[CHAPTER SEVEN]
Missing Wings
Dave Dawson didn't so much as bother to turn his head and look in the direction Freddy Farmer pointed. The Catalina flyingboat had come to a full stop not twenty yards from the water logged Fairey Fulmar. Its pilot was keeping it heading into the wind with the aid of his engines and sea rudder. A hull door had been pushed open and an R.A.F. clad figure appeared in the opening with a casting line in his hand. Dave gave him but a single glance, then shoved a hand against the small of Freddy Farmer's back.
"We swim for it, and fast, Freddy!" he shouted.
The English youth shouted a reply but it was cut off short in the middle as he dived headlong into the water. A split second later Dave dived in too. He hit the water with arms and legs working furiously. Perhaps it was a matter of five seconds before he reached the side of the flying boat's hull, but every second seemed a soul torturing eternity in length. Every second he expected to hear the thunderous roar of a U-boat torpedo crashing into the Catalina. Every second he expected to be his last in this war, and in this world.
Then suddenly he and Freddy were at the side of the flying boat. Waiting hands reached down and hauled them scrambling aboard.
"I say, why the blasted rush?" cried a voice in Dave's ear. "We could have pulled you aboard dry as a bone. Here there, what the devil, man?"
The last was because Dave had bounced up on his feet and shoved the speaker roughly to one side. Without wasting breath to either explain or apologize Dave dashed along the hull cat-walk leading to the pilots' compartment. He went through the small compartment door like a twelve inch shell, fell over the chief pilot's shoulder and rammed both throttles wide open.
"Port rudder!" he screamed in the dumbfounded pilot's ear. "Port rudder, man, for Heaven's sake!"
Though still completely dumbfounded the pilot was a man trained for split second action. He jammed on port rudder and the roaring engines swung the huge craft around to the left. Panting and gasping for air, Dave turned his head and looked out the compartment window. What he saw froze every drop of blood in his veins, and made his heart stand still. No more than fifty yards away a white frothy line was being traced in the water and the front end of the line was heading straight for the Catalina.