A lightning-like warning gesture of Dawson's hand stopped Freddy Farmer cold. Both youths froze stiff, and locked eyes as they listened to the sounds that came to them through the jungle growth to the right—sounds that neither of them understood. But they didn't have to, because the sounds were the sing-song rising and falling intonations of Japs talking with one another.
"Close!" Dave breathed softly into Freddy's ear. "Too darn close for my liking, pal. Got your gun ready?"
The English youth didn't answer. He simply nodded slightly and fixed his eyes on the wall of jungle growth that separated them from the little brown butchers of Nippon somewhere beyond.
[CHAPTER THIRTEEN]
Blood In The Sky
As Dawson crouched there motionless at Freddy's side, and listened to the Japanese speaking voices that seemed not to come closer, nor to retreat, a crazy impulse caused him to glance down at his wrist-watch. The crystal had been smashed in the crash, and the minute and hour hands were gone. The second hand was still in place, however, and ticking around its little graduated dial. Yet it seemed to stop and wait after each tick as though that were the last, and there would be no more. Then suddenly it would jump around to the next graduation mark, and pause and wait again.
Of course, it was actually moving all the time, but because of the terrible suspense that held him rigid, his eyes and his brain played him crazy tricks. And then suddenly the grip of Freddy's hand on his arm dragged his half hypnotized attention from the watch. The English youth put a finger to his lips for absolute silence, and then pointed ahead and to the left. Dave bent forward to sight along the pointed finger, and caught his breath sharply. He was staring through a small opening in the heavy growth, and there not more than twenty yards away were five squat, chunky, slant-eyed Japs. Each was armed with one of the deadly Jap sub-machine guns, and the expression on each face was that of the lustful desire to kill, and maim, and torture, for the sheer diabolic pleasure of so doing.
The little group had come to a halt and were all sharing something that one of them portioned out from a bag he carried slung over one shoulder. In a dull abstract sort of way, Dawson guessed it was the daily handful of rice that keeps a Jap soldier going when on the march, or on the hunt. However, it was no more than a half-hearted guess, because his attention was not fixed on what they were doing, but on what they looked like. The uniforms they wore, and the branch of service insignia on their uniforms. And though the uniforms were dirty and shabby, and much the worse for constant wear, he knew in a flash that that little group of Japs were aircraft mechanics.
And an instant later when he twisted his head around to meet Freddy Farmer's eyes, he knew that the English youth had recognized that fact, too. Freddy was grinning, and there was the light of wild hope in his eyes. He leaned forward quickly so that his lips were against Dawson's ear.
"No doubt chaps sent out to inspect the crash, Dave!" he breathed softly but with tingling excitement in every word. "And that they've stopped to have a bit of their blasted rice must mean that they're on the way back to their field. Right?"