Don Winslow of the Navy

by Frank V. Martinek

  Produced by Roger Frank and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  "JUST HOLD THAT POSE, SAILOR!" BARKED THE STOCKYLIEUTENANT.]

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  DON WINSLOW OF THE NAVY

  by

  FRANK V. MARTINEK

 

  Illustrated by

  F. WARREN

  GROSSET & DUNLAP Publishers NEW YORK

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  Copyright, 1940, by GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC.

  All Rights Reserved

  Printed in the United States of America

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  CONTENTS

  I BOMBED! II OUT OF THE POISON FOG III HIGH EXPLOSIVE IV THE CODE MESSAGE V STRUCK DOWN FROM BEHIND VI MURDER BELOW DECKS VII "MAN OVERBOARD!" VIII THE SECOND ATTACK IX RED NABS A SPY X A DESPERATE SCHEME XI JAWS OF DEATH XII TIGERS OF THE SEA XIII WINGS OF DESTRUCTION XIV THE MYSTERIOUS CAPTIVE XV RED GETS A SHOCK XVI DANGER AND A WOMAN XVII ORDERS FROM WASHINGTON XVIII THE DARK FIELD XIX A LUCKY ENCOUNTER XX THE TEST XXI CHO-SAN XXII WET TRACKS IN THE FOG XXIII THE CHINESE CABINET XXIV CHO-SAN'S NEWS XXV LOTUS' CONFESSION XXVI THE ROOM OF A THOUSAND TORMENTS XXVII WHEN THE LIGHTS WENT OUT XXVIII PULLING DEATH'S WHISKERS XXIX THE WRATH OF CHO-SAN XXX TRAPPED XXXI THE SECRET CHAMBER

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  DON WINSLOW OF THE NAVY

  I

  BOMBED!

  On the white sand of a jungle bordered cove, two men and a girl stoodgazing seaward, their eyes shielded against the rising sun's firstbeams. To judge by their torn, mudstained clothing, they had beenmeeting hardship in large, tough chunks. Out here on the beach theywould soon face more of it, when the sun grew hot enough to broil awhite man's skin.

  The slim, dark-eyed girl had suffered less, apparently, than her twocompanions. Yet her stout whipcord breeches showed rough wear, and herface, under a mass of wind blown curls, bore traces of weariness andjungle dirt. The society columnist who had described her coiffure at aWashington ball, six weeks ago, would have been startled to recognizeMercedes Colby, daughter of a retired Navy Admiral.

  Even more sharply would that columnist have been astonished by theidentity of Miss Colby's present escorts. For United States NavalCommanders are not ordinarily found in beachcombers' rags, on the shoreof a tropical island. And nothing in the book of Navy Regulations (whichcovers everything) decrees that even a lieutenant must tackle theHaitian jungle barefooted, with half a shirt tucked into the remnant ofonce-white trousers.

  The truth was that ordinary duties had never been the lot of Don Winslowand his husky shadow Lieutenant "Red" Pennington since their appointmentto the Naval Intelligence Service. In a few adventure-packed months theyhad learned to take hardships as a daily ration, with danger for spice.Hunger, exhaustion, blistered skin and bleeding feet, were small matterscompared with the importance of their present job--the stamping out of avast international crime ring, whose deliberate aim was to plunge thewhole world into war.

  To combat this secret menace the United States Government had needed anofficer of rare courage and ability for its chief field operative, a manable to match wits with the world's greatest spymaster--and win! He mustbe highly skilled in all forms of combat, an expert with every type ofweapon. He must be tireless, self-reliant, and prepared to give his lifein the line of duty, without warning and without regret. With thesequalities in mind, the Navy Department's final choice had fallen upon analready distinguished young officer--Commander Don Winslow.

  Not all of history's great adventurers have looked their parts; but DonWinslow in the ragged ruin of his uniform whites was still a man to drawattention. The lithe swing of his powerfully muscled body, fromshoulders to lean hips--the unconscious air of command which marks aNavy officer--the clear, level gaze and the strong line of his jaw--allstamped him as a superb product of American birth and training.

  Red Pennington, Don's inseparable companion, cut a far less heroicfigure. Except for gorilla-like strength evident beneath his fat, theyoung lieutenant would have resembled a chubby clown. Just now hisnaturally tender skin was tortured by sunburn and insect bites to theconsistency of raw beef; yet its lumpy redness gave an irresistibleeffect of comic makeup. Fortunately Red's own sense of humor wasunconquerable and almost as deep as his loyalty to Don Winslow. Thesetwo traits, plus real ability as an officer and fighting man, had wonhim the coveted job of Don's most trusted assistant, and the envy ofevery young naval officer who preferred adventure to routine.

