Dave Dawson on Guadalcanal

by Robert Sidney Bowen

The English youth shook his head and frowned at the other plane. It was a double pontooned seaplane with short, stubby-tipped bi-plane wings. It was painted a light, light gray, but carried no markings or insignia of any sort.

"No, I never have," Freddy Farmer finally replied to Dave's question. "Rather a queer-looking thing, isn't it? A two-place aircraft, too. And what in the world is it doing way out here, I'd like to know? A thing that small certainly can't carry much gas!"

"Just what I'm thinking, too!" Dawson grunted, and took his eyes off the other plane to sweep the surrounding waters carefully. "I'd bet it isn't a land-based job. Must be from some surface ship. And, doggone it, don't they see us coming over? Why don't they give some sign whether they're foe or friend? Maybe I should let them have a burst to wake them up!"

"Not a bad idea, Dave; go ahead," Freddy said. "They—no, wait a bit! They've spotted us, and are coming over. See?"

Freddy's exclamation was a waste of breath as far as Dawson was concerned. He had already seen the seaplane bank around toward them and came prop clawing across the sky. For some unknown reason, which he didn't bother to fathom at that moment, the old familiar warning of impending danger rippled across the back of his neck. And he impulsively slid the guard off the electric firing button of his forward guns, and got set to catch the oncoming seaplane in his sights at an instant's alarm.

There seemed no need to be on the alert for danger, however. The figure in the rear pit of the strange-looking seaplane stood up in the slip-stream and waved both hands in greeting. Because of the helmet and goggles the figure was wearing neither Dave nor Freddy could get a look at his face. And a flying jacket covered up whatever kind of uniform he was wearing. In short, the waving figure could well have been a daredevil ace from Timbuktu as far as Dave Dawson and Freddy Farmer were concerned.

"Who the heck are you?" Dave shouted just to let off steam. "Friend or foe? And where in the world did you dig up that crate, anyway?"

Of course the thunder of the Dauntless' Cyclone drowned out Dave's words, but a split second later it was almost as though the two unknowns in the other plane had heard and understood. This time the figure in the pilot's pit stood up, and waved. Then he stopped waving and pointed past the Dauntless. Dawson frowned, then instinctively twisted around in the pit to stare back. He saw Freddy start to twist around, and then violently check himself as wild alarm lighted up his face.

"Dave! Look out! The blasted beggars are—!"

And that's all Dawson heard of Freddy Farmer's screaming voice, for the rest was drowned out by the savage yammer of aerial machine guns. He jerked front just in time to see the seaplane boring straight in at him from the left. It was headed dead for the nose of the Dauntless, and in the infinitesimal period of frozen astonishment Dawson saw the bullets from the guns of the other plane hammer and chew their way through the Cyclone's cowling. And then before he could move the control stick, or jump on a rudder pedal, the seaplane had flashed by him, and his Cyclone was starting to cough raspingly and spew black smoke out of its exhaust.