Red let it roar for five precious seconds, to warm it up as fast as possible. Then he kicked off the wheel brakes, pushed the throttle open wide, and pushed the joystick forward. The Fairchild shuddered and trembled but stayed right where it was. A few agonizing seconds later it gave an almost reluctant lurch, and started to move forward. Picking up more and more speed with every revolution of its whirling propeller, it soon was tearing along full-out, and Red was able to get the tail up and allow the trim little low-wing monoplane two-seater to race forward on its wheels.
“We’re going to make it, Red!”
Jimmy Joyce’s glad cry just barely reached Red’s ears above the thunder of the Ranger. And then, as he gently lifted the plane clear and stuck the nose up, the spiteful chatter of many machine guns broke out behind him. He could tell that one of them was Jimmy Joyce’s gun firing from the rear cockpit, but at that moment he did not dare turn his head around to look. The Fairchild was clear of the beach, but it was close to the trees that lined the far end, and it required all of Red Randall’s attention to make sure that he climbed the Fairchild clear of the treetops and did not lose any precious flying speed.
The instant the treetops were beneath him he gently banked the Fairchild out over the water. And then he turned his head and stared back down to the beach. Three Japanese, led by the unmistakable figure of Kato Harada, had leaped out of the bushes at the far end, and were racing up the beach, firing their machine guns as they ran. Red thought he heard the whine of their bullets but he was not sure. Just the same he ducked instinctively and pushed the heel of his palm against arc until it was headed back toward Oahu. But as he took one last look at the island of Niihau, he could see a column of dirty black smoke mounting up from where the hidden thatched huts had been. He lowered his gaze and stared for a moment at the antlike figures of the two Japanese still bent over, as though in prayer, beside the body of Kato Harada.
“Good riddance!” Red said through clenched teeth, and turned his eyes toward home.
Suddenly he noticed that the sun was a deep blood-red ball balanced on the western rim of the world. He looked quickly at the clock on the instrument panel. The hands pointed exactly to eighteen minutes after six o’clock. But even then he could not believe it.
“Sunset, and after six o’clock?” he said unbelievingly. “I must be nuts! The...the time just couldn’t have whizzed past that quickly. I... What a day!”
He cut himself off short, gave a little puzzled shake of his head, and once again looked at the setting sun and the clock on the Fairchild’s instrument panel. The red ball was a little flat on the bottom now, and the hands of the clock pointed to eighteen and one-half minutes after six o’clock.
“Good God, it must be true!” he mumbled. “Over twelve hours since...!”
As the sun sank lower and lower into the Pacific, Red raced the Fairchild over Kaieie Waho Channel and down towards Oahu. He could see it clearly now in the distance, surmounted by towering columns of black smoke that marked several points on the island. And it grew bigger and bigger as the plane prop-clawed its way through the air. He strained his eyes in the direction of Hickam Field, but he could not pick it out, or even Honolulu or Pearl Harbor for that matter, because of the clouds of smoke that shrouded everything. They were going home, but what would home look like when they got there?
And then when the tip of Kahuku Point was under his wings, five American P-40’s suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and came closing in on him. Red bad a moment of fear, and he flung one hand up over his head and waved it wildly. Maybe they wouldn’t recognize the Fairchild!
“Don’t shoot, for cat’s sake!” he shouted loudly, and gesticulated toward the Department of Commerce license number on the rudder. “This is an American plane!”
His alarm of course was unfounded, because those Yank eagles in the P-40’s had eyes in their heads. They simply swung in close, looked over the Fairchild carefully, and then waved to Randall to keep right on going. Just to make sure, though, the P-40 pilots throttled and dropped back to form a guarding escort for the Fairchild. Red grinned happily, and a great pride welled up within him. Maybe the Japanese had done a lot to Oahu, but they at least had not destroyed every Yank Air Corps plane. There were the P-40’s behind him, and brave American pilots to fly them. Yes, the Japanese had come, delivered their sneak punch at Uncle Sam’s power in the Pacific, and flown away. But evidently there were still planes to put up on patrol, and still pilots to fly them. And…
He cut the rest off short as he happened to press his free hand against his chest and felt the creased folds of Harada’s map under his shirt. Yes, the Japanese had come and gone...but they were planning to come again! And this time they planned, as Harada had boasted, to stay. Their new treacherous intentions were all plainly marked on this very map.