  Time and again, both Don Winslow and Red had been marked for death bythe secret organization of Scorpia, whose war-making plots they had morethan once uncovered and wrecked. Their great hope was to capture ordestroy the crime ring's despotic master--that evil, elusive genius whocalled himself merely "The Scorpion" and sucked in through a thousandagents the war-poisoned wealth of nations. Wherever war, or the fear ofit, created topheavy armaments the Scorpion's brood took their fat shareof graft and hush money. War and murder were Scorpia's stock in trade,and to enlarge them its members' perverted souls were pledged.

  So great had the Scorpion's secret power become when the United StatesGovernment first realized its danger, that only by a miracle could thethreat of war be lifted from our own and neighbor nations. In thiscrisis Don Winslow was chosen to go out, like David against the giantGoliath, and end the Scorpion's menace.

  Flying over the Windward Passage, Don and Red finally spotted and bombedthe Scorpion's submarine which had been torpedoing United States warvessels. A short time later mysterious anti-aircraft fire brought theirplane down in the coastal jungle of Haiti. Neither officer was hurt,however, and the gunners from the Scorpion submarine base found thetables suddenly turned when Don and Red surprised them and seized theirhidden stronghold. In the fight one Scorpion agent was killed. Theothers escaped, under cover of darkness.

  Amazement struck the two young officers when they discovered their closefriend and childhood playmate, Mercedes Colby, a prisoner in the enemy'sunderground quarters. Mercedes had blundered upon the Scorpion base,after being shipwrecked on the wild Haitian coast. With her had beentaken prisoner a Spanish-American, Yanos, two native fishermen, and anex-Navy seaman by the name of Jerry Ward.

  At the present moment all but Mercedes, Don and Red were asleep in theimmense underground tank which the enemy had used as supply base andliving quarters. Knowing that the Commander had radioed for a gunboat topick them up, they took it for granted that their troubles were over.

  However, the three young persons now looking out to sea knew better thanto take anything for granted where the evil power of Scorpia was
involved. By this time the failure of his men to report would havewarned the Scorpion that his submarine base was captured. Hiscounterattack might be delayed, but it was certain to be deadly.

  With real relief therefore the two officers and Mercedes recognized thetrim lines of the United States Gunboat _Gatoon_, just rounding a nearbyheadland. As the converted yacht's bower anchor splashed down at thecove's mouth, her launch swung outboard from the davits, manned by aboatswain and two armed sailors. At the same time a two-seater flyingboat roared in out of the dawn to land like a white gull in the offing.

  "That was quick answer to your radio call, Don!" observed Red Penningtonas the _Gatoon's_ launch drove swiftly shoreward. "I didn't count ontheir raising this little jungle cove till noon. But, say! I sure hopeCap'n Riggs has got more than Java and sinkers for breakfast!"

  Don Winslow nodded, watching the launch's bow touch lightly on the whitebeach. It seemed that for a little while the three of them couldexchange dangers and hardships for a well-earned rest aboard ship. TheNavy boatswain who had just leaped ashore was a welcome symbol ofAmerica's armed yet peace-loving might, ready at all times to protectits loyal citizens.

  Answering the warrant officer's salute, Don indicated the anchoredseaplane.

  "Whose craft is that?" he queried. "It's not a Navy boat!"

  "It's Mr. Splendor's private plane, sir," answered the boatswain. "Ayoung fellow called Panama is piloting him. They spotted you at firstcrack of dawn and led us in to this cove."

  "That sounds like Michael Splendor!" exclaimed Mercedes Colby. "He'salways one jump ahead of everyone else in the Naval Intelligence. ExceptDon, of course. The man is a wonder...."

  She broke off in alarm, as the drone of an approaching airplane grew onthe morning air.

  "There's another plane!" she cried, clutching at Commander Winslow'sarm. "Don, do you think it could be a Scorpion scout, coming back toinvestigate?"

  "It could be!" the young officer decided swiftly. "In any case, thischanges our plans. Boatswain! Shove off at once in the launch with MissColby. Get her safely aboard the gunboat and then come back. LieutenantPennington and I will evacuate the other men from the underground base.Hurry, Red!"

  He turned and raced up the beach, followed by the stocky junior officer.Two minutes later he paused at the rim of a huge steel cylinder whosebulk appeared to be sunk deep in the earth. Thick jungle growth hadsprawled across the great tank's top, hiding it completely from thebeach.

  One hand on the hatchway leading to the cylinder's interior, Don Winslowwaited for his friend to catch up.

