  Gale struggled to her feet so suddenly that she banged her head on the low ceiling of the air raid shelter. “We—we’ve got to get out of here,” she exclaimed. “Just got to down one of those bombers. We—” She stopped short. The roar of more exploding enemy bombs drowned the sound of her voice. And then, ten times louder, though from some distance off, came another roar. “You got one of them, sister,” said a voice behind her. “You sure got one.” Scarcely had the voice died away when there came a second terrific roar. This time it was much closer. “Two of ’em,” the voice exclaimed. “Say! Night fighting, at that! You’re really good!” “I wanted three,” was Gale’s instant reply. “Come on, Mac, let’s get out and down one more!” “Something tells me you have nothing left but your hands to fight with,” said the voice. “Noth—nothing left?” she stammered. “I’ll bet you a coke that your outfit is blown to bits,” said the voice. “I’ve seen a lot of bombing, some of it close. Too close. But none as close as that. That bomb came very near sending us all to Glory.” “That’s right,” Mac agreed. “Uncle Sam’ll love to fix me up with a new gun. I don’t mind that. A change is always welcome.” “But I had everything fixed just the way I wanted it,” Gale all but wailed. “Sure,” said the voice. “That’s the way it is in war, and all of life, I guess. Perhaps that’s what war is all about. I wouldn’t know. People get things fixed up just the way they want them—a home—a good job—a fine club—a golf course to play on—lots of friends, and—” “Then they’re bored to death,” Mac put in. “You’re just right, they are,” the voice agreed. “And then along comes the war and they cry to Heaven, ‘I had everything fixed just the way I wanted it!’” Suddenly the voice faded. “Listen!” said Mac. The sky was filled with sound, the roar of planes, some high pitched, some low, fighters and bombers. The rat-tat-tat of machine guns and the pom-pom of anti-aircraft made hash of it all. “Our night fighters are up. Good show!” exclaimed the voice. “Your radar wouldn’t do any good now. You’d get the wrong plane. Might as well settle down and enjoy a spot of tea.” Gale was still angry at this person who, impersonating a whirlwind, had thrown her into the dugout. She was also curious. By this time the charcoal burner gave off a ruddy glow, lighting up the place a bit. She turned half about. The light fell on a sun-tanned face that seemed in some way at the same time absurdly youthful and very old. The eyes were dark blue and deep-set. The lips were parted in a smile. But there were lines—deep cut lines in that face. “Who—who are you?” she asked, without meaning to. “Well, since you’ve asked me,” he laughed in a dry sort of way, “I don’t mind telling you that I’m Jimmie Nightingale, and that I was once a Flying Tiger.” “A flying Tiger!” Her lips parted in surprise. “Yep. That’s a fact. But now I’m just a member of the Ferry Command. I ferry all sorts of planes and all kinds of things over the mountains into China.” “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Over Burma?” “Naturally.” “Tell—tell me what it’s like,” came in an awed whisper. “I—perhaps I’m going there.” “It’s like nothing you ever saw before,” was Jimmie’s reply. “Mountains all piled up in a heap. Rushing streams, giant teakwood forests, head-hunters, villages and temples—all that. And then,”—he caught his breath, “Palm trees, pineapple fields, rice paddies, and again sandy deserts,—such deserts as you never dreamed of. Sands and dust that shakes you and no water to drink. No roads worth mentioning, and silly little brown men setting all sorts of traps to catch you. That’s Burma at its worst and its best.” “How about the tea, Mac?” Jimmie’s voice dropped. “My throat is dry.” “Water’s just ready to boil,” said Mac. “Wait. I’ve got some ginger cookies and chocolate bars hidden away here if the rats haven’t taken them.” “Regular feed! That’s the stuff!” Jimmie enthused. As for Gale, she dug a comb out from beneath her khaki unionalls and started putting her wind-blown hair to rights. “My name’s Gale Janes,” she volunteered. “Nice name, but it doesn’t fit. How about Hellcat?” Jimmie asked. “You don’t have to be terrible to be of some use in the world,” she protested. “Many a gale has moved a big ship. “You might like to know,” she confided, “That when the time comes, I’m going to Burma with the colonel and his army on his way back—his march of triumph.” “How nice!” said Jimmie. “Does the colonel know?” “Not yet, so don’t breathe a word of it.” “I won’t, but I’ve heard that it’s going to be hard for any woman to get a ride on that trip. There’s going to be a lot of hard fighting.” “So the WACS will be left behind where it’s safe.” Her voice was filled with scorn. “The clan I belong to goes places and does things. My father was sheriff once in one of the fightingest counties of the Cumberland Mountains in old Kentucky.” “Is that right? Tell me about it.” Jimmie was all attention. “I don’t remember too much of it. I was only twelve then. We didn’t stay long, just