  Darkness was falling as the carrier Black Bee, escorted by cruisers and destroyers, sailed away from the scene of her latest triumph, her attack on the unnamed island that meant so much to the Allied cause on its way to Tokyo. Not one U. S. ship had been sunk or damaged. Jap installations had been smashed and the airfield taken. The Marines had stormed ashore in great waves, accomplishing the occupation of a greater part of the island with a minimum of loss. “It was a great day!” Kentucky murmured as he sat with his fighter pals on the flight deck. “Yes, a big day,” Blackie echoed. The elevator trap opened and from below came the sounds of voices and music. Men were singing and radios blared popular music or announced more victories. The elevator rose. It carried a new fighter to the flight deck. “That’s for Ted or Jean,” Kentucky rumbled, “if one of them comes back.” “Yes, if only one of them does come back,” Red agreed soberly. It had been a truly great day. The men below decks were happy and hilarious. But the trio on the flight deck, Kentucky, Blackie and Red, were for the most part silent. Ted was gone. No one knew when he would be seen again, if ever. Jean, too, was gone. He had somehow been lost from his formation. Kentucky had heard him say, “I am being attacked by a superior force. Notify my nearest of kin.” Had Jean been joking? There was no way to know. Men did joke in the midst of battle. That was the one way of keeping your nerves steady. Kentucky did not believe that Jean had been joking. He had scant hope of ever seeing him again. But Ted—that was different. Kentucky believed that Ted had made a safe landing on the water. “The course we are taking,” he said soberly, “should bring us in about two hours over the spot where Ted went down. I’m going to ask for permission to make a search.” “At night?” Blackie voiced his astonishment. “Sure! Why not?” Kentucky’s tone was confident. “Ted’s smart. He’ll know the sound of our planes and he’ll find something to use as a flare. If he’s there and I get near the spot, I’ll bring him in.” “I’m with you,” said Red. “Count me in.” Blackie made it three. Darkness came down like a black curtain. Through this curtain the task force plowed on. “What’s our destination?” was the question passed from man to man. Mindanao was often mentioned, but only one man—the Commander—knew what lay ahead, and he wasn’t telling. On being told of Jack’s discoveries—the book that gave him so much information about the jet plane, the note of warning attached to a tree, and the native girl who paraded in an Army nurse’s uniform—Stew found himself torn between two desires: one to fit out the Jap raft and leave the island immediately; the other, to remain to help Jack try to commandeer the jet plane and fly away. “Must be a marvelous new invention,” he commented excitedly. “Think of doing the stratosphere at 500!” “And then dropping down upon some unsuspecting Japs!” Jack added. In the end Stew decided that it would be wise to put the Jap raft into condition for immediate escape, if flight became necessary. “Who knows what might happen?” he argued. “If those men speak German, they could easily be Nazis, and they may bring in a whole boatload of Japs to hunt us down.” Jack was not so sure of all this. Those men in charge of the jet plane had been friendly enough and did not seem like Nazis. Nevertheless he did realize that it was best to be prepared for any emergency. So, after a rather cheerless breakfast of cold fish and coffee, they spent the morning putting the raft in order. When they returned at lunchtime, they found that the bananas had not yet begun to ripen, so they lunched on chocolate bars. “But just you wait!” Stew exclaimed. “I’m going to have a real dinner tonight, if I have to run down a wild pig.” “Okay,” Jack agreed. “I’ll gladly join you. In fact, I’ll even roast the pig. But you’d better take the fishline with you. There are worse meals than fish.” “Oh, fish!” Stew snorted. “Just you wait and see!” However, he did take the fishline as they climbed up the slope for one more look at their island home. “I’ll charm one of those wild roosters into sitting on my knee,” Jack laughed, as he tucked the violin under his arm. “Or some wild maiden,” Stew joked. “None of that!” Jack replied, soberly. Stew paused half way up the ridge to examine some fresh wild pig tracks, but Jack kept straight on, until he reached the crest of the ridge. There, seated on the highest pinnacle of rock, he surveyed the scene, and was enchanted. Save for a few white clouds, the day was clear. On the dark, blue water there was a slight ripple that made it seem alive. Off to the right and lower down he suddenly discovered the small native village, a few tiny grass huts clustered about a larger one. As he watched, two long, slender canoes with outriggers shot from the shore. He looked at them through his binoculars and discovered that one was manned by two native boys, the other by two native girls. As the paddles flashed and the canoes sped away in a wild race, he thought, if things should get worse here, those people could take us to the next island, or elsewhere. He glanced away to the south. It couldn’t be more