“But they won’t do it now!” Red said fiercely and pointed the Fairchild down toward Hickam Field which was just ahead. “The map shows where they are, and if only we can send a force out after them, we can bust their dirty plans sky high. Oh, God! Look what they did to Hickam, will you!”
As he spoke he stared wide-eyed down at the mess of smoking ruins that was Hickam Field. From one end to the other had been blasted by Japanese bombs and machine-gun fire. There wasn’t a single pane of glass in any of the building windows. The huge hangars had been hit so savagely that only framework was left. And one hangar just wasn’t there any more at all. It was just a smoldering heap of twisted ruins. Damaged planes and parts of planes were scattered all over the bomb-pocked runways and field. Planes without engines, planes without wings, planes without nose, and planes without tails. And over on the far side an exploded fuel dump was still burning furiously.
For a couple of seconds Red was afraid that he would not be able to land on the field because of the scattered wreckage and bomb craters. However, he spotted a fairly clear strip close to the Field Administration Building, and throttling back the Ranger, he slid downward toward the spot. He made a good landing and brought the Fairchild to a stop just six feet from the lip of a yawning bomb crater. And no sooner had the Fairchild come to a stop than it was quickly surrounded by a group of tired and grimy-looking Yank soldiers.
“What are you doing here with that cloud hopper?” an angry-faced Air Corps captain yelled. “Get it out of here, and over to some civilian field where it belongs. We’ve got troubles enough.”
“And we’ve had troubles, too, Captain!” Red replied and pushed up out of his seat. “Where’s Colonel Stacey, please? I’ve got to see him right away. It’s very important, Captain.”
“Colonel who?” the officer demanded. Then as his jaw dropped, “Why, you’re just a couple of kids! And what in heaven’s name happened to you? Did you walk into your own prop? Or did the Japs do that to you?”
“The darn Japs!” Red replied. And then he forgot all about the captain, because as luck would have it, he spotted Colonel Stacey hurrying out of the Administration Building. “Hey, Colonel!” he shouted and started running. “Colonel Stacey!”
The Intelligence officer stopped as he heard his name called, turned his head and recognized Red Randall instantly. He hurried to meet Red, his face heavily lined, with fatigue and worry, but a look of perfect amazement was struggling through.
“Randall, you?” he cried and peered hard down into Red’s face. “Did you just land in that plane? Good heavens, boy, where have you been? What happened?”
“An awful, awful lot, sir,” Red replied, and turned as Jimmy came running over. “This is Jimmy Joyce, Colonel, and if it hadn’t been for Jimmy I sure would have been out of luck. But, look, sir. I got hold of this. It’s one of Kato Harada’s maps. See where these pin flags are stuck in? That’s where Jap ships are. Jap troopships that are to land troops on Oahu at midnight tonight! Harada told us all about it. And that’s what the Japs are going to do!”
Colonel Stacey’s eyes stared in astonishment as Red pulled the map out of his shirt and smoothed it flat. At sight
of it the Colonel gave a little shake of his head as though he was not quite sure that his eyes were telling him the truth.
“Good grief!” he finally said, and took the map in his own hands. “Harada’s you say? And you got it from him?”
“And Jimmy Joyce shot him dead!” Red cried. “Just as we were escaping from Niihau in the plane. But that map means something to you, doesn’t it, sir?”
“Mean something?” the Colonel echoed. “It means everything, Randall! We’ve been afraid the Japs might try another attack, and now we know! Mean anything? Good heavens, boy! You’ve saved the Islands for us. You two come along with me. I want you to see the General at once. And I want to hear your whole story, too. Why...why this is a miracle! A miracle, Randall! Come along, both of you.”
