Red Randall at Pearl Harbor

by R. Sidney Bowen

  The instant he had gained sufficient altitude he stared down at the Island of Oahu below him to see what he could see. But it wasn’t much. That is, he could not see much because a heavy pall of smoke hung over everything. Even the Waikane field close by was shrouded in smoke—black oily-looking stuff that he knew boiled up from exploded gas and oil tanks. A couple of times he twisted around in the seat to look back toward Pearl Harbor. But there, too, were nothing but layers of black smoke streaked here and there with dull red flames. And to look back was also to see Kato Harada, his smirking face, and his cruel eyes glittering behind the lenses of Jimmy Joyce’s goggles. So, each time he quickly turned, his head and went on flying the Fairchild.

  It was agony just to sit there and pilot the plane. An agony that was both mental and physical. Mental because of the torturing thoughts that paraded around and around in his head. And physical because he seemed actually to feel the pain that Jimmy Joyce must be suffering back there in the rear cockpit. He hoped and prayed that the wire was not cutting too deep into Jimmy’s wrists and ankles. And he wished that he had taken the chance and bound Jimmy’s wrists and ankles more loosely than he actually had. Jimmy Joyce. Talk about nerve and courage! Jimmy sure had it, and plenty!

  “And to think that only a couple of hours ago I got sore at him because he’d swiped this plane,” he murmured. “Man, but I sure had Jimmy figured all wrong. I don’t care if he is Navy, or will be next fall, he’s okay by me.”

  As the engine roared, Red’s thoughts raced along with it. Two hours ago? Two years, it seemed, at least. And longer, too! Next fall would Jimmy really be Navy? Be going to the Academy? Would there ever be a next fall for Jimmy Joyce? And for him, for that matter? He didn’t dare think much about that. In the rear cockpit was death in inhuman form. Kato Harada was his name. But a name was not necessary. Devils like Harada were all the same. They all should be removed from the face of the earth. Just as you would uproot and destroy an ugly vine that was choking the life from a beautiful tree.

  “A next fall for Jimmy and for me?” he whispered softly. And then with a shudder he couldn’t control for a moment, “I wonder!”

  In his thoughts he repeated the question and continued to wonder. Maybe it was foolish to think as he was thinking, but in the last few hours his whole life had been completely turned upside down. Why, just a few hours ago he had been all hot and bothered about the Around the Island Race at the Air Meet next week. And now? Now, all that seemed so far away and so unimportant. There would be no Club Air Meet next week, for war had come to the Hawaiian Islands. War had come to the Islands...and to him, Red Randall.

  He cut short the rest of the thought as he suddenly caught that flash of morning sunlight on wings to his left beyond the Koolauloa Range and over Waialua way. But the distance was too great for him to make them out as either Japanese or American. And then the flashing wings were lost to view in the spreading pall of smoke that seemed to hang over everything. However, the sight of those distant wings stirred up a little fear that had been in the back of his mind all along, ever since he had taken off with Harada and Jimmy Joyce. What if bullet-spitting Japanese planes should suddenly come swooping down upon them? Would some kind of a signal from Harada send them winging on their way?

  Wait a minute! Harada had said he had been listening to them talking as they hid in those bushes. Perhaps Harada was the reason that last Japanese pilot who dived on the Fairchild had ceased fire just short of his target. Perhaps he had seen Kato Harada and received a signaled order to spare the Fairchild.

  A shiver went up Red’s back as he thought of the Japanese being so near while Jimmy Joyce and he were talking things over in the bushes. But in almost the same moment he experienced a feeling of grim satisfaction in the knowledge that Harada also had seen that Japanese submarine explode mysteriously and sink out of sight. At least Harada’s plan to leave Oahu by submarine in the middle of the sneak Japanese attack had been spoiled.

  “Right!” he whispered fiercely. “So he had to take this way out. And who knows? Maybe it’s the beginning of something mighty big for Jimmy and me. This isn’t the end, like I’ve been feeling. It’s the beginning, and Jimmy and I have got to hold out somehow. We’ve just got to!”

