Just four minutes later Lieutenant Sweeney, of the American Volunteer Group in China, sent his P-Forty rocketing down the length of the level patch of Burmese ground. And standing on the left wing butt, with his head and shoulders and arms inside the cockpit, Freddy Farmer went along as passenger. The savage prop-wash caught at Freddy's legs and tried to pull them out from under him, but he was well braced, and his hands had an iron grip on the inside of the cockpit. So he stayed put, and the veteran Flying Tiger lifted the fighter plane off the ground at the right moment, and nursed it up over the rim of the jungle and on up toward the blue-white sky.
And thirty seconds later Major Brown took off with Dave Dawson as his "strap-hanging" passenger. When that plane was well clear of the ground, the P-Forty that had been left top-side to ride cover slid downward, and the three planes slid into formation with their noses pointed for the home field at Menglien some eighty odd miles away.
[CHAPTER EIGHTEEN]
Satan's Last Gasp
A new day's sun was climbing up over the eastern rim of a whole world embroiled in total war. A new day that would see small triumphs, and big ones, at one front or another. And a new day that would see more war miracles performed, and more fading life for some, and sudden violent death for countless others.
A new day of war, but for Dave Dawson, and Freddy Farmer, it was not the beginning of something new. Rather, it was the beginning of the end of something old. Before that sun set in the west again they would be in Chungking, the secret document would be delivered to Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek, and a mission that had carried them almost two-thirds of the way around the world would be all over but the shouting—and the great and deep sighs of utter relief.
"Don't say it, Dave!" Freddy Farmer spoke up as the pair stood on the edge of the Flying Tiger field at Menglien while mechanics warmed up the engines of six Curtiss P-Forties. "Don't say it, for Heaven's sake. It's brought us too much bad luck already!"
"Okay, I won't say it," Dawson grunted, and gave him a side-long look. "But off the record, just what in blue blazes are you yapping about?"
"Your favorite speech ever since we left Colonel Welsh!" the English youth shot back at him. "Remember? Three more laps, Freddy, old kid. Two more laps, Freddy, my boy. Just one more hop and we'll be there. And so forth, and so on? And each time you've made that little speech we've barged straight into bad business. So, for goodness sake, spare us this time. In fact, my good man, shut up, will you, until after we've landed at Chungking?"
"Okay, okay!" Dawson growled. "But just the same, it's practically in the bag now, and so—"