Dave Dawson on Guadalcanal

by Robert Sidney Bowen

"Sure, sure!" Dawson called back, though every word seemed to burn holes in his lungs. "I see them, and I'm heading over. Just—just taking a couple of minutes out to enjoy life again."

"Wait, jolly well wait until you get aboard!" the English youth yelled. "Maybe you like being in this confounded aircraft, but I don't. Get us over there, quickly. The sooner we give our report to Admiral Jackson the better it will be for everybody concerned. Man, Dave, just think of it! We found Sasebo's force, and now we've found Admiral Jackson's. Imagine that!"

"Yeah, imagine that!" Dawson mumbled, as a spell of cold shivers started taking charge of his body. "Just the way you see it happen in the movies. Only—"

He let the rest die because the effort cost him too much, and banked the MK-11 around until it was heading full out for the Yank task force far ahead. And then it was he woke up to a fact that had been in the back of his brain for some considerable time. And what woke him up to the truth was sight of three Navy Grumman Wildcats streaking up off the flight deck of one of the carriers, and coming up and around toward them at top speed.

"Get set to wave and signal those guys somehow, Freddy!" he choked out. "We're in a Jap plane, you know. Only those guys don't. So stand up and wave, or hold your hands up in surrender, or something. Navy Wildcat pilots don't take chances. They've learned you can't against the Jap rats. So, for cat's sake, wave, or do any old thing to get them to hold their fire. Here, I'll help you!"

Dawson started to stand up in his pit of the MK-11, but before he was half-way up invisible steel claws seemed to tear his chest wide open, and he fell back into the seat gasping and choking for air. And countless dancing red and black dots filled his eyes. It seemed years and years before he could get air into his burning lungs, and drive the red and black dots away. By then the first of the three Wildcats was within shooting range, but Freddy Farmer was standing up straight, waving his arms, pointing at his American uniform, and yelling blue murder at the top of his voice.

The leading Wildcat, however, came boring in at terrific speed, and Dawson died a thousand deaths as he expected with each new split second to see the leading edges of the Grumman's wing start spitting out stabbing tongues of flame, and to feel the Wildcat's bullets and air cannon shells smash and pound their way into the MK-11.

However, the Wildcat pilot did not open fire. Instead he went sweeping past the Jap two-seater, staring at it hard. Then he circled around and came tearing up from the other side. As he drew abreast Freddy Farmer practically fell out of the MK-11 in his frantic efforts to signal the truth to the Yank Navy pilot. Dawson managed to lift his right hand, and wave, too. And then the two other Wildcats came up and took up positions close to the MK-11. And Freddy Farmer promptly went into his dance for their benefit, too.

Eventually the Wildcat pilots either recognized Dawson and Farmer, or else they spotted the Yank Air Forces uniforms that the two youths wore, and could see that at least no Japs were wearing them. Or maybe it was for some other reason. At any rate, the section leader nodded his head, motioned for Freddy Farmer to stop trying to throw himself out of the Jap plane, and then pointed over toward the carrier task force. That was all Dawson and Freddy wanted, and they both nodded vigorously in acknowledgment. Then, with a Wildcat on each side, and one just behind and a little above, Dawson guided the MK-11 straight for the task force. As he reached the flanking cruisers and destroyers, he saw the countless upturned faces on the decks, and also the Pom-Pom guns and the "Chicago Pianos" trained dead on the Jap plane. He grinned down at them happily, but just the same a nervous shiver or two rippled through his burning and pain-filled body.

And then, finally, Dawson had the MK-11 banked around and sliding down toward the stern of the Carson as the carrier knocked off knots into the wind. That glide downward was the greatest agony of his life. Huge as the Carson was, the confounded thing seemed to dance and skip around before his eyes. Countless times the landing officer, with a signal flag in each hand, blurred right out of his vision. And once he almost fainted with fright when he got the cockeyed impression that he was heading the MK-11 straight for the Carson's superstructure.