CHAPTER FIVE
_Whispering Death_
Shifting to a slightly more comfortable position in the Vultee's cockpitseat, Dave Dawson absently drummed the fingers of one hand on the sideof the cockpit and stared down at the sky-blue Caribbean Sea rolling farbeneath his wings. Behind him was Puerto Rico, and a considerable wayahead of him was the British-owned island of Trinidad. Several miles offthe Vultee's left wing tip were the Leeward and Windward islands of theWest Indies jutting up out of the blue water. High above him was acloudless sky with a shimmering ball of gold in the center.
All in all, it was a scene that would have made poets rave, and thehardest of hearts melt. However, if the truth must be known, it leftDawson cold. Not because he did not possess an eye for Nature's beauty;it was rather because, though he was looking at it, he wasn't actuallyseeing it. His mind was too filled with other and more personalthoughts.
The previous night he and Freddy Farmer had taken off from Bolling Fieldand had flown directly to the Army Air Forces base at Miami. There,after making sure, they had delivered the first of the sealed envelopes.Later they had flown on to the base at San Juan, on Puerto Rico, anddelivered the second envelope. Now they were winging their way farthersouth to the Air Transport Command base at San Fernando on Trinidad.
"After Trinidad, Paramaribo, and Belem, and Natal," Dawson said, andscowled down at the beautiful Caribbean. "That's just the point, too. Acouple of air-mail pilots, that's all we are!"
"What's that, Dave?" he heard Freddy Farmer's voice in the inter-comphones. "What are you mumbling about?"
"Mumbling?" Dawson snorted. "I was shouting with joy! I'm so excitedthat I can hardly keep from jumping overboard. And now that I think ofit, maybe that _would_ be a good idea!"
"Then go right ahead, old thing," the English youth in the rear pitchuckled. "Nothing I want more than for you to have your own way, youknow."
"Don't look right now, but you can go fly a kite to the moon, pal!"Dawson growled. "I suppose you're enjoying this here-to-there hop in thesky?"
"Well, I _have_ seen better piloting," Freddy came right back. "But,considering one thing and all, I'm not too fed up--yet. On the otherhand, it is a bit boring. I mean--"
"You mean what?" Dave asked as Freddy let the rest hang in mid-air.
"Don't know just how to put it in words," young Farmer replied."But--well, after that little talk with the colonel last night, I wasquite steamed up, as you would say. Very mysterious, and exciting, andpossibly dangerous, if you get what I mean."
"I do," Dawson grunted. "But all it is to me now is mysterious. You canhave my share of the excitement and danger, if any. I'm just full ofbeans, though, I guess. After some of the close shaves you and I havehad, routine stuff just gets me down, but quickly! But there have beentwo bright spots in this thing so far, thank goodness."
"Bright spots?" Freddy Farmer echoed. "Then I must have been looking theother way at the time. What do you mean?"
"At Miami and San Juan," Dawson replied. "The way those two commandingofficers tried to pump us as to what the sealed envelopes contained. Itwas nice to look very wise and not tell them a darn thing. It was fun tosee somebody else floundering around in the dark. Misery loves company.Say! Know what I hope, Freddy?"
"I wouldn't even dare guess!" the English-born air ace replied. "What doyou hope?"
"That the lad we contact at San Fernando has a copper disc with numbersthat add up to forty-five!" Dawson told him.
"What?" young Farmer gasped. "Forty-five? But, Dave, the number is--"
"Sure, forty-one!" Dawson cut in. "But don't you catch on, pal? If thenumber is forty-five, it means that the lad is a phoney. And that meansthat maybe we'll get some excitement out of this aerial messenger boyjob."
"Rot, and very much so!" Freddy snapped angrily. "Come off it, Dave!This is very serious business, and you are absolutely balmy to even hopethat things will go wrong. Just remember what Colonel Welsh said, Dave.If one of these sealed envelopes should fall into Axis hands, he'drather put a bullet in his brain than go on living. Stop being a blastedfool, old thing! It's not a bit like you at all!"
"Okay, okay, papa!" Dawson chuckled. "Consider that you have up-ended meand given me the shingle where it counts most. Just the same, I hate tothink of going stark, raving mad in the cockpit of a Wright-poweredVultee."
"Well, if that's all that's bothering you, you can put it out of yourmind at once," Freddy snapped, "because you were that way a long, longtime ago!"
