  On that same morning, as the Black Bee and her escort of fighting ships knifed in close to their target, Kentucky and his short, tight formation cut through the masquerading Japs like a reaper through a field of wheat. When their guns had ceased blazing away and they swung around for one more sweep, they saw two planes falling in flames, and a third rolling over and over. The remaining Japs had time to recover partially from the sudden shock, but when the “grim reapers” came roaring back, the Zeros were again swept by a whirlwind of fire. One wise little brown boy in goggles, who had climbed high, came swooping down on the tail of a plane, but its gunner took care of him with neatness and dispatch. With their number cut in half, the Zeros faded away. But here were the U. S. bombers and torpedo planes. They were coming in fast. It was time now to join the covering screen escorting the big boys to their target, and Kentucky wheeled his four-plane formation about to shoot away and join their comrades. The bombers had been shown maps and photographs of the island they were to attack. “This,” their Commander had said, pointing at a map, “is the air field, quite a distance from the beach. You will go after that first, destroying all planes on the ground. Then you will attack their headquarters here, and their fortified positions there. “I need not tell you,” he had said, addressing all his men—pilots, fighters, bombardiers, torpedo men—“that the life of many a Marine depends upon the manner in which you perform your task. I know that to a man we can count on you.” There had been a low murmur in response. “I might say,” the Commander had added, “that this island is to be a steppingstone to Mindanao.” “Oh! Mindanao! Mindanao!” had come in a chorus. “Yes, Mindanao, only a few hundred miles away, in the Philippines,” he went on. “And with this island in our possession we shall be able to soften up Mindanao for the final attack.” “Mindanao,” Kentucky thought now as he gripped the controls. “They say the Japs have a prison camp there, where our men are starving and dying. We’ll walk in there some day and take that big island. We’ll free the prisoners. What a day that will be! Then it’s Manila, and after that the China coast. Boy! Will we harvest a sweet revenge for the things those Japs have done to the American prisoners!” He studied his instruments, looked to the loading of his guns, glanced back at his formation, then, drawing a long breath, murmured: “Well, Tojo, here we come!” The dive bombers climbed to twelve thousand feet. Kentucky and his fighters kept straight on. As they neared the island he spoke a few words of instruction through his mike to his three companions. Words came back to him. Then, opening his throttle wide, he set his motor roaring. Coming in fast and low, they took the Japs by surprise. Scores of little brown men were racing for the airfield when they came in, nearly grazing the palm trees. Some thirty planes were still on the field. Breaking formation, the “four horsemen” zoomed in upon the planes and the racing pilots. With machine-gun fire they sent the Japs scurrying for shelter. Then with tracer bullets they riddled the grounded planes. Leaving the field in flames, they swung skyward to rejoin the screen of fighters, bombers, and torpedo planes. Ten minutes more and the air was filled with the rattle of machine-gun fire and the island became an inferno of bursting bombs. The torpedo planes discovered three cargo ships and two destroyers in the small harbor and, coming in low, released their “tin fish.” Bursting torpedoes added their horror to the general confusion of sound. A ship exploded, another keeled over and sank, and a third was run aground. Jap destroyers streaked away, but even their top speed was no match for Kentucky and his followers. “After them, fellows!” he shouted. “Remember Pearl Harbor!” Skimming in over the sea, they peppered the deck of a destroyer with slugs until not a man was left standing on deck. Lowering their aim, they began to puncture the destroyer’s thin hull. A film of oil appeared on the water. “Give it to her!” Kentucky shouted into his phone. “We’ve struck oil. Let’s make it a gusher!” Just then a dive bomber came screaming down to lay its egg squarely on the destroyer’s deck. “That got her!” Kentucky exulted, as the craft exploded. “Come on now. Gas is low. Let’s beat it back home for chow.” It was such a day as a flier would never forget. As they sped away, Marines from barges and small boats were swarming ashore. The stepping stone to Mindanao was now all but won. “Jeepers!” Kentucky exclaimed into his mike. “I wish Jack and Stew—yes, and Ted too—could have been in on this. Wonder where Ted is right now? We’ll have to take a look.” Ted was not faring badly. The balmy breezes had dried out his clothes, and dawn had come, but there was no sign of their task force. “Gone in for the kill and then the landing,” he thought. “And I’m out of it. Worse luck!” “But then,” he reflected. “Things might be worse.” He had done his bit. He had helped block the attack of those enemy torpedo bombers, and he had shot down two of them—he was quite sure of that. He munched a chocolate bar for a time. Then he examined the fishline packed in his emergency kit. “Think I’ll try it out,” he murmured. Taking a strip of pork rind from a small bottle, he fastened it on his hook. Then, paying out the line little by little, he watched the white spot as it sank. “Yes, there are fish!” He became greatly excited as three big blue fellows came