CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Luck of the Doomed
"And now, the sixty-four dollar question," Dave Dawson got out in a bitter, puzzled voice. "What in thunder is the big idea? Go ahead and answer, Freddy."
"I can't even make a guess," the English youth groaned, and turned from staring out the empty cabin port. "All I can say is that I am absolutely and completely baffled. I don't understand it at all. What the deuce suddenly caused that Sasebo to have us herded back to this empty cabin again? After the way you raved at him, if he had drawn his samurai sword and chopped off your thick head, I could have understood. But to not so much as bat an eye, and then obviously order that big chap to bring us back here...? Well, it's quite beyond me. Quite!"
"You can say that again for me!" Dawson grunted. "But where do you get that chopped off your thick head stuff, huh?"
"Definitely!" Freddy snapped, and gave him a withering glare. "In future kindly remember that though you may wish to get killed on the spot, because you rile up some blasted cut-throat, I haven't the same desire to die!"
Dawson grinned and let it grow into a chuckle.
"Boy!" he breathed. "I kind of told him a thing or six, didn't I, huh? Oh, heck, Freddy, I'll admit it was taking a chance. But between you, me, and the flight deck of this tub, I've got a hunch I put a little bee in that guy's bonnet."
"I hope so, but I sincerely doubt it," Freddy Farmer said. "That bloke is nobody's fool, even though he may look like one. However, I sincerely hope you are right, Dave. You mean, about trying to make him believe that Admiral Jackson's force is up north off the Japanese coast?"
"Yes, that's what I meant," Dave nodded. "And I think he swallowed the bait, too. I'm almost willing to bet that before long he'll swing this task force about and start high-balling back up north. And send out some of his long range scout-bombers, too."