  "What in thunder's all the hurry, Don?" the red-headed lieutenantgasped, stumbling through the underbrush. "Even if that is a Scorpionplane up there, it wouldn't dare attack the gunboat!"

  "Maybe not," replied Don Winslow, jerking open the hatch. "But Iwouldn't be surprised if they tried dropping a bomb on this secret base,now that we've captured it. There's a lot of priceless equipmenthere--new gadgets of the Scorpion's own invention. He'd rather destroythat stuff than let us take it away. That's why I want to get every manout of here before it's too late!"

  A narrow steel ladder led down into the cylinder. In the darkness, itsslender rungs offered tricky footing, but the two Navy men made shortwork of the descent. Thirty feet below the hatchway, they reached adimly lighted landing, from which two doors opened.

  "Take the berth deck, Red," Don directed curtly. "Get Yanos and the twonative fishermen out of their hammocks and up the ladder. I'll bringJerry from the chartroom. If he's still unconscious I'll carry himtop-side."

  "Aye-aye, Skipper!" muttered Red Pennington, pushing through theleft-hand door. "If you need any help, just sing out!"

  A short corridor led Don Winslow to the cylinder's crowded chartroom,where the seaman, Jerry Ward, lay on a cot between two banks ofelectrical apparatus. Don glanced with envious eyes at the array ofsuper-sensitive instruments.

  "If only we had time to get some of this stuff aboard the gunboat!" hemuttered. "No time to think about that now, though. That plane overheadmay lay an 'egg' on this place any minute!"

  Bending over the unconscious Jerry, he shook the man gently. There wasno response. A head wound, received at the time of his capture, had leftthe plucky fellow hanging between life and death.

  Carefully Don lifted the limp body in his arms and turned to the door.As he did so, a muffled explosion shook the steel walls about him.

  Bursting out onto the lower landing, Don Winslow collided withLieutenant Pennington.

  "Quick, Red!" he barked. "Take Jerry on your back, and get up thatladder. I'll lash his wrists together, so you'll have both hands free toclimb with. Where are Yanos and the others?"

  "They've just gone up!" Red answered, stooping to take Jerry's weight."And say! That _did_ sound like a bomb overhead, just now! We'd betterget out of here in a hurry!"

  "Right!" grunted Don, pushing the other toward the ladder. "You takeJerry up and get him down to the boat. I've got a little job to dobefore I follow you; so don't wait."

  "But, Don!" protested the red-haired officer. "I can't leave youhere...."

  "On your way, Lieutenant!" snapped the young commander. "Obey orders andget that seaman down to the boat. Lively, now!"

  Talking to himself in a bitter undertone, Red Pennington toiled up theladder with his heavy burden. He'd obey those orders, all right, but Donhadn't forbidden him to return after seeing Jerry safely in the boat. Ifhis commanding officer was going to stick around where the bombs weredropping, a certain husky lieutenant meant to share the danger with him!

  Meantime, Don Winslow had returned to the chartroom, and was hastilydisconnecting the main electric cables leading to the Scorpion's weathermapping machine.

  The invention was priceless, if it could be salvaged. Heavy as it was,Don thought he might be able to carry it up the ladder.

  As he worked, with flashlight and screwdriver, wrench and pliers, twomore bomb explosions shook the underground base.

  Little by little, a stifling, smoky odor filled the air of thechartroom. Tears filled Don's smarting eyes, inflamed by the acridfumes. His breath came raspingly between dry coughs.

  Reluctantly he dropped his tools and fumbled for the doorknob.

  "Those were _gas_ bombs, not TNT!" he mumbled thickly, as he stumbledfrom the room. "Smoke's coming down the hatch. Got to get up wherethere's some--uh--air to breathe!"

  As he groped toward the ladder a bulky form emerged from the smoke abovehim.

  "Don! Don, old man!" came Red Pennington's choking cry.

  "Right here, Red!" coughed Don Winslow, clinging to the ladder's lowerrungs. "I'm--uh--all right. Coming up now. But you shouldn't have comeback!"

  "Thank heaven, you're okay!" the redhead replied. "Want me to give you ahand?"

  "No! I'll make it. Hustle, now, or the smoke is going to--uh--get usboth! Where're Mercedes and Jerry?"

  Pennington's answer was a coughing fit, which shook the steel ladder.Just below him, Don Winslow gripped the narrow rungs and gasped forbreath. After a moment the two men resumed their painful climb, fightingagainst a growing dizziness.

  "Mercedes--Jerry--on the beach!" came Red's muffled words. "Smoke toothick to see--see the boat. Got to save breath now, and--uh--climb!"