  Words, the right words said at the right time, can do wonders for one’s morale and fighting spirit. And that’s just what those words that Red Randall whispered to himself did for him. From the very depths of hopeless despair they lifted him upward to a clearer and more sensible view of things. At least they fired his hopes, gave him the spirit, the energy, and the savage determination to carry on.

  And so, as he flew the Fairchild over Kahuku Point and out across the Kaieie Waho Channel toward Kauai and Niihau Islands, a new feeling of hope began to beat in Red Randall’s heart. Even a tight little smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth. Why Harada wanted to go to Niihau, he did not know and could not even guess. And just what was there he neither knew nor guessed. Somehow, though, it did not seem to matter as he guided the Fairchild through the air above the sky-blue waters. He would find out when he arrived. That would be time enough. Then, perhaps, please God, the chance and the opportunity for Jimmy and him to do something about it all would come! And thus, with wild thoughts and wild hopes, and a fierce new determination, Red Randall flew the Fairchild onward until the Kamukahi Channel between Niihau and Kauai Islands was off his right wing, and Niihau itself was practically under his left wing.

  It was then that Kato Harada kicked the back of his bucket seat to attract his attention. He twisted around in the seat and looked first at Jimmy Joyce. His friend’s face was white and drawn, but he was quite conscious because he was frowning in his effort to keep his eyes shut and prevent the swirling prop-wash from fluttering his lids. And then Red looked at the Japanese to see him pointing down angrily with his gun at the western side of the island. He jerked his head front, looked down himself, and understood Harada’s gestures. Down there was a tiny strip of white beach that seemed almost man-made. It was in the center of a stretch of rocky, plant-covered shoreline that ended abruptly at the water’s edge. It was not very long, nor was it very wide. But Red had confidence in himself, and felt sure that he could land the overloaded Fairchild without mishap.

  As he thought of that, a mishap, his brain took a crazy twist, and for a mad moment he was almost tempted to dive straight into that strip of sandy beach and kill them all. It would be a good joke on Harada to come this far, and then get what he so justly deserved. However, even before that mad moment was born it was gone, and Red fumed at himself for even thinking of such things.

  “Land, you dope!” he grated to himself. “And make it the best one ever. The jouncing will hurt poor Jimmy enough as it is.”

  And that is what he made, the best landing ever. He slid down easily and approached the low way of the beach. There was hardly any wind, and what there was followed the line of the shore, so he did not have the additional worry of a cross wind landing. His wheels touched hard-packed sand lightly, and as the Fairchild lost speed the tail came down as light as a feather. And he still had half the beach to go when he finally braked the Fairchild to a gentle stop.

  So intent, however, had he been on making a perfect landing that he did not see the half-dozen figures come out of the shore growth until he looked up and spied them standing a few feet from the plane. All six wore native Hawaiian costumes. In addition, each carried a wicked trench knife at his belt and a deadly short-barreled submachine gun in his hands.

  The Japanese stood there like so many carved dummies until Kato Harada shrilled something at them in their native tongue. They replied in kind, showed their teeth in broad smiles, and then shrilled some more.

  At that point Harada stood up in the plane cockpit, and casually dumped Jimmy Joyce from his lap to the ground. Bound hand and foot, his body fell with a jolting thud upon the beach. When Red saw what had happened to his friend, he let out a yell of rage, and in a single leap left the Fairchild and
dropped on his hands and knees beside Jimmy’s huddled form.

  “Jimmy boy, Jimmy!” Red cried softly, and took his friend’s head and shoulders in his arms. “Hang on hard, Jimmy!

  Joyce gasped for a moment, then focused his tired eyes on Red’s face, and forced his old fighting grin to tug at the corners of his mouth.

  “It’s okay, Red,” he said. “I can take it. That was one sweet landing, fellow. A honey, in any language!”

  Randall looked up at Kato Harada, his eyes blazing with fury.

  “That was a dirty thing to do, you big stiff!” he cried hotly. “I flew you here, and you dumped him out and damn near broke his neck!”

  “On this soft sand?” the Japanese chuckled and kicked up some of it with the toe of his shoe. “That is the trouble with you American dogs. You are soft and can stand nothing. Your friend is all right. He can walk. Take off the wire, and you will see for yourself.”