long enough to sort of clean things up.” “You and your Dad?” He laughed low. “Just Dad, that time.” She joined in the laugh. “But we’ve done things together since. And we’d do them again over here.” Her voice went husky. “Dad’s a little bit of all right, but he’s over age and they wouldn’t take him.” “So you came instead?” Jimmie’s voice was low, friendly. “Something like that,” she agreed. “Tell me about the Cumberlands,” Jimmie begged. “I read books about them when I was a boy. They went like this: ‘He jerked a blue barrelled pistol from under his arm and whang! Whang! The desperado bit the dust.’” “That’s not very accurate, but it will do,” Gale laughed. “Tell me more about Burma and the route you take,” she begged. “Then I’ll tell you about the Cumberlands. Turn about is fair play.” “The Burma air trail,” he mused. “That’s the toughest trail there is in all the world. No kiddin’. The Burma air route is the worst there ever was. There’s one spot at the crest of that towering ridge that we call ‘Hell’s Half Hour.’ The rocks are like iron hands reaching up to slap you, and the gales come up without a moment’s warning to lift you and whirl you into the sky. “Some of the boys have crashed there and have never been heard from again.” Jimmie’s voice went husky. “And some of them wandered for weeks in the trackless wilderness until some wild natives picked them up, fed them, and brought them in. “And then there’s the desert,” he went on. “A forced landing there can mean anything from murder to suicide. But mostly we make it.” He drew a long breath. “I always have. “But let me tell you one thing, sister.” His voice rose. “We’ll be mighty glad when you and the colonel have blazed the land trail across Burma to China and straight to Tokio. And there are signs.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “There are signs, sister.” His voice trailed off. At that instant there came the sound of some slight movement at the back of the shelter. Quick as a flash Mac threw the gleam of his electric torch into that dark corner. Its gleam fell on the startled face of a little dark-complected man. “The black dwarf,” Gale whispered. “He was there when we had that other air raid.” “What does that mean?” Mac whispered back. “Who knows? Probably nothing.” “All the same, I don’t like his looks. I have a good notion to throw him out.” “Mac! You couldn’t do that. It’s not safe,” she protested. “There are a lot of things that are not safe in this strange world we’re living in now,” Mac grumbled as he turned his attention to his brewing tea. “You were going to tell me about your Cumberland Mountain experience,” said Jimmie. “Oh, yes,” she agreed. “Well, there’s not so much to tell? I was young then. It’s all a bit vague in my mind. Some things were being done down there that shouldn’t have been—too much moonshine and lots of trouble, shooting at the feet of Union organizers who visited the mines, and all that.” “And your father cleaned all that up?” he suggested. “Well, yes, after a while. One scene stands out in my memory. Nothing much.” She laughed lightly. “Only you remember events that are rather dramatic, you know.” “That’s right.” “Well, it seems that some of the men decided to gang up on Dad.” “And wipe him out?” “Something like that. They caught up with him in a big room of the old brick court house. I was with Dad. And was I thrilled!” “Scared?” “No! Of course not! I said Dad was with me, didn’t I?” “Oh, sure. But—” “Dad didn’t let the gang get too close to him.” She tensed a little. “There were a dozen of those men, all armed. Dad just sort of backed off a little and then crossed his arms over his chest with one hand under each arm.” “And then what?” he whispered. “Dad said,” Gale drew a long breath. “I can just hear him now. He said, ‘Well, boys, you can kill me, but I’ll get two of you’.” “What did you do?” Jimmie asked. “I climbed up on a chair so I could see what would happen next,” she replied simply. “Oh—a” Jimmie whistled softly. “What—you—you were magnificent! But what did happen?” “Nothing. Just nothing at all,” she said. “For Pete’s sake!” he exclaimed. “Why not?” “Because those men knew that Dad had a big long blue-barrelled gun in each hand, slung from a holster under his arms, and they knew that he was faster than they were,—a lot faster. They knew that if they started things, two of them would die, and they didn’t know just which two.” “Sayee!” Jimmie whistled again. “That was really something! And your part was the best of all. Say! I’ll join your clan just any day. What’s the countersign?” “A good honest handshake.” She put out a hand to give his a good manly grip. “And then,” she added with a laugh, “I’d say, ‘Well, I’ve got to be going down. Just come down with me.’” “And I would say?” he asked. “You would say, ‘I can’t today. Just go up with me’.” “You got me that time!” Jimmie laughed. “Got me dead to rights. Well, maybe I’ll take you up in my plane over Burma sometimes, even if it is against the rules.” |
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