  “Do I fly this jet plane in the big show, sir?” Jack asked as he and the Commander stepped down on the Black Bee’s deck half an hour later. “Not only that,” was the instant response, “but you’ll lead the parade. “And now,” the Commander ordered, “hit the hay!” Jack was too excited over past and future events to sleep long that night. He awoke with the dawn to find the sea blanketed in fog. “Just what the doctor ordered,” he said to Stew. “We’ll be able to get through the day unobserved by the enemy. And tomorrow, unless I miss my guess, we strike at dawn.” With coffee, hot cakes, and bacon stowed away, Jack made his way to the flight deck. There he obtained permission to take his jet plane below for study, inspection, and if need be, repairs. He had plenty of help with this task. There wasn’t a flier or mechanic on the Black Bee who would not gladly have taken the jet plane apart piece by piece just to see what made it go. The best mechanics on the carrier were assigned to the task of going over the plane. With an eagle eye Jack watched their every move. He made sure that the oxygen equipment was in perfect order and the tubes filled to capacity. “You’re flying with me,” he said to Stew. “We’re to be the first scouts over the target. Those are the Commander’s orders. And we’ll go there in the stratosphere, fastest trip you ever made, if our jet plane holds together.” “That’s Jake with me,” Stew grinned. That was a busy day on the Black Bee. Every plane was inspected and given minor repairs. Fliers were given last day-before-the-battle instructions. Anti-aircraft crews went through dress rehearsals. Every man on the ship was on his toes and ready to go. No night before was ever like this. That evening Jack hunted up Mary, who had joined the Medical Corps in the sick bay, and retrieved his violin. To relieve his tension he went to the flight deck, tuned up his violin, and then walked slowly back and forth playing all the melodies he knew—while with every tune memories of other days came back. Then he locked the violin safely in its case and wandered up for one more look at the jet plane before retiring for the night. “Tomorrow,” he whispered. Jack and Stew were up two hours before dawn. The hour that preceded dawn was their zero hour. As they came down for their coffee they were surprised to find Ted and Mary waiting for them. “We thought we’d like to be with you at the last meal before the big moment,” said Mary. “That’s sure swell of you,” said Jack. “You’d want to do that if we were the ones to go,” said Ted. “That’s right,” Jack agreed. “We’ve been through a lot together, all of us. But Ted, what’s your assignment?” “That’s just it.” Ted made a long face. “Our fighter squadron, Kentucky, Blackie, and the rest are to stick with the ship just in case we’re attacked. Tell you what.” Ted leaned forward. “When you get over that harbor just send word back that there isn’t a Jap carrier in sight and no bombers on the airfields.” “Oh! Sure!” Jack grinned. “In fact, we’ll do better than that. We’ll just circle around over the sea, then make our report without even looking at that old Jap harbor.” “Say! What is this? Mutiny?” Mary demanded. “No.” Stew grinned. “It’s just a case of jolly good lying ‘just before the battle, mother.’” “Don’t sell yourself short just yet,” Jack said to Ted. “You may see plenty of fighting before this day is over, yes, and find yourself in need of a ‘woman’s gentle nursing,’ as the old poem goes, before the sun sets.” Zero hour came. The jet plane began its predawn song. Jack and Stew were off. The fog was gone, and the moon bright. Jack was astonished as he climbed into the sky. As far as he could see there were white dots telling of ships plowing their way through the dark sea. “More fighting ships than the world has ever seen in one place,” he said to Stew. “Sure—carriers, probably a dozen of them; big battle wagons, cruisers, destroyers, cargo vessels, transports, oilers, tankers, repair ships, PT boats—everything. We’re going back to the Philippines, boy! And we’re going back to stay.” After that they soared again. With oxygen masks in place they climbed to the substratosphere, then headed for Mindanao at incredible speed. “Wonderful!” Jack breathed. “No Zero will ever catch up with us now.” “And we’d better not let them,” Stew warned. “You remember the orders—no dogfights with those cookies today.” The first faint streaks of dawn were showing when a gray bulk close to the surface of the sea loomed up ahead of them. “There!” Jack exclaimed. “Take a good look! It’s the Philippines!” “My first glimpse of the islands,” Stew murmured with a touch of reverence. “But not my last, I hope.” By studying his chart Jack learned that the land ahead was the