"Oh, yeah?" Dawson shouted.
"Yeah!" Freddy Farmer replied. "But definitely!"
They left it that way for the next fifteen minutes or so. At the end ofthat time the Vultee was well out of sight of all land, and Dawson waskeeping it on course with instruments. At the end of that time, too, thesouthern part of the heavens began to mist and fog up and graduallychange to a copperish gray. The straight line that marked where the blueof the sky ended and the copperish gray began told Dawson that a linesquall was moving across the Caribbean. But five minutes later thelittle twinge of uneasiness that had come to him melted away, becausethe copperish gray moved westward and not up northward toward theVultee. However, because of the silly mood that had gripped him sinceleaving Puerto Rico, he had to voice a crazy thought.
"Wouldn't you know, not even a storm to give us something extra to do!"
"Eh, Dave?" he heard Freddy Farmer say. Then a second later, he feltFarmer's hand tapping him on the shoulder, and heard his pal's excitedvoice crackling in his inter-com phones. "Bear ten degrees eastward,Dave! There's something down there on the water. Can't see it clearlyyet. Looks like a bit of rag being waved about by somebody."
Dawson changed the Vultee's course, and at the same time twisted aroundin the seat and glanced back at Freddy. Then he turned front and peeredahead and down in the direction of the English youth's pointed finger.He squinted his eyes slightly and even shielded them against the goldensun with his free hand. But for all he could see, he might just as wellhave kept both eyes shut. There was just blue Caribbean, turned goldenhere and there by shafts of sunlight dancing off the surfaces of therolling swells.
"I know you can see through a brick wall, Freddy," he said, "but if youcan see anything down there, then I'll eat it!"
"It will be quite a meal!" Freddy Farmer cried. "Because it happens tobe a life raft! And there are chaps on it. Yes, four chaps! And one iswaving his shirt, or something. Blast those dirty U-boat blighters!"
"Never mind the U-boats!" Dawson growled. "Just stick to the raft. Wherethe heck is it? I think you're seeing things. I--Hold it, everybody;hold it! I see it now, Freddy! I wasn't looking far enough out. Yeah!That's a raft sure enough. Boy! I bet this sun is doing plenty to thosebirds!"
As Dawson spoke, he watched the small raft riding the rolling swells ofthe blue Caribbean, as helpless as a leaf. As he stared at the fourfigures in the raft, his anger boiled and the blood throbbed in histemples. Dirty U-boat blighters, and how, as Freddy had said. Of all thefighting forces to come out of Nazi Germany, the U-boat commanders andcrews were the worst. Human life, and particularly the lives of womenand children, meant even less to them than it did to the Gestapo. Steelsharks of the sea, they were called. To call them that was an insult toa real man-eating shark. There just wasn't any name to call those whomanned Nazi U-boats, because there is no name in any language thatadequately describes them.
Yes, the dirty U-boat blighters! Down there on the bobbing raft werefour who were no doubt victims of a terrible life-and-ship-destroyingexplosion that had probably come in the dark of night. As those andother bitter thoughts raced through Dawson's mind, he impulsively easedback the Wright-Cyclone's throttle and slanted the nose of the Vulteedownward.
"How I wish this was a flying boat, and we could pick up those poorbeggars!" he heard Freddy Farmer groan.
"You and me both!" Dave agreed. "We have a radio, thank goodness. So wecan get help sent out before those fellows have to spend another nightat sea. I wonder how long
they've been floating around?"
"Quite some time, I fancy," Freddy Farmer said. "The chap waving hisshirt seems to be the only one with any life in him. The three huddleddown in the raft might as well be dead. Sights like that one make methank my lucky stars I'm in the air end of this blasted war."
"You can say that again for me!" Dawson echoed. "At least in the air youget it clean and fast. Mostly, anyway. Check and double-check! The boysthat really deserve the medals and the praise in this scrap are themerchant marine fellows. They have nothing to fight back with except apea-shooter at the stern, and maybe one on the bow. They're perfectfloating targets twenty-four hours a day. If their engines break down,heaven help them! Yes, my hat is off to those fellows, and I don't meanmaybe. I--Hey, Freddy! See that? He's trying to send us a message withhis shirt, isn't he? He seems to be waving it down to the right morethan down to the left."