than ten miles to that next island. At last, charmed by the scene that lay before him, he took up his violin and began to play. He had once supposed that much of the music he had known might by this time have escaped him, but now, in this moment of rest and inspiration, they all came back to him—“Londonderry Air,” “Ave Maria,” “O Sole Mio,” and many others. How long he played, he could not tell. Had he paused to listen as he played, he might have heard movements in the brush directly beneath him. The snapping of a twig, the swish of a branch, even the low murmur of a voice might have reached his keen ears. At last, with a sigh, he replaced the violin in its case. Brings back memories of home, he thought, as he sighed again. Here’s hoping I get back there some time. Memories! How strange his life had been! Thousands cheer, he thought grimly. Thousands had cheered his music, and now he played to the rocks, the birds, and the broad sea. But the war is a thrilling adventure—he squared his shoulders—I wouldn’t have missed it for worlds! From the moment he had passed his tests and joined the Navy, his life as a flying cadet had been thrilling. He thought it by far the finest branch of the service. First had come his civil aeronautics training. An instructor had taken him up and scared him almost to death. Next time he went up, he was given the controls and told to fly. And he had flown! Two months of this and he had thought himself a finished flier. He did not know then that he needed to gain a great deal more knowledge than he had. He had wanted all the world to know how good he was, especially Mom, Pop, and the home-town folks. The old home town was “out-of-bounds” for him, but what of that? When he was given two hours of free flying, he had headed for home, thirty miles away. It had taken a lot of treetop clipping to get Mom and Pop out to see him fly, for he had not written them he was coming. He got them out at last, and waved them a salute. Then he had flown over the golf course where only a year before he was a mere caddy. Stalling his plane, he had come zooming down from three thousand feet to scare caddies and golfers half to death, then had zoomed away. Some of the older golfers who had never taken a chance in all their lives, who had never flown a mile nor been obliged to fight for their country, had taken the number of his plane and threatened to report him for reckless flying. Had they? He did not know. All he did know was that he had flown gloriously on. Next came Iowa City. No flying there, but plenty of study and hardening up. It was summer and hot as an oven. The trainers were relentless. Marches, races, hurdles, football, boxing, and all the rest he took in his stride. He got a broken nose from football, a black eye from boxing, and a sprained ankle in high hurdles. There was little time for social affairs and when there was, one was almost too hot and tired to care. One bright spot stood out in that whole summer—the night he took the Commandant’s daughter to the banquet and dance given for his group as their training ended. He remembered still her gay laughter and the bright sparkle of her eyes. He drew Minneapolis for preflight training. What a camp that had been! He was flying again, real combat planes. Formations, sham dogfights, night flying, following the light of the plane ahead round and round. A truly great camp. A grand USO with bowling, billiards, a movie every week, warm-hearted city folks, and plenty of girls. How he had hated it when the day came to pack up and leave. And then there was the long, hard pull in Texas. Some of the boys “washed out.” Jack was determined not to let that happen to him. It did not. He disliked the heat and the great, flat plains of Texas, but most of the time he had been too busy to notice them. Before long it was time for that new suit of blues and the brief ceremony that made him an ensign and gave him his wings. Deck training at Great Lakes, then a short leave to bid farewell to the folks at home. Those fleeting days in the old home town left delightful, exciting memories. The good folks of the little city had done their best to show him that they really appreciated the sacrifices he must make to fight for them. He even forgave the old golfers who had threatened to report him when he had scared them half to death on his flying visit to the golf course months before. When it came time to go he had told Pop and Mom good-by at home because he wanted it that way. At the last moment Patsy had insisted on walking to the depot with him. When the train whistled, she had put out a hand for a good, honest handshake, and had said, “Well, so long old pal. Have a good time. Take good care of yourself, and plea—please come back, for we all need you so much!” Patsy’s voice had sounded a bit strange. He could hear her still, “Plea—please come back.” It was strange about him and Patsy. He looked off toward the sun now hanging low over the dark, blue sea, and at the green jungle at his feet. Yes, this was a great little world over here. He’d like to come back some time. But just now, how he’d like to be back in the old home town! |
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