Red Randall on Active Duty

by R. Sidney Bowen

  “The usual thing,” the senior officer replied. “Japs on the move all over. But they’ll be stopped and soon. Well, I’ve got a car here, so come on. I’ll drive you in to G.H.Q.”

  “Tell me, Captain, or maybe it’s a military secret,” Randall said as Joyce and he dropped into step, “you wouldn’t have any idea what’s going to happen when we arrive at G.H.Q., would you?”

  “Why, yes, Randall,” the other replied with a grin. “You two, and a few other pilots, are going to have a little talk with General Aiken, the Officer Commanding.”

  “About what, sir?” Jimmy Joyce asked quickly.

  The Captain made a little gesture with an extended forefinger and winked.

  “That,” he said, “is the sixty-four dollar question. And, to tell you the truth, I don’t know the answer myself. I wish I did. Just why a bunch of you pilots have been called to Melbourne has all of us at headquarters in a dither. No, fellows, I haven’t the faintest. So don’t try to pump me. I’m a dry well on that score. Well, here’s Minnie the Moocher. Step in, and have a free ride on the government.”

  They had reached a parked jeep that bore H.Q. pennants. It was spick-and-span-polished until it fairly gleamed. The two youths climbed in, and the Staff Captain took the wheel. He shifted gears and got it rolling, and then began a twenty-minute ride that would have been most enjoyable for the two pilots, if their heads had not been so full of questions without answers.

  Melbourne is a very beautiful city and contains many things to catch and hold the visitor’s eye. But so far as Randall and Jimmy Joyce were concerned, this, was no sight-seeing jaunt. It was a ride toward the answers to all the questions that were buzzing in their minds, and the sooner they got to that point the better they would like it.

  G.H.Q. was located on a street just off one of the main thoroughfares of the city, and Randall’s heart gave a little leap of joy and pride as he caught sight of Old Glory hanging from its staff at the front of the rather unimpressive building.

  The two pilots had hardly time to say thanks and goodbye to the smiling Staff Captain, when they were taken in hand by a grim-faced headquarters major who asked more questions of them than they had been asked when they first enlisted. And to top it all off, they were even three-viewed photographed and fingerprinted. When that was done they were led into a comfortable room that held about a dozen other pilots.

  They stopped just inside the door, blinking at the other pilots lounging about reading magazines and newspapers. One of them, a good-looking, chestnut-haired second lieutenant, and no more than a few years older than they, caught their puzzled glances, grinned, and came over to them.

  “Stivers is the name,” he said, and put out his hand. “Come in and make yourselves at home. We’ve been here a couple of hours. And it looks like we’re set for the day. Either of you have any idea why? I think there’s some kind of prize up for the fellow who can answer that.”

  “Then I lose out on the prize,” Red laughed, and shook hands. “Randall’s my name. And this is Jimmy Joyce. Then nobody knows a thing? What’s the idea, anyway?”

  “Howdy, Joyce,” Stivers said, shaking hands with Jimmy. Then to them both, “That’s the point. There doesn’t seem to be any idea yet. But from the jumps they put us over, maybe we’ve been selected to enlist all over again. I flew over from New Caledonia yesterday. You two stationed here down under? Or am I asking questions?”

  “The Darwin base,” Randall told him, as the trio walked over to some chairs. “Just landed in a Douglas transport. I wonder how long this hush-hush business keeps up?”

  Stivers grunted, gave a little half shake of his head, and sighed.

  “Until somebody’s darn good and ready to let us in on it, that’s a cinch,” he said. “My orders read to report to the General Commanding, but I ran smack into that frozen-faced Major at the door, and here I am.”

  “So are we,” Randall grinned. Then with a hunch of his shoulders, he added, “Maybe that photo and fingerprint business was to make sure we are who we claim we are.”

  “Yes, that was my thought, too,” Stivers grunted, and frowned at the ink smudges still showing on his fingertips. “They’re typing us, that’s sure. But why? I mean...”

  The good-looking, chestnut-haired pilot did not have time to explain what he meant, because at that moment the door was pushed open and the grim-faced Major poked his head inside.