"That's right!" Freddy Farmer cried. "That's the old International Morsecode done with a flag. To the right is a dot, and to the left is a dash.And straight down in front means the end of a word. Now, where's myblasted pencil, and I'll put it down. There he put it down in frontthree times! That means the end of the message. If he'll only repeatit, I think I can get it."
The man standing on the tiny raft seemed to wait a moment or two, asthough he were striving to rally his waning strength for another effort.Then he started waving his shirt again. It was a short message, and bothboys got it without bothering to jot down each letter. The messagesignaled was:
FLY OVER LOW PLEASE, IMPORTANT
"What do you make of that, Freddy?" Dawson asked, and dipped theVultee's nose even more. "Does he think we're a rescue plane that's cometo drop food and water, poor devil?"
"I don't know," the English youth replied. "Possibly. Or maybe there'ssomething on the raft he wants us to see. The only thing to do is to godown and find out. I say! I've just remembered! I have some chocolate,Dave. I'll tie it up in my handkerchief and try to drop it right ontothe raft, if you get us down low enough. But, for heaven's sake, don'thit the raft, or the water!"
"Aw gee!" Dawson grated at him. "And that's just what I was planning todo, too! You spoil all my fun, you dope! Act your age, will you?"
"Just don't take us down too low," Freddy Farmer reminded him evenly.
Dawson opened his mouth to make a fitting retort. Instead he shrugged,let Freddy's remark slide, and concentrated on getting the Vultee downas low as he possibly could. When he had reached an altitude of some tenor fifteen feet, he throttled the Wright Cyclone until it was just ashade on the good side of stalling. He guided it toward the tiny liferaft. The shirt-waver had ceased his signaling and was crouching down onthe raft as though he were afraid Dawson was going to bounce theVultee's belly off the top of his hatless head.
"So you're also silly enough to think I'll come too close?" Dawsongrowled, as he experienced a moment of annoyance. "Well, relax, fellow!Just relax, and let's have a look at the meaning of that message. Okay,Freddy! Get set to drop that chocolate!"
As he spoke, he impulsively started to jerk his head around. Some innerwarning cut short his effort, and it was that inner warning thatunquestionably saved his life, and Freddy Farmer's life, too. In otherwords, just as he was about to turn his head for a look at YoungFarmer, all four men on the raft sprang to crouching positions. Eachgripped a sub-machine gun in his hands and blazed away at the coastingVultee!
True, Dawson's sudden inner warning had helped, but it was hisinstinctive reaction to sudden danger that actually saved his life andFreddy's. In less time than it takes to bat an eyelash, he had smashedthe throttle wide open with one hand and was hauling the Vultee aroundin a wing tip water-kissing turn with the other. Had he started to climbat that same time, the Grim Reaper still might have claimed them both,because the four crouching figures on the raft had automatically pointedtheir machine guns skyward.
As it happened, though, Dawson held the Vultee in a tight turn until itstail was toward the raft. Then he quickly flattened out, shot forwardfor a split second, and banked the Vultee over on its left wing tip. Hebanked it to the right wing tip and hauled the craft up in a twistingpower zoom toward the sun-filled heavens. Only when he was well out ofrange and had leveled off did he let the clamped air out of his lungsand shake the cold beads of sweat from his forehead.
"Suffering rattlesnakes, Freddy!" he choked out. "Was that a nightmare,or did it happen? Those bums let fly at us, Freddy! All four of them!"
There was no answer from young Farmer, and in the length of time it tookDawson to twist around in the seat, he seemed to die a thousand deaths.His fears were unfounded, however. Freddy Farmer was very much alive. Nobullet had snuffed out his life, though the left side of his glass hatchwas covered with a million tiny cracks. Amazement and utter bewildermentwere all that was wrong with the British-born air ace. He sat rigid inhis seat, staring at Dawson as though he had never seen him before inhis life. His face was white under his sun-and-wind bronze, and hismouth hung open as though he had intended to yell, but had been shockedinto forgetting all about it.
"Hey, Freddy, snap out of it!" Dawson shouted, and rocked the Vulteeviolently.
The English youth stared blankly for a second longer. Suddenly heblinked, and his whole body shook like a leaf. The breath came frombetween his lips in a whistle that Dawson could almost hear above theroar of the Vultee's Cyclone.
