"Okay, go ahead," Dave told him. "The lip is all zippered up, kid. Shoot."
"Well, they trussed us up, and carried us out on deck," the English youth began. "The beggar who was carrying you, though, slipped and went flat. He just dumped you off, and you landed on your head. I guess it was your helmet that saved your life. At least, saved you from a nasty skull fracture. However, you went out cold, much to the amusement of the Japs. And then—well, I blessed well hope I'll never have to live through anything like it again!"
The English-born air ace paused, and there were actually beads of sweat on his face. Dave gasped at him as he brushed them off with his hand.
"Then what, Freddy?" the Yank asked. "Oh! You mean because you thought I'd kicked the bucket? That my number had gone up?"
"Partly," the other replied. "But mostly because the Japs decided that you wouldn't be of any use to them in that condition. That Jap officer blighter was about to have you just tossed into the water for shark food."
Dawson gulped hard, and every drop of blood seemed to drain right down through his feet, and on out of his body.
"Sweet tripe, no kidding?" he gagged. "Jeepers! And there I was not able to do a thing about it. Boy, oh boy! Praise be to Allah, they didn't!"
"I never want to live those minutes over again!" Freddy Farmer breathed fervently. "I tried to call out and tell them something that would stop them, but that confounded cord around my neck was digging in so deep that I could hardly breathe. And then you, yourself, got them to change their minds."
"Me?" Dave echoed wildly. "What in thunder did I do?"
"You seemed to come out of it for a second or so," the other told him. "You opened your eyes, glared your worst at the Jap rat officer, and actually tried to push yourself up off the deck. Of course you barely moved, bound up as you were. But you certainly looked and acted quite the tough guy, old thing."