“Where’s my Dad, Colonel?” Red cried as he fell into step. “Have you seen Dad around? Is he all right?”
A shadow passed across Colonel Stacey’s face.
“He was wounded, son,” he said gently. “But it’s not fatal. He’ll live. He’s at Tripler General Hospital now. I’ll drive you up there myself, right after we’ve seen the General.”
The tired-eyed doctor in blood-stained whites took hold of Red Randall’s arm from behind and drew him to a stop.
“Better stay here, son, he said gently. You’re all in, boy. I’ll try to find some place where you can lie down. Better stay here for the day, son. You’re just going on nerve now.”
“Thanks, Doctor, but I’m all right, sir,” Red said. “I think I’d rather go to the house. You say that part of Honolulu wasn’t touched?”
“No, it wasn’t,” the medical man replied. “I live in that same section, and I checked by phone just a couple of hours ago. I’m sorry, son, that you couldn’t talk with your father. But he was in a great deal of pain, so we had to give him something to put him asleep. Perhaps later in the day, though. And don’t worry, my boy. He’ll get the best of care here, and when he’s strong enough we’ll send him back to the Mainland.”
“But will he ever...” Red began, but was unable to finish.
“I can’t tell you that now, because I don’t know,” the doctor said quietly. “He was pretty badly burned. But he’s done his share for his country, son. More than his share, I’d say. They tell me he shot down four Jap planes, and then ran out of ammunition and crashed his plane into a fifth Jap. It’s a wonder he lived long enough to bail out of the wreckage. Yes, he’s done more than his share. But, look, my boy, don’t you think you’d better stay here awhile?”
“No, thank you, sir,” Red said and started to go through the wide front doors of the hospital. “You’re packed full with people who really need attention. I’ll be all right after I get to the house and get some sleep. Goodbye, sir, and thank you again.”
“Just as you wish, my boy, and good luck,” the medical man replied, and turned back to his own pressing duties.
On the steps outside Red Randall paused and stared at the new sun sliding up over the eastern horizon. The dawn of a new day. The dawn of total world war, for Uncle Sam would surely go after both the Japs and the Nazis now. There was nothing left to do but finish what those fiends had started.
The dawn of a new day, and the Hawaiians had been saved. That map of Harada’s had told the High Command what they so desperately wanted to know. Both planes and ships had raced south to meet the lurking Japanese troop transport force. But the Japanese had refused to stay and fight. Probably the first sight of an American plane had convinced the Japanese admiral that the second sneak attack was doomed to failure before it even got started. At any rate, the entire Japanese force had turned tail and fled for their lives. And right now the American force was in hot pursuit. Colonel Stacey had come back to the hospital, where Red was waiting to see his Dad, to tell him the good news. And now the sun was coming up on a new day, on a badly but not hopelessly crippled American outpost in the Pacific, and on a great nation that would fight to final and complete victory with everything in its power.
Red Randall’s absently wandering eyes suddenly came to rest on a figure leaning motionless against a railing. It was Jimmy Joyce. As he hurried over and saw the blank, stunned expression on Jimmy’s pale face, he called:
“Jimmy, Jimmy boy!” Gently he placed a hand on the other’s arm.
For a long moment young Joyce seemed not to hear him. Then he turned his pale, strained faced and looked at Randall.
“Hello, Red,” he said listlessly.
“Jimmy, what...” But he couldn’t find the words.
Jimmy Joyce looked at him again, then half nodded, and looked over in the direction of Pearl Harbor where oily black smoke was still mounting high up into the dawn sky.
“My father, Red,” he said in a dry, rasping tone. “He...he was on the Arizona, and the dirty Japs blew it up!”
Jimmy Joyce’s shoulders shook and trembled, but there were no tears in his eyes. Only dry, choking sobs came out of his throat. Red wanted to say something, but there didn’t seem to be any words that were suitable. He put an arm about Jimmy Joyce’s shoulder and squeezed hard.
