Two, three, four hours dragged by, and then suddenly the Mitsubishi MK-Eleven ripped out into clear blue air just as suddenly as it had gone ripping into the clouds. The instant they were out in the clear both Dawson and Freddy Farmer made a swift study of the rugged and most uninviting terrain below. However, its ugliness did not beat down the great satisfaction that swelled up in them. They were dead on course still. Some fifty miles ahead was the China border, and about as many miles to the left was the point where the borders of China, Indo-China, and Burma met. A little under an hour, now, and Kunming would be under their wings.
Yes, it was a very wonderful and soul-satisfying realization, but it lasted just about long enough for them to stop looking at the terrain below and make a searching sweep with their eyes of the surrounding sky. It was then that the gods of war screamed with laughter and the heart-stopping truth was revealed. In short, there was a swarm of Jap planes to their right, another one to their left, and a third one directly behind. True, all of the enemy aircraft were well out of range, but it took only a flash study of their angle of approach to realize that the enemy pilots would reach the China border long before they did. Reach it and form a winged barrier of flame and death-spitting aerial machine guns and cannon.
"Blast them!" Freddy Farmer's voice thundered in Dawson's ears. "Go right through the blighters, Dave! We've got to. It's the only thing we can do. Blast through them, Dave, and I'll keep the beggars at a distance!"
Dawson heard the words, but he paid little attention to them. He was studying the Jap planes closing in from three sides, and with heavy heart he realized that these planes were new. That is, they were not the ones that had taken up the chase originally. And that fact confirmed what he already believed to be the truth. The Jap forces in the Far Eastern theatre of war had practically gone nuts with the radio, and summoned every Jap plane over an area of thousands of square miles to hunt down the thieves of a single Jap MK-Eleven. But its meaning held more than just that for Dawson. It seemed almost insane to credit it as truth, but facts pointed to the obvious: that the Japs here, halfway around the world from London, knew who Freddy and he were, knew the object of their mission, and knew where they were headed. Yes, it seemed incredible and utterly fantastic. But hadn't that little adventure with one Herr Miller in the middle of the North Atlantic seemed equally so? And that close brush with death when they had been ambushed on the way to Hickam Field with General Stickney? It just went to prove for the umpty-umph millionth time that anything can happen in war. And that the smart soldier should expect it, and be ready.
Perhaps it took all of three seconds for those and other thoughts to whip through Dawson's brain. And then in the fourth second he saw something that made a decision for him. That "something" was a small group of dots at a point in the air right smack over the Burma border. They were several miles away, but Dawson's eyes were sharp enough to pick them out for what they truly were, and an unconscious shout of joy spilled from his lips.
"Lifesavers, Freddy!" he howled back at the English youth. "Over there! See? That's a patrol of Flying Tigers! Those are shark's head-painted Curtiss P-Forties, or I'll eat my shirt. Take a deep breath, Freddy! Everything is going to be okay!"
"Yes, I see them!" the English youth shouted back. "But they don't know who we are, you know. Head for them and they'll blow us to bits before we can even flash them a sign. Good grief! What are you doing now?"
The last was because Dawson had deliberately hurtled the MK-Eleven around toward the south and was tearing full out straight for the nearest of the Jap planes roaring up from that direction.
"Our best bet!" he yelled at Freddy. "Get set with those rear guns. We'll give those Flying Tiger boys a sign that'll leave no doubts that we're not Japs. We smack one of them down, Freddy. Make it two. That'll tell the Flying Tiger boys as plain as writing them a letter. Okay, pal! Make it perfect as I tear in and out. Here we go!"
To any unsuspecting observer, that lone MK-Eleven racing straight toward a swarm of Jap Zeros must have looked like a sheer suicide maneuver. At least, it must have looked that way to the Zero pilots who knew who was in that MK-Eleven. At any rate, the suddenness of the mad attack threw the slow thinking Japs off balance for a few split seconds. And for two sky warriors such as Dave Dawson and Freddy Farmer a few split seconds is sometimes as good as a whole lifetime. And that was so in this particular case.