cruising in. One of them made a dive for the bait, but changed his mind and shot away. Ted lifted the line a yard, causing the white spot to shoot upward. A second fish made a dive for it, but before he made contact the first one circled back like a plane aiming at a target, and grabbed the lure. “Got you!” Ted breathed, giving the line a quick jerk. He had hooked him, but the fish was game. He shot this way, then that, then circled round and round. I don’t want him any more than a little, Ted thought. I’m not hungry enough to eat raw fish, and in this sun he wouldn’t keep. He began playing the fish, trying him out. Then, all of a sudden, a large blue shadow appeared in the water, a darting shadow. No, it wasn’t a shadow—it was a ten-foot shark. Streaking through the water, sleek and ugly, the shark hypnotized the boy. This lasted only ten seconds, but long enough. Too late Ted realized that he was about to exchange his blue fish for a shark. The shark swallowed the fish, hook and all. At once Ted felt the line shoot through his fingers. Gripping desperately, he checked the line. He felt his raft being towed rapidly through the water. The shark went down. The raft tilted at a dangerous angle. A hundred thoughts sped through the boy’s mind. He might be lost for days, perhaps weeks. Without food he must perish. No line, no fish, no food. But if the raft went over? What then? Soaked to the skin, he would in the end be obliged to yield his line. Then a happy thought struck him. In his emergency kit were other hooks, and in his parachute many lines. He opened his hands, the line slid through his fingers. The raft settled back. He was safe. The shark was gone. “Whew!” he exclaimed, rubbing his burned fingers. “This life on a raft is not all it’s cracked up to be. You—” His thoughts were interrupted by the rumble of thunder off in the distance. Or was it thunder? He listened more closely. “Bombs!” he exclaimed. “They’ve made contact! Hurrah! Hit ’em hard and often, boys! Hit ’em hard!” Would they take the island? He knew they would. No stopping the victorious Americans now. Island after island had fallen into their hands. Other victories would follow. This island today, he thought. Mindanao the day after tomorrow. If only I can get back to the fleet before we tackle Mindanao, he thought with a touch of despair. “God, send someone to pick me up,” he prayed. “Please God, I don’t know much. Give me wisdom. Help me to get food from the sea and the sky. Send me back to my buddies.” After that there didn’t seem to be much left to do but rest, relax, and watch for smoke on the horizon or a plane in the sky. The rumble from the west died away, then rose again. The battle might last all day. Cruisers and destroyers would move in to shell Jap positions. The carrier would stand by. Perhaps the task force would slip away under cover of darkness. “If it does that, I’ll be sunk,” he murmured disconsolately. He had managed to bring along a small canteen. He took a sip of water. He recalled that you were supposed to be able to get water by pressing out fish meat. He’d have to try that. The sun was hot. It had been a tough night. He was tired and his head ached. Finally he stretched himself out and fell asleep. A little more than an hour later he awoke with a start, clutched at his head with sudden violence, and grasped something hard and horny with each hand. He held on grimly, though his head and shoulders were being beaten unmercifully by something hard and sharp as a crowbar. He let out a gasp as some knifelike thing cut at his wrist, but still he held on. At last, half standing up, he gave a mighty heave to bring a great bird with a ten-foot wing spread, down upon his raft. “Oh! A gony!” he exclaimed. “You rascal! You nearly wrecked me! What were you doing on top of my head? Resting? Well, I’ll give you a good, long rest!” The bird was an albatross, largest of all sea birds. Ted had learned a great deal about them from the old sailors, who called them gonies. They followed ships for thousands of miles, sleeping on the sea, or soaring miles on end, with their long, narrow wings spread wide. This one, beyond a doubt, had been following their task force, but had been frightened away by the big guns. “What’ll I do with you?” he demanded of the bird. His answer was a snap on the ankle from its powerful jaws. “I should kill and eat you,” he exclaimed. “You’re worse than a Jap! But I won’t—not yet. Men don’t eat gonies unless they have to. It’s supposed to bring bad luck. I’ll tie you up, that’s what I’ll do. Then we’ll try our luck together. If I’m rescued, you go free. If not, you get eaten.” The gony winked as if he really understood. Then for good measure, he nipped at Ted’s ankle once more. “You’ll be some company,” Ted said, as after binding the bird’s feet, he fastened a wide strap taken from his parachute about its wings and body. Late in the afternoon he caught a fairly large fish. After pressing water from its meat, he drank a little. “Not impossible,” was his verdict. He ate some of the meat, then offered a bite to his gony, who, to his surprise, swallowed it. “You must be a young fellow,” he said. “Friendly and green, like myself.” He laughed, and felt better. Just as the sun was sinking in the west he saw a dark smudge that soon obscured the sun. “A ship!” He became greatly excited. Another smudge, and yet another. “The task force!” he exclaimed, standing up and nearly overturning his raft. “If only it would come this way!” |
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