"The blighters! The low-down dirty beggars! They shot at us;They--they--" Young Farmer choked on his words, and his eyes openedstill wider in amazement.
It took a half second or so for Dawson to realize that Freddy waslooking at something forward and downward. Automatically, he twistedaround front and looked down. He let out a bellow of surprise. Down onthe Caribbean was a Nazi U-boat breaking surface not over fifty yardsfrom the floating life raft. Unable to move a muscle, he stared as theconning-tower hatch opened and a couple of men spilled out onto the wetdeck and hurried toward the bow. The undersea killer veered over towardthe floating raft.
What he saw made Dave fighting mad. He shook with anger, and a red filmseemed to slide over his eyes.
"So?" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. "So it's like that, huh?"
It was just like that. No sooner had the words left Dawson's lips thanthe U-boat's bow gun belched flame, and the sky a hundred yards or sooff the Vultee's right wing tip seemed to explode in a roar of sound anda great puff of oily black smoke. An instant later, another bit of skyseemed to explode. This time the puff of oily black smoke was high abovethe Vultee. This was because Dawson had turned the nose of the planedownward and was thundering straight at the U-boat at almost rocketspeed.
"So you want to play, do you?" He shouted the crazy words. "Well, so dowe! And how! Here, catch, you tramps!"
The Vultee's wing guns punctuated his words with a chattering blast ofsound that made the aircraft tremble violently. Straight lines of silvertracers cut down at the two men crouched behind the guard of theU-boat's bow gun. They would have done better had they dived overboardand down under the U-boat's keel. The bullets from the Vultee's wingguns found them and smashed them to the steel deck. Tapping rudder abit, Dawson veered the plane's nose a shade to the right and blazed awayat the open conning tower hatch. A man crawling up out of it was flunghead over heels clear of the U-boat's side and down into the water asthough by some invisible giant.
By then the Vultee's prop was about ready to chew into the conning toweritself, and Dawson had to haul the nose up and go curving around andaway. That maneuver permitted Freddy Farmer to go into action with hisrear guns. As Dave jerked his head around for a split second, he saw thefour men on the raft trying to scramble up to the U-boat's wet deck,only to go toppling over backwards like tenpins and disappear beneaththe surface of the water.
"There, you rotten beggars, you'll not do that again!" the Englishyouth's voice rang loud in Dawson's inter-com phones. "Not by half, youwon't!"
"The sub's crash diving, Freddy!" Dawson yelled as he saw the hatchclose and the nose
of the U-boat slip down under water. "Oh, gosh! If weonly had a depth charge or two! Oh, how I hate to let that snake getaway!"
As the wishful words spilled off his lips, he was in the act of doingwhat little he could. That was wheeling around and down for another runover the crash-diving U-boat, and letting fly with all his guns at thetop half of the submerging craft. He might possibly hit some part thatwould check the dive and force the U-boat back to the surface. That wasa slim, slim hope, and it died completely as the entire craft slid outof sight, leaving behind an empty life raft and seven bodies.
With a groan Dave cut his fire, and hauled the Vultee up out of itsdive and onto even keel. He stared down at the floating bodies, gulped,shuddered slightly, and drew a hand across his goggles, as though thatwould wipe away the scene below and make everything as it had beenbefore. It didn't, of course, but when he took another look downward hefound it hard to believe that Death had been whispering so close. Thenhe snapped out of his trance.
"Get the nearest patrol base on the radio, Freddy, and report thatU-boat's position!" he spoke into his inter-com mike. "There's just achance that it may have to surface soon, and somebody else can nail it."
"Right-o!" Freddy Farmer called back. "But, gosh, I would love to bethat somebody else! Or--or has this just been a crazy dream, Dave? Itdoesn't make sense! Those were blasted Nazis on the life raft.Like--like a confounded decoy, or something. I--"
"_Decoy?_" Dave Dawson gasped, and sat up straight in the pit. "Holysmoke! Do you suppose so? Sure, you must be right. Look, Freddy! Reportthat U-boat's last position. Then we'll get out of here, but fast!Something is kind of screwy, and I don't like it, but plenty I don't."
As Dawson nosed the Vultee around and onto its course for San Fernandoon British-owned Trinidad, he impulsively lifted his free hand to hischest and pressed it against the two sealed envelopes and the littlevial of acid that were in his inside tunic pocket.
Dave Dawson at Casablanca Page 5
