Dave Dawson at Truk

by Robert Sidney Bowen

Perhaps Lady Luck smiled upon Dave Dawson at that moment, but most likely it was the result of action by the other pilot. At any rate, the other Hell Cat veered slightly toward the south and the rays of the dying sun played full upon the side of the fuselage. And like magic the plane's markings stood out in bold relief. The markings, F Dash Fourteen!

"You, it is you!" Dawson panted, and slid his thumb up to the stick button that controlled the electric firing of his gun. "It is you, and I've got you cold. Cold as a chunk of Arctic ice!"

The gods of war in their high places thought differently at that instant. Even as Dawson's thumb started to press down on the trigger button the other Hell Cat swerved sharply and cut right out of the Yank air ace's sights. True, the maneuver brought the Nazi even closer. In fact, that one maneuver sort of put the two aircraft on even terms. That is to say, the Nazi no longer had any safety lead over Dawson's plane. Neither could outfly the other on the flat, now, unless one of the engines went bad.

"Okay by me, chump!" Dawson grated as he relaxed thumb pressure on the gun button. "Make the turn and ..."

And right then and there the Nazi proved that his maneuver had a purpose. It proved that he had, for some time at least, been aware of the fact that Dawson was sneaking up on him. In other words, the Nazi's swerve was not to change course toward the Truk area. On the contrary it was a deliberate air battle tactic. A swerve to the left, and then suddenly the Nazi came spinning around and down like a flame-spitting demon from Satan's domain.

A far less experienced pilot than Dawson would have died then and there. He would have died, hardly realizing what had hit him.

Too many, many times, though, had Dawson scrapped with the best that the Nazis or the Japs had to offer not to be able to react instinctively to approaching danger. Thus it was, and almost before the thing had become a thought in his brain, he pulled up straight for the sky in the nick of time. The Nazi's withering fire missed him.

At the speed the diving Nazi was traveling it was impossible for him to haul up his nose and get a new bead on Dawson's zooming ship. As a result he undershot his target and went cutting down across the sky.

"Which makes me top man now!" Dawson yelled, and kicked his Hell Cat over and down. "And I kind of like that. Now, wiggle and squirm, you rat. Let me see you twist away from these little things."

Thundering down almost at the vertical, he lined up the other Hell Cat and let go with all of his guns. That is, almost all of his guns. Something was wrong with two of them, and they did not fire. The others, however, did their stuff. And with grim satisfaction Dawson saw his tracers chew into the tail of the Nazi's plane. It wasn't enough, though. The Hell Cat is a very, very tough ship. It can absorb all kinds of punishment, and the Nazi's Hell Cat was no exception to the rule. Dave Dawson saw it stagger a little in the air, but before he could correct his aim the Nazi was prop clawing upward and around to the left.