Dave Dawson with the Flying Tigers

by Robert Sidney Bowen

Dawson didn't answer at once because at that moment he had impulsively glanced to the south-west. And there in the distant sky he picked out more Jap planes racing up to join the other two enemy forces. He studied them for a moment longer, and then turned front, eyes hard and lips pressed into a thin grim line.

"We not only can," he grated presently, "but we're going to, if this thing'll just hold together. They figure to pull the old three-way squeeze on us, but the bums have got another think coming. Hang onto your hat, Freddy! This air buggy is going to go places, but fast!"

And then began a sky race against overwhelming odds. With the heel of one palm jammed hard against the already wide open throttle, Dawson hunched forward and kept his eyes glued on the clouds ahead. To reach them he had to sacrifice precious speed by gaining altitude. But there wasn't anything else he could do about it. To out-race the Japs cutting down from the north was just plain out of the question. If they didn't pile down into him eventually, the Japs coming up from the south-west would. So his only hope lay in reaching the safety of the clouds ahead, in gaining altitude, and slicing into those clouds before any of the enemy planes could get within range.

It was nip and tuck every foot of the way. And when the most optimistic of the Jap pilots opened up with long range fire, every crack of their guns was like a tiny little knife of frozen ice jabbing into Dawson's heart. Not once, though, did he take time out to glance at the diminishing distance between the planes. He kept every bit of his attention riveted on his own aircraft. When the Japs got too close, the yammer of Freddy Farmer's rear guns would tell him that it was time to forget the race, and concentrate on fighting for their lives.

However, Freddy Farmer's rear guns did not speak once as Dawson sent the MK-Eleven ripping through the air high above the South China Sea. And then, when it seemed that at least ten years of his life had come and gone, the plane reached the first of the clouds and went prop-clawing into them, and out of sight.

"Cheers for you, old thing!" Freddy Farmer cried as the fleecy whiteness closed in all about them. "We made it, for fair!"

"But only just!" Dawson called back to him. "And don't thank me. Thank this Nip sky wagon. Okay, start navigating, pal. We stick right to our original course. Ten to one they'll think we'll try to fool them by doubling back. Kunming! Here we come!"

As Dave yelled the last there was a smile on his lips, and the warmth of great happiness in his heart. The end of their journey halfway around the world was almost in sight now. All that was left was the small matter of sitting down at Kunming without getting shot down for a surprise raiding Jap plane, gassing up there, and racing on to Chungking. At Kunming he'd have word flashed ahead that they'd be arriving in a Jap plane. Or perhaps it would be better to borrow a Flying Tiger ship at Kunming and not run the risk of being taken for a Jap. However, that was a minor point. Just one more landing, and then Chungking next stop!

"And it won't make me mad to get a little rest from barging about the sky!" he grunted with a nod. "Yeah! It will be all to the merry to feel how it is to walk on the ground for a spell, and not crawl on hands and knees, or wiggle around like some darn snake. Nope, I won't mind it a bit."

And with those and other very pleasant thoughts rippling through his brain, he sent the MK-Eleven charging dead ahead on course through the clouds. Every so often they came to a hole in the stuff, and they could look down through and see patches of Japanese-occupied Indo-China. And on a couple of those occasions Freddy Farmer was able to accurately determine their position from land marks below. And each time it was proved that they were right smack on course.