Dave Dawson on Convoy Patrol

by Robert Sidney Bowen

"Faster, Dave, faster!" Freddy's voice screamed. "The beggar is trying to cheat us. He's going to pop down where we can't hit him. Get the blasted rotter, Dave. Get him, please!"

"What do you think this is, slow motion?" Dave shouted back over his shoulder. "Our engine's dead, pal, you know. All we've got is gliding speed. And it isn't going to be enough, I don't think."

"It's got to be!" Freddy howled and unconsciously thumped Dave on the back. "We can't let him cheat us. We just can't!"

Dave didn't bother to make any further comment. The Fulmar was streaking down like a comet straight from Heaven, but the U-boat wasn't losing any time in crash diving. In the last couple of seconds Dave knew that they had lost. If he dived straight in they would only hit hard water, and not even touch the U-boat that was now completely submerged. And so in the last split instant of time Dave hauled up the nose of the Fulmar in order to save Freddy and himself from certain instant death.

The diving speed of the plane was too great, however, to permit him to pull it completely up onto level keel. The belly of the plane struck the water with terrific force. The mighty hands of invisible giants seemed to reach down and jerk the plane up toward the sun flooded sky. Then suddenly they sent it crashing down again. Twice more the plane bounced before it finally stayed down. And during that time Dave and Freddy were tossed about in their double cockpit like a couple of dried peas in a tin can. A thousand and one fire crackers went off in Dave's head. Hundreds of bombs exploded, and countless balls of colored light wheeled and spun around before his eyes. Then as though somebody had slammed shut a sound proof door, there was nothing but silence all about him.

For a moment or so he sat slumped up against the side of the cockpit where the last crazy lurch of the plane had flung him. Then he gulped air into his aching lungs, slowly sat up straight and turned around to look at Freddy. The British youth was upside down in his section of the cockpit. His head was down by the flooring, and his feet were sticking up in the air. His safety belt had been snapped in two by the terrific impact of the plane, but by some miracle he had been spared serious injury. Even as Dave reached back to lend a hand Freddy wiggled himself around and came upright, eyes popping and his face the color of a flaming sunset. It was a second or so before he could drag enough air into his lungs to speak.

"Did we get it, Dave?" he finally choked out.

"Sure we got it!" Dave replied. "But I don't mean the U-boat. You don't happen to have a nice ocean going cruiser in your hip pocket, do you? I think this baby is going to sink right from under us in darn short order."

As Dave spoke he made a sweeping gesture with one hand. Freddy looked about and it was not joy and happiness that came into his eyes. The Fairey Fulmar fighter plane looked as though it had been jammed through a meat grinder. The tail was completely gone; broken off clean as though clipped by an axe. The wing was twisted and bent, and the fuselage was punched full of holes. Sea water was coming in through the holes, and coming in fast. Freddy shook his head and looked at Dave in apologetic chagrin.

"If we get out of this you can kick me around the block six times!" he said bitterly. "All my fault for not letting you get that blasted Fairey Swordfish when you had him cold. It wasn't until after that that he got our engine. Gee, Dave, I could jump overboard and drown myself for being such a blasted fool. I...."