  Red blinked and stared unbelievingly. Harada was willing to let him free Jimmy of his bonds? Harada seemed to read his thoughts. He grinned at the six other Japanese, and then nodded.

  “Yes, I mean it!” he snapped. “Go ahead and free your friend. Neither he, nor you, can get away from us here. Unless, of course, we wish to let you!”

  It was obvious that the six other Japanese understood English, for they giggled like schoolgirls at Harada’s words. Red Randall thought of the guns they carried, and of the hope that was probably taking shape in their warped killers’ brains, and then he bent down to untwist the wire from Jimmy Joyce’s wrists and ankles.

  Chapter Twelve – In the Hands of the Enemy

  TO REMOVE THE wire from Joyce’s wrists and ankles was not an easy job. In several places it had cut through the skin and was smeared with blood and kept slipping out of Randall’s fingers. He steeled himself to the task, however, and tried to lessen the pain now and then as he worked by flashing Joyce an encouraging grin. Jimmy replied with a grin of his own, and he did not so much as let a single groan pass his swollen lips, though it was plain to see that it was hurting a lot. As for the Japanese they seemed to have forgotten the two Americans, for they were jabbering excitedly at each other.

  Red wished very much that he understood Japanese, for it might help a lot in regard to his immediate future to know what they were talking about. He made the guess, though, that Kato Harada was telling the others what had taken place down on Oahu. Red wished he, too, could know exactly what had happened on Oahu. He knew that it had been plenty, but had Harada really told him the truth? Was Pearl Harbor, and all that it meant to the United States in the Pacific, really gone? And what about his Dad? Was Dad all right, or had…

  He closed his eyes tight for an instant and refused even to finish the question, much less guess an answer. He must not think about his Dad now. It would not help. And then suddenly the last of the wire was free of Jimmy’s wrists and ankles, and he was gently dabbing the bleeding cuts with his handkerchief, silently thankful that they were not as deep as he had at first believed.

  “Don’t try it yet, Jimmy,” he said in a low voice, as Joyce started to move. “Just take it easy for a couple of minutes. Wait till the circulation gets going stronger again.”

  “No, I can make it, Red, if you’ll just help me up a little,” Joyce replied. “I’ll show those Japs I can take it! I’ll…”

  “Don’t be a sap!” Red snapped, tightening his grip on Joyce’s arm. “Nuts to them! If you miss and go flat, they’ll just give you the horse laugh. Take your time. It may help a lot later.”

  Jimmy Joyce looked at him sharply.

  “What do you mean?” he whispered.

  Red bent over as though to wipe more blood from Joyce’s cut flesh, but it was really to hide what he said from the Japanese, who were now talking less and taking more of an interest in what he was doing.

  “I don’t know exactly,” he shot out the corner of his mouth. “Just a thought I had. We’re alive. They haven’t killed us, and so it looks...”

  But that was as far as he could get. Harada came over close and sneered down at Joyce.

  “A little blood, and you feel faint, yes?” he jeered. “That is too bad. I will have my men carry you to...”

  “The hell you will!” Jimmy Joyce shouted, much to Randall’s annoyance. “I don’t need anybody to carry me, see? Here, Red, give me a hand.”

  Randall groaned under his breath but nevertheless offered Joyce his hand, both of them in fact, and slowly helped the youth to his feet. He had to continue to hang onto Jimmy, however, because Joyce’s angry boast was beyond his strength at the moment. His face was pale with pain, and he bit down hard on his lower lip. But there was blazing determination in his eyes, and after a couple of minutes of more or less resting his weight against Randall he straightened up and began to walk forward slowly. Red went with him for a couple of steps, but Joyce then shook him off and walked by himself. He went down the beach some ten or fifteen yards, turned and came back with a tight defiant grin on his lips, his chin up, and shoulders back.

  Red did not know whether to kiss him or punch him in the nose. But, of course, he did neither. He simply grinned and nodded his approval and admiration.

  “Nice going, Jimmy,” he said. “You’re one plenty tough guy, and how!”

  “I can manage,” Joyce replied grimly, and looked hard at Harada. “Well, what do you think you’re going to make us do next?” he demanded, tight-lipped.

