Dave Dawson on Guadalcanal

by Robert Sidney Bowen

"Don't be silly!" young Farmer snapped at him. "Cut it out, Dave! We're both equally at fault for letting them slip in on us, and falling for that fake pointing business. But, good grief! What else would anybody have done in our shoes? Nothing. At least nothing, and have been human. Man! If only they'd come in just a little closer. I'd give them something they'd not forget, the dirty blighters!"

But Freddy was simply "shooting the breeze" to let off steam, too. The Japs were sticking to their distance, and even if they suddenly should come ripping in it was questionable whether Freddy would be able to stop them from cutting the helpless Dauntless to pieces, to say nothing of bullet riddling its two occupants.

However, the strange-looking seaplane did stay well clear, and a couple of moments later Dave stall-landed the dead engined plane in the water. As soon as the plane stopped mushing forward and began to settle slowly by the nose, Dawson unsnapped his safety harness, twisted the little valve knob that automatically inflated his "Mae West," and then gave Freddy Farmer a hand in getting the collapsible rubber life raft over the side. Into it they tossed the few things they could take with them and then climbed in and shoved off from the sinking plane.

Neither of them spoke. Both were thinking the same thing, and didn't wish to alarm the other by speaking of it. In short, both were thinking of the strange-looking seaplane now circling about above them, and waiting for it to come gun spitting down in its power dive of death. But finally Dawson broke the silence as he stared up at the circling plane.

"All right, killers!" he got out hoarsely. "The stage is all set. Here we are. Just a couple of clay pigeons named Joe. Come on down and do your dirty work. We've got a few million pals who'll even it up for us some day. So come on down, darn you! We can take it, see? You're darn right we can!"

"Easy, Dave, old man!" Freddy soothed, and placed a hand on Dawson's knee. "It isn't going to help any to rave at the beggars."

"Who says it isn't?" Dave rasped, and kept his gaze fixed on the circling plane. "It makes me feel better, anyway. Oh, don't worry, kid. I'm not blowing my top, or going off the beam. I just figure it's curtains, and, by gosh, I've got a few things I want to get off my chest. I hate those rotten—Well, for the love of Mike, maybe I am going nuts, and seeing things! Do you see what I see, Freddy? Or am I just looking at a sky mirage? That doggone plane is flying away!"

And that was the truth! The strange-looking seaplane had circled down to some five hundred feet above the floating life raft, and then suddenly flattened out and was now making tracks toward the northeast.

"No, it's no mirage, Dave," Freddy said in an awed voice. "The blighters are certainly leaving us. But why, I wonder? Dave! Maybe they've sighted one of our planes, or one of our ships, or something!"

Dawson didn't make any reply. Wild hope choked up in his throat, and he eagerly searched both sky and water. However, that's all he saw. Just sky and water, save for the seaplane that was fast becoming a disappearing dot in the northeast. Freddy helped him look, and for ten minutes neither of them spoke. Then Dave groaned and gave a little shake of his head.