  “Follow me, please, gentlemen,” he announced. “General Aiken will see you now. This way, please.”

  Everybody stood up. The pilots filed out of the room and followed the Major down a long hall and up a flight of broad stairs to the second floor. Halfway along the second floor hallway the Major stopped at a pair of double doors on the right. A sergeant standing guard snapped to rigid attention, then put out his hand and opened the doors and resumed his pose again. The Major nodded to the pilots to enter, and then stepped to one side to give them room to pass by.

  Inside the room, which was of a size that made Randall think of a banquet hall, there was a huge desk, three or four chairs, a double row of filing cabinets, and large maps hanging from the four walls. There was no one seated behind the desk, however. A moment later, a side door opened, and the grim-faced Major’s voice snapped like a bull whip:

  “General Aiken, gentlemen! Attention!”

  Everybody froze stiff and straight, eyes turned toward the thin-faced, hawk-nosed officer who paused long enough to return the Major’s salute before he went over to the huge desk and seated himself. For a moment or two he ran sharp eyes over the silent, waiting group, as though he were trying to pick out a familiar face or two. If he saw any, he gave no sign of recognition. Then presently he smiled and made a little movement with one hand.

  “At ease, gentlemen,” he said. “Sorry I cannot offer you chairs, but there does not seem to be enough. Matter of fact, though, I do not intend to keep you here long.”

  The senior officer paused, cleared his throat faintly, and glanced down at his folded hands on the desk. When he looked up at them again, another smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “I can well imagine what question every one of you would like to ask,” he said. “However, though I gave you permission to ask it, I most certainly would not give you the correct answer. That answer will be given to you in time, but not here and not now. I can tell you this much, however. You are being sent on a mission of utmost importance to the future conduct of the war here in the Southwest Pacific. And let me stress that point. Of the utmost importance. In short, this mission must succeed!”

  General Aiken paused again, and ran his tongue along his lower lip.

  “I assume,” he continued in a moment, “that all of you are here of your own free will, that you all accepted the opportunity to volunteer for this secret mission. However, in the event there is a misunderstanding, let me say that any of you have a perfect right to withdraw right now and return to your unit as you left it. Any officer who wishes to return to his unit?”

  There was none, and General Aiken nodded.

  “Very well, then,” he said. “We’ll consider that part settled and fully understood. And, my congratulations and good wishes, of course. I believe that is all I have to say, gentlemen, save to repeat: you are undertaking a daring and highly dangerous mission. You will realize that when you have been told the details. You will also understand, and agree, that the ultimate success of this mission is well worth all the risks we may be forced to take. And that is all. No, not quite. Report here to Major Haskel at seven o’clock tonight. Sharp! Until then you are free to spend your time as you wish.

  “Let me add one word of caution. Make no mention of this mission once you have left this building. Keep your thoughts and your questions to yourselves. If any one of you is reported to me as having been heard to mention any part of what little I have told you just now, he will be punished to the fullest extent of military law covering such actions in the time of national conflict. And such punishment is most
severe, I can assure you! However, I feel quite confident that no such thing will come to pass. Each and every one of you is to be trusted completely, or you would not be here listening to me now. Dismissed, gentlemen.”

  Chapter Five – Destination Unknown

  RED RANDALL GRABBED hold of the bridge ladder and braced himself as a mountain of blue-gray water came hurtling down on the battle-rigged American destroyer pounding its way northward through the blurred light of half day and half night. The mighty mass of water hit the sleek craft with a force that should have broken her back. She took it, though, seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then cut her way through that blue-gray wall and went boiling down into the trough like a runaway roller-coaster car. Randall gulped, shook sea water from his face, and glanced over at Jimmy Joyce who was beaming like a child seeing his first Christmas tree.

  “Two more degrees and this thing would have done a full roll!” he shouted. “You like it?”

  “Love it!” Joyce shouted back. “This is the life, boy!”

  “You can have it, sailor boy!” Randall growled. “How long before you think we’ll make San Francisco?”

  Jimmy Joyce laughed, then frowned, and between smashing seas made his way over to where Randall clung to the bridge ladder.

