Dave Dawson at Truk

by Robert Sidney Bowen

"Me, too, Freddy," Dawson said quickly, and tried to grin but without much success. "But I don't know any of the answers. I just woke up. Look, what happened to you last night?"

"To me, last night?" young Farmer murmured. Then in a startled voice. "Last night, you said? You mean...? I mean, this isn't last night? I mean, this isn't tonight. I ... Oh, good grief, what do I mean?"

"Take it easy, son, take it easy," Dave soothed him. "Right now it's early dawn, I think. Last night you suddenly faded out of the picture. We'd parked the jeep at Kahuku Point beach and were taking a stroll. Remember? You disappeared, called out to me, and I ran smack into a kick in the face, or something. Why did you call out? Where had you gone, and why?"

Freddy Farmer scowled, and slowly moved his head from side to side in a bewildered gesture. Then suddenly he stiffened, and his eyes flew open wide.

"Good gosh, yes, Dave!" he gasped. "It was the queerest thing. Happened so suddenly that I don't even know now exactly what did happen. Something got me from behind, quick as a wink. Around the throat and over the nose and mouth. I swear I smelled ether, but I'm not sure. Everything sort of went spinning like, and black as pitch. Later I seemed to come to. I was being carried by a couple of chaps. Maybe there were more than just a couple. Anyway, I guess it was instinct, I knew that something was wrong. I remember now yelling to you. And then everything went black and smelly again. But where are we, and how in the world did we get here?"

"And I still don't know the answers, Freddy," Dawson said to him. "As I said, I came running when I heard you yell, and the next thing I knew I was falling down a great big black hole full of hissing sound, and a funny smell. Like the smell that's in the air now. Boy! if I could only get a lungful of fresh clean air then maybe I could think straight for a second or so. The old brain is whirling so fast it's going to burn out a bearing sure as shooting. But are you hurt, or wounded, or anything, Freddy?"

"Nope," the other replied. "Nothing wrong with me except that I'm trussed up like a blooming pig ready for roasting. I wonder what it all means? Have you heard any sounds, or anything like that?"

Before Dawson could so much as open his mouth to say, "No," they both heard the drone of aircraft engines up in the air outside. They listened to the sound grow louder and louder until they could tell that the aircraft was directly over them. Then it grew fainter and fainter and presently died away altogether. Neither of them spoke. It was like a mockery of fate to be a couple of air pilots trussed up helpless on the dirty floor of some strange and smelly room listening to an airplane thunder by outside.

"Well, that was a Yank plane, anyway," Dawson eventually grunted, as though that fact would help them a little. "I could tell."

"So could I," Freddy Farmer said in a wistful tone. Then, "I'm afraid we've been a couple of blasted fools again, Dave. Blind, thoughtless, stupid fools. And after the warning Vice-Admiral Stone gave us."