  Harada laughed and shot a meaning glance at the six other Japanese.

  “Why, eat, unless you don’t care for food,” he replied. Then, his eyes narrowing to glittering slits, he added, “A word of warning you will do well to think about! I have not yet decided if you and your friend can be of further use to me. Be a fool and you will cause me to decide that I am through with you both. Just remember that, little one!”

  Seething revolt welled up in Red Randall. By his very words Kato Harada had proved that he would break any promise he had made on Oahu the instant it suited his purpose.

  Kato Harada, chattering in his native tongue, broke up Red’s train of thought, and in the next moment Jimmy Joyce and he were being marched up the beach by the six Japanese with submachine guns. Before they had traveled fifty yards, Harada shrilled something which was obviously an order to halt, because Randall and Joyce were grabbed by the arms and both brought up short. Harada, who had taken up the rear of the little parade, came up and nodded to three of the Japanese and spat out some more orders. The three others also nodded, turned, and went trotting back toward the plane.

  The other three pushed Randall and Jimmy forward, steering them up toward an opening in the heavy shore growth. Just before Red ducked down to pass through the opening, he glanced back over his shoulder and saw that the other three Japanese had switched off the Fairchild Ranger’s ignition, and were dragging the plane back out of sight under the overhanging branches of a tree.

  Then he lost sight of it as a Japanese gave him a jab between the shoulder blades with his gun muzzle, and sent him stumbling forward along a narrow path cut through the underbrush. For perhaps five minutes he was led along the pathway that led inland and upward from the shore. At the end of that time he suddenly came out into a small clearing that was domed over by the branches of surrounding tall trees. Because of the heavy foliage the light was bad, and for a moment or two Randall could see nothing.

  Then gradually his eyes became accustomed to the gloom and he saw that the clearing contained half a dozen thatched native huts. Two of them were of fair size, and as he stared at them he suddenly caught his breath. Between them stood a bamboo radio mast that reached up into the towering tree branches. By looking up and straining his eyes Red could just make out the kite-shaped antenna arrangement at the top, and the lead wire that slanted downward to the largest hut to the right of the radio mast. He was no radio expert, though he had fooled around with it a little, but he knew at once that he was looking at a powerful radio station that could both send and receive over
a distance of thousands of miles.

  However, he was allowed only a passing look. At an order from Harada he was seized roughly by the arm, marched on the trot over to one of the smaller huts, and flung savagely inside. The smell inside the hut struck his nostrils like a blow in the face. Because of the darkness he stumbled over something, and before he could save himself, he fell sprawling on his face. And then before he could pick himself up, Jimmy Joyce came stumbling down on top of him.

  “Sorry, Red,” he heard Joyce pant. “That devil shoved me, and I couldn’t catch myself in time.”

  “Okay, Jimmy, okay, fellow,” Red replied and twisted over and up to a sitting position. “You all right? How’re the old wrists and ankles?”

  “They’re all right,” Joyce replied. “Gosh! What a smell in this place!”

  “You telling me?” Red grunted. “My guess is the enemy have been sleeping in here. Yeah! I can see the little mats they use. See them over there by the wall?”

  “I see them,” Joyce replied and made sounds in his throat. “What now, Red? We’re in a jam. What do you think they’re going to do? I’m plenty scared. Are you?”

  “Scared stiff,” Red replied. “I...hold it a minute!”

  As Randall finished speaking he crawled over closer to the open door of the hut. Just outside the door, some ten feet or so away, one of the Japanese was squatted down on his haunches. He was facing the door, and balanced across his bony knees was his deadly submachine gun. His eyes were fixed rigidly on the hut opening, but the rest of his face was completely expressionless. Red stared at him for a moment, and then spoke over his shoulder to Jimmy Joyce.

  “I think that if we rush this bird fast, Jimmy, maybe we can get that gun away from him!”

  “Huh?” Joyce gasped. “Good grief, Red, don’t try anything like that! He’d shoot us sure!”

  Randall didn’t make any comment for a moment. He had kept his eyes fixed on the Japanese guard for several moments. Then he turned around and crawled back to Joyce.