A Yankee Flier in the Far East

by Rutherford G. Montgomery

With the P–40 well hidden he started moving along the edge of the jungle. After a short time he found a dim trail leading into the jungle. Stan patted the automatic pistol snuggled against his hip and started down the road.

He had not gone far when he came to the wreckage of the general’s car. It lay where it had tumbled when he riddled it that day. Already vines were beginning to shoot out over it. He trudged on for an hour, being careful to pause every few hundred yards to listen. Once he heard voices. Fading back into the jungle he watched four natives trudge past. They were pulling a cart loaded with fruit. After they had passed on Stan emerged from the jungle and hurried on.

After walking another hour he came to a small clearing with several huts clustered at one end. This called for a detour. Heading into the jungle, Stan fought his way along. He had no brush knife and the going was slow and painful. Thorns raked his arms and face and scratched his hands. Grass blades cut like knives. A dog barked furiously and he heard natives shouting. There was one safe thing to do and that was to stand perfectly still. For ten minutes Stan stood close to a tree trunk and listened.

No one came into the jungle and the dog ceased howling. Stan pushed on and after a while came back to the road well away from the huts. He found the trail wider and showing more signs of use, so he stayed close to the leafy wall which formed a hedge on each side of the road.

By five o’clock in the evening he was close to the village. The jungle cover thinned out and he decided to wait for darkness. Hiding in a thicket he lay down.

Dusk fell slowly and darkness followed even more slowly. When night came Stan emerged from the thicket. He headed toward the village from which a few lights gleamed. Before he had gone far he came to the sentry line the Japs had thrown around their post.

Stan bent low so as to get the sentry against the sky. On hands and knees he worked his way up to the sentry line. The guard was out in the open where he had a chance to see anyone approaching, even in the starlight. Lying flat Stan checked the ground.

He did not wish to pick off a sentry. The man could be ambushed easily but his absence from the post would be discovered within a few minutes by his companions who met him on either end of his beat. There was one distinct advantage. The lines were blacked out. There were no lights at all, due very likely to the smashing raid the Flying Tigers had made a short time before.

Stan edged forward. He had discovered a shallow depression running across the guard line. This low ground was deep in shadows. The sentry paced back and forth, his rifle over his shoulder. He met his fellow guards and they exchanged gruff words but never halted to talk.

Using Indian tactics Stan wormed his way along the hollow. He moved a few feet, then lay still for a space, then wiggled ahead a little more. When the sentry had his back turned, Stan slithered across his path and on as far as he could get. When the sentry faced about, Stan lay flattened against the ground. He was able to time his movements by the voices of the Japs when they met and challenged each other.