactly secrets, you know. Very well,then, you can carry on as you have been until sundown. After that youare flying and fighting for the Navy. That is all, and thank you again."
The two youths took their leave of the force commander and returnedthoughtfully to the Trenton's flight deck.
"Until sundown," Dawson murmured, and squinted at the sun sliding downthe western sky. "I'd say two hours, or maybe two and a half. Well,back to the old question. What do we do about it now, Freddy? A swellsuggestion hasn't suddenly hit you, has it, by any chance?"
"What suggestion?" young Farmer sighed. "All I'm thinking about rightnow is that I hope tomorrow I get a crack at a hundred of the Japbeggars when we hit Truk."
"Well, it will take more than a hundred cracks at them, and successfulcracks too, for me to feel even one degree better," Dave said. Then, asthough talking to himself, he murmured, "We'll be eight hundred milesfrom Truk in a couple of hours or so? That means we must be about eighthundred and eighty miles from there right now."
"You're probably correct," Freddy Farmer said. "But why all the suddenfiguring? What of it?"
"Only this," Dawson said, and gazed along the deck at the planes of thesundown patrol being made ready for flight. "It means that this carrierforce is plenty close enough right now for our Nazi spy to get there inhis Grumman Hell Cat, if he's flying one of those babies."
"And close enough, too, even if he's in a Grumman Wild Cat squadron,"Freddy Farmer echoed. "But you're leading up to something, Dave."
"In a way, yes," Dawson replied slowly, and made a gesture with his handthat included all three carriers. "A last hope, you might call it. Imean, the sundown patrols for all three flat-tops are getting set to goaloft. There isn't time, and it would be foolish of us to try and pay avisit to all three carriers for a look at the pilots taking off. Withpreparations getting under way to launch planes we'd probably be refusedpermission to land on the other two flat-tops, anyway. But here's anidea, Freddy. Let's you and I take our Hell Cats up and sort of cruisearound."
"Why?" young Farmer demanded. Then as his face suddenly lighted up, "Oh,you mean...?"
"Exactly that!" Dawson cut in on him. "These sundown patrols are simplytop-cover protection in case there is a surprise raid by planes fromsome Jap carrier that maybe has sneaked in close during the day. Inother words, the sundown patrols don't go wandering off. We can keep oureyes on all the ships in the air. So if our Nazi friend is flying one ofthem, and suddenly breaks away from his section and goes sailing off onhis own, then we'll see him at once and do something about it. See whatI mean?"
"Perfectly!" Freddy Farmer said excitedly. "And it's a swell idea, Dave.At any rate, it's much better than standing here on this blasted flightdeck eating our hearts out. Right-o, then. Let's go get our flying gearand get into the air. I ..."
The English-born air ace suddenly stopped short, licked his lips andswallowed hard.
"What's up, pal?" Dawson demanded.
"Nothing," Freddy told him. "I just think I have a sudden feeling. Youknow, one of your crazy hunches. Oh, blast it, I mean that I have aqueer feeling that things are going to happen before this day is done."
"Praise Allah they'll be _good_ things!" Dawson breathed fervently, andheaded toward the companion ladder leading below decks. "Let's go, kid!"
With considerable of their sense of usefulness and futility replaced bynew-born hope and renewed determination, the two air aces hurried belowto the quarters that had been assigned them aboard the Trenton, andcollected their flying gear. From there they went to the Ready Roomwhere all the up-to-the-minute flight data was posted on the hugeblack-board. They quickly copied it down on their flight navigationboards, and then went out of the Ready Room and along the companionwayleading to the hangar deck, and the short way topside.
They were skirting the planes that were grouped on the hangar deck whensuddenly Freddy Farmer gasped aloud and grabbed hold of Dawson's arm.
"Dave!" he whispered hoarsely. "Look! That chap walking past that divebomber over there. The one just under the light. Good gosh, Dave! Itcan't be. I ... But it is! It is! That's the beggar, I swear. It's ..."
Young Farmer didn't finish the rest. He let go of Dawson's arm andstarted racing across the hangar deck at top speed. By then Dave hadtaken a look at the man Freddy had pointed out, and his heart wasstriving to explode right out between his ribs. The man was garbed inflying gear, but he carried his helmet and goggles in his hand so thathis head was bare. And he was across Dawson's line of vision so thatonly the side of his face was presented. But that was enough. It wasmore than enough. In an infinitesimal part of a split second DaveDawson's memory raced backward, and once again he was peering through anarrow crack in the side of a weather-beaten shack at a Navy ensignwith straw-colored hair, eyes that must be blue, and a neck that wasslightly thicker than the average neck of a man of that height. And onceagain, now, he could see no outstanding feature.
"Our man!" he heard his own voice choke out. "The Nazi rat. On thisflat-top all the time? Right under our noses, and we haven't spotted himuntil now? Good grief, how did that happen? How...?"
He cut off the rest because by then he was sprinting after FreddyFarmer, and he needed all of his wind for that. Freddy was halfwayacross the hangar deck, and the Nazi spy was walking casually toward thecompanionway on the other side. Suddenly, though, perhaps because heheard Freddy's running footsteps, or perhaps because Freddy called out,he turned his head. For the bat of an eyelash he pulled up short andstared, and then he broke into a mad run.
"That man!" Freddy Farmer's voice seemed to fill the entire hangar deck."Stop him! Stop that man!"
Young Farmer's cry was directed at an aviation machinist's mate justcoming out of the companionway on the other side. The Naval ratingstopped, blinked, and stared at the man running toward him.
"A Nazi spy!" Farmer shouted. "Stop him!"
But Freddy's cries were just a waste of breath. The aviation machinist'smate started to put out a hand to signal the Nazi spy that somebodywanted him, but that's as far as he got. The running spy slugged him aterrific blow on the jaw and the Naval rating went down as though thedeck had dropped out from beneath him. And in the next instant the spyhad dived into the companionway and disappeared. Freddy Farmer was agood fifteen yards from the companionway opening, and Dawson was anothertwenty yards or so behind his pal.
In an effort to cut down the distance Dawson ducked under the wing of aplane, but he didn't duck low enough. The tip of the wing caught hisshoulder, threw him off balance, and sent him sprawling onto the deck.He wasn't even dazed, though, and he was up on his feet almostinstantly, but by then Freddy Farmer had disappeared into thecompanionway, too.
Choking and gasping for breath, Dawson plunged forward and went over theprostrate aviation machinist's mate in a leap and tore into thecompanionway. The sudden change of light blinded him for a splitsecond, but he knew that the companionway turned sharp right at the endof twenty yards, and that at the end of the right turn there was thecompanionway ladder that led directly topside to the flight deck.
By the time he reached the turn he was used to the fairly dim light. Buteven at that he didn't see the figure sprawled on the deck until toolate. The figure of Freddy Farmer. Dawson heard his own voice cry outhis pal's name as he strived desperately to swerve off to the side. Buthis efforts were not enough. His left foot struck one of Freddy's legsand he went flying over young Farmer, and down in a heap.
All the colored lights in the world flashed in his brain. There was somuch fire in his lungs that he couldn't breathe. He could only laymotionless, his face pressed against the companionway deck as thevibrations of the carrier's engines went through his whole body. Thevibrations of the ship's motions plus the dry sobs of rage and fury thatshook him.