north entrance to a deep bay. “We follow the shore line until we are at the center of the bay. The target is right there.” They dropped to ten thousand feet, then slowed down their plane and zoomed along over the shore line. They arrived at the target too soon for a clear view. For all that, they found something to do. “There’s a nasty little Zero on our tail,” Stew exclaimed. “Whatever shall we do?” he asked in mock terror. “It’s wicked to fight, besides, we promised not to.” “Put on your oxygen mask,” Jack commanded with a grin. “We’ll go up into the attic and talk it over.” They began climbing steeply. The Zero pilot came after them. They left his plane far behind. “Not so fast!” Stew warned. “He’ll get discouraged.” As if experiencing high altitude blues, Jack slowed his plane down to a crawl. Encouraged, the Jap put on full speed and came on for the kill. But Jack, as if by some miracle, put on a burst of speed to climb higher. This was repeated four times. Jack was beginning to wonder whether he was playing the game too long with a plane he did not entirely understand, when something appeared to go wrong with the enemy plane. It began to wobble, then to smoke. It lost altitude, then began turning over slowly. Faster—faster—faster it turned as it fell, until at last it was a mere black spot. “I think,” said Jack, “that this jet plane is the berries. And now,” he added in the next breath, “we’ll just go down and see what ships there are in the harbor. Get your pencil ready. Make the count as accurate as possible. Can’t tell about those Japs. They might not give us another chance.” “Accurate it shall be,” Stew replied grimly. “All right, here we go.” Jack tilted his plane. “We’ll come down so fast they can’t intercept us. We’ll level off at two thousand and skim along over the port and the bay. After that we’ll circle until the Zeros get tough, then we’ll reach for the stars.” They were away, with their plane singing a lovely tune as they rocketed downward toward the port and the sea. To Stew, the speed of their downward course was breath-taking, staggering; but he hung on, offered up a prayer, and before he knew it they were leveling off, gliding away, while he caught his breath at sight of the ships in the harbor. “Boy! We caught them with their steam down!” he exclaimed. His pencil was racing—two flat-tops, one big battle wagon, five cruisers, seven destroyers. In vain did he try to count the cargo ships and tankers anchored in the harbor or tied up to the docks. “Fifty or more,” he scribbled. “Ready for action!” Jack barked. Ten Zeros were coming at them. Stew threw back his canopy, gripped his gun and waited. Once again Jack started climbing. But two Zeros were above and others to the right of him. Like football players rushing to stop an end run, they were coming in fast. “Got to fight,” Jack decided. He headed straight for the nearest enemy, caught him on the side, gave him a burst of fire, then plunged down to go under him. Luck was with him, for he came up behind the other plane. The Zero fled without a shot. Jack did not follow, but again started climbing. “What a pity! Such easy meat!” Stew exclaimed. “No dog fights!” Jack reminded him. “Besides, there are eight more Zeros coming up.” “Let them come!” said Stew. “I’ll drop the belly tank on them.” That was just what he did. When both they and their pursuers were well up in the substratosphere, he let go the empty tank and, with luck, tipped the wing of a fighter, sending him whirling over and over. “Oh!” he breathed ten seconds later as the enemy righted himself. “We get no medals for belly tanks.” As they climbed higher and higher their pursuers one by one dropped back, giving up the race. At last none remained. “Their ships just can’t take it,” Jack explained. “Something freezes up and then they’re sunk.” “Yes, or their propellers find the air too thin,” Stew added. Tilting his plane, Jack drifted slowly downward while Stew reported to the radio cabin of the Black Bee. “Great work,” was the commendation they received. “Think you can get down there once more for a check?” “Can we go down again?” he asked Jack. “Down to five thousand,” was the quick reply. “More would be suicide. You can use binoculars.” Down they went once more with the jet plane singing its wild song. Stew had just completed his check at five thousand when Jack warned: “Here they come!” This time he was above the enemy. When he had gained sufficient altitude, he leveled off and soared away. “That’s all,” he exclaimed. “Have to go back for more fuel.” Once again Stew radioed his report, with corrections. Then he settled back with a sigh. “Boy! What a life!” He was at ease, but not for long. |
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