“Come on over to my house with me, Jimmy,” he said gently. “You and I are going to stick together always, after what we’ve been through.”
“I’m going to fight!” Jimmy Joyce said hoarsely. “I’m going to enlist just as soon as I can. And I’ll pay back those Japs, too. I’ll kill a million of them...for what they did to Dad!”
“And I’ll be with you, Jimmy, right with you,” Red said and started leading Jimmy down the steps. “You and I, Jimmy boy! We’ll both make those dirty devils pay and pay!”
And as they went down the hospital steps Red Randall thrust a hand into his pocket and tenderly closed his fingers over the World War I pilot’s wings that his father had given him...so long, long ago it seemed. And in his heart he made a solemn vow to prove himself worthy of wearing those precious wings. And when he was given the right to wear them, he would fly and fight to the death that the world might be made a far, far better place to live in for all nations, all peoples, and all races and creeds!
About the Author
Robert Sidney Bowen was born in Allston, Massachusetts on October 4 1900. His grandfather, Charles F. Bowen, fought in the Fifth Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry during the American Civil War. Bowen attended the Newton High School at Newton, Massachusetts. After World War I broke out in Europe, he left school to drive an ambulance for the American Field Service in France. In May 1917, the United States Army Ambulance Service took over the AFS, and Bowen, being underage to serve, returned to the United States. When he turned seventeen, he signed up with the Great Britain’s Royal Flying Corps as a Flight Cadet. According to The London Gazette, Bowen was granted a temporary commission as a Second Lieutenant in the Royal Air Force on June 20, 1918.
In July 1918, he went overseas to England, and was assigned to the 84th Squadron, R.A.F. fighting in France on SE5 fighter aircraft. After the end of hostilities at the Western Front, Bowen transferred to the United States Army Air Service.
After the war, he began working as a journalist for the London Daily Mail, the Paris edition of the Chicago Tribune, and two Boston newspapers. For several years he was editor-in-chief of Aviation Magazine. He also worked as an editor for Flying News and several motor magazines.
Bowen’s “I Cover the Murder Front” was the lead story in the June 1937 issue of Black Book Detective.
Bowen had turned to writing in 1930, using his prestige as editor-in-chief of Aviation Magazine to write Flying From The Ground Up, a non-fiction work on how to fly an airplane. He began freelancing for pulp magazines. In 1934, he headlined his own pulp magazine, Dusty Ayres And His Battle Birds, for Popular Publications. Twelve issues were released, the first ten published monthly from July 1934 through April 1935. Bowen continued writing for mystery, adventure, sports, and aviation pulp magazines through the 1950s.
After the invasion of Poland by Germany in 1939 sparked World War II, Bowen was asked to produ
ce an adventure story based on the war. This resulted in the famous Dave Dawson series. Bowen got to work immediately, and the first book, Dave Dawson At Dunkirk, was published in 1941. A total of 15 volumes were released between 1941 and 1946.
By 1945 the series had sold over 2,000,000 copies. Inspired by the success of the Dave Dawson books, Bowen was asked to write a similar series for them. The Red Randall series debuted in 1944, selling 200,000 copies its first year.
During this time, Bowen lived in Wilton, Connecticut, writing seven days a week, from 9 to 5, in an office that he rented over an old garage. He averaged 10,000 words per day, and could complete a novel in ten days. He also never revised his work, believing that any tampering with the story would ruin it.
After the war, Bowen turned to writing books aimed toward adolescent boys, on topics such as aviation, cars, and baseball. He also began writing books about horses under the pseudonym James Robert Richard.
Robert Sidney Bowen and his second wife, MaryAnn (MacIntyre) Bowen, had two sons, James Sinclair Bowen and Richard Fenton Bowen, and one daughter, Virginia Bowen, and, at the time of his death, on April 11 1977, five grandchildren.
The Red Randall Series by R. Sidney Bowen
Red Randall at Pearl Harbor
… and more to come each month!
Red Randall at Pearl Harbor Page 12