  “What do you mean, San Francisco?” he shouted above the howl of the wind. “Have you been listening to rumors?”

  Randall grinned tight-lipped and shook his head.

  “Just making my own guess,” he said. “Everybody else has been doing it. The peaceful Pacific, eh? Who was the wise guy who first called it that? I haven’t seen weather as bad as this in the Bay of Biscay. And there it really kicks up plenty.”

  “Just a blow, my friend, a little puff,” Joyce said, and released one hand-hold long enough to gesture. “Just a little warning of the hurricane season they have in these parts. Tell me, Red, have you heard any rumors that seem to make a little sense? Where are we going on this tin can, anyway?”

  “I don’t know,” Randall replied. “And I’m beginning to wonder if the commander of this tub knows, himself. For a night and a day, now, we’ve pointed at every spot on the compass at various times. Right now, it’s north. I tried to keep check at first, but I went into a flat spin after the first few changes of direction. You’d think that Major Haskel would at least give us some hint. Keeping mum because maybe there’s a secret Jap spy aboard? Nuts! Houdini himself wouldn’t stand a chance in this stuff.”

  Randall emphasized the last with a snort and waved one hand at the mountains of blue-gray water.

  “A very special and secret mission, huh?” he growled a moment later. “Boy! I’ll sure say it is. Look, John Paul Jones, you stick out here and have fun if you want to. Me, I’m going inside where at least it’s dry. If the idea is to drown me, I’m going to drown comfortable, anyway. See you later.”

  No sooner had Randall got the last off his lips than a gigantic wave sideswiped the destroyer and took them both right off their feet. If they both had not been clinging fast to the bridge ladder, they would have been carried overboard. As their feet hit the deck again and they regained their balance, one of the ship’s junior officers came down the bridge ladder. He looked at them in amazement, and shook water from his oilskins.

  “You want to get drowned?” he barked. “Only duty officers are allowed topside. Go below, please, at once!”

  “It was the Admiral’s idea,” Randall grinned, jerking a thumb toward Joyce. “I only came out here to humor him. Come on, Farragut, before they throw you in the brig.”

  The junior officer gulped and stared as Randall grabbed hold of Jimmy Joyce’s arm, and the pair of them went slip-sliding and staggering toward a companionway door. As a sort of goodbye kiss, a sudden blast of wind slammed the door shut before they were all the way inside and sent them sprawling on their faces.

  “Join the Navy and see pin wheels and colored lights!” Randall growled and got up on his feet shaking his head. “Thank goodness my folks didn’t raise any crazy children. You mean you really go for this sort of thing, Jimmy?”

  “Sure, it’s the stuff!” young Joyce exclaimed as he picked himself up. “The flying end, of course, but I like a pitching and tossing ship, too.”

  “Pitching and tossing ship, my eye!” Randall snorted, and started along the lurching companionway toward the officers’ wardroom. “This tub is just naturally turning itself inside out. If you ask me, the engines fell out of her long ago. Boy! Now there’s a group of brave, daring men for you!”

  Randall grunted out the last as they stepped into the officers’ wardroom where the twelve other pilots, herded aboard the destroyer at Melbourne by Major Haskel, were seated. But seated is hardly the word. Some were stretched out more or less cold on the leather-cushioned seats that ran along both sides of the room. A couple were trying to play two-handed rummy, but the pallor of their faces indicated that neither had his mind on the game. The rest were just sitting tightly wedged in chairs, waiting for the worst and fully expecting it. Major Haskel was one of the latter, and although he held a book in his hands, it did not mean a thing. He was holding it upside down!

  Nobody looked up as Randall and Joyce entered and floundered their way to some empty chairs. In fact, if Hirohito himself hobbled into that officers’ wardroom, nobody would have noticed. Screaming, straight-shooting eagles they might be in the air, but aboard that dancing destroyer they were just a bunch of lads who did not want anything but dry land under their feet.

  The chair Randall grabbed for, and just barely made as the destroyer heaved and started up in the first half of a tight loop, was next to Major Haskel’s. But he paid no attention to the Major for a moment. All he could do was hang on, grit his teeth, and pray that if he was going to be sick old “Salt Water” Jimmy Joyce would be looking the other way. However, he managed to curb the rebellion of his stomach, and chase the little purple dots away from in front of his eyes. Three or four deep breaths, and he was willing to try living for a little longer. He turned his head, met Major Haskel’s eye, and tried to smile cheerfully. Maybe his effort was not very successful, but it must have been better than the Major’s. His smile in return looked as though he had swallowed the destroyer and did not care for the taste at all.

  “Is it a military secret when we’re going to get off this boat, sir?” Randall asked, a little surprised that the words came off his tongue so smoothly.

  The Major groaned and swallowed.

  “I wish it was this very minute!” he mumbled. “We didn’t know this storm would hit us. One of the unfortunate things about this war. You have to guess at the weather because of radio silence restrictions. The Commander, though, still thinks he can make it by early dawn. Believes we’ll run out of this by midnight. I hope he’s right!”

  “Make it where, sir?” Randall asked quickly.

  The Major frowned as though he suddenly realized he had said something he should not. Then he shrugged and sighed heavily.

  “I don’t suppose it matters now,” he said. “Sometime in the early dawn we are rendezvousing with the carrier Comet. We’re being transferred aboard her; that is, if this storm doesn’t hold.”

  All thoughts of the storm fled from Randall’s brain. He even forgot about his turbulent stomach in his sudden spasm of excitement.

  “We’re going aboard the carrier Comet, sir?” he repeated eagerly. “Where and why?”

  But the Major just looked at him and shook his head.

  “You’ll find that out when you get aboard,” he said. Then as a distressing afterthought, he added, “If you get aboard.”

  “But would it do any harm to tell me, sir?” Randall pressed. “I mean...well, you know, sir.”

  Major Haskel managed a half smile that was almost real.

  “Yes, I know,” he said. “You’re not a Jap spy, or anything like that. The point is, I don’t know myself. It is simply my job to get you all aboard the Comet, and...”

  The Major stopped short and grabbed for hi
s stomach as the destroyer seemed to half spin, then crash into a brick wall, and go sliding off and down to starboard. When she came staggering up on even keel again, the Major slowly let the air out of his lungs.

  “And I wonder if I’ll be able to do my part of the job,” he moaned weakly.

  Randall stared at the officer in amazement.

  “You mean, you don’t know what all this is about, sir?” he asked.

  Major Haskel groaned and got slowly up onto his feet. He stood there a moment, swaying like a coconut palm in a mild hurricane and obviously trying to make up his mind just what he dared to do next. A heave of the destroyer decided him.

  “’Cuse me!” he gasped, and bolted for the door. His course was way off, and Randall let out an impulsive yell of warning. A lurch of the ship, however, straightened out the major, and he flew through the opening and out into the companionway.

  “Too bad he had to leave in such a hurry,” Jimmy Joyce spoke in Randall’s ear. “I bet he could tell us something if he wanted to.”

  “Well, he sure doesn’t want to now,” Red sighed. “He’s got other things on his mind.”

  “On his stomach, you mean!” Joyce corrected with a chuckle. “Gee! I sure wish the Commander would invite me up on the bridge. You get a swell view from up there. And what a kick, too.”

  “Skip it!” Randall growled as a few of the purple spots started reappearing before his eyes. “I’ve won a dozen medals sticking it out this long. So don’t go painting word pictures and make me spoil my record.”

  “Okay,” Jimmy Joyce agreed instantly. “Anything for a pal. Let’s talk about food instead. An oyster stew for instance.”

  “Somebody murder the guy, please!” Randall groaned, and clapped both hands to his ears.

  Chapter Six – Flat-Top Wings

  AS THOUGH THEY realized it was a lost cause trying to hammer that sea-churning Yank destroyer into submission, and send her plunging to the bottom, the weather gods took their storm elsewhere shortly after midnight. The wind died down, and the seas calmed to almost millpond smoothness, reflecting patches of shimmering stars that showed between the clouds hanging in the heavens. Full speed was still maintained, though, and the intense vibration that shuddered through the ship caused a couple of the land-lubber pilots to remain stuck to their chairs, still praying for death.