A Yankee Flier in the Far East

by Rutherford G. Montgomery

Crossing the hundred yards of lighted ground, not to say anything about the stream, would be no easy job. Stan had a feeling he would not get far in such an attempt. He sat down to think it over.

The air was filled with many sounds. From the east came sounds of machinery running at high speed and of hammers pounding upon metal. The Japs probably were trying to repair some of the damage the Flying Tigers had done. Above these sounds rose the put-put of a gasoline motor close at hand. The noise was familiar, Stan had heard such a sound many times. Suddenly he realized that the steady chugging came from a portable light plant.

Edging around the tree Stan crawled toward the sound. He found a bush close to the edge of the stream and sat there peering across the water. The light plant was located close to the stream on the far side. It was a type mounted on auto wheels and designed to be trailed behind a car or truck. Stan looked for poles leading away from the plant but saw none. As he bent forward one of the searchlights swung around, stabbing its broad beam over the grove and down toward the stream.

Stan flattened himself against the wet ground behind the bush. The light swept on, revealing a wide hedge beyond the grove, then the trunks of the trees and the slope under them. It showed a yard back of the grove. The yard was crowded with army trucks and canvass-covered guns mounted on wheels. The band of light swung around, over the slope he had just crossed. It was a white, revealing beam and Stan gripped his automatic. The screen of bushes could hardly hide him from such an intense light. Then the light swept upward, stabbed into the sky and dropped again upon the stockade. Stan sucked in his breath and sat up.

He edged out into the stream and found it had a muddy bottom. The water was only knee-deep and smelled very bad. From his position, crouching above the water, Stan could see the portable light plant outlined against the light from the stockade. A man sat on a box near the plant. His head was resting on his arms which, in turn, rested on the top of an oil barrel. Stan was sure the operator of the plant was taking a nap.

Crossing the stream he stepped out on the bank and into the shadow back of the plant. Creeping forward he stood erect behind the sleeping man. One hard rap with the barrel of his automatic made the Jap engineer straighten, then slide soundlessly to the ground. Stan made a quick examination of the fellow to be sure he was out cold. The Jap was relaxed but breathing softly.

Turning to the light plant Stan bent over the small motor. His probing fingers located a spark plug. With a swift blow from the barrel of his pistol he smashed the porcelain plug. The engine coughed, backfired, then went dead.

Instantly the blazing lights at the stockade went out. The stream and the bank were plunged into darkness. Stan knew this was the moment for action. The guards would be blinded until their eyes became accustomed to the sudden darkness. He charged up the bank as fast as he could. Shouts arose from the Japanese soldiers and a rifle shot rang out.

Stan headed for the rear of the stockade where the hut stood. The fence was not very high and he could leap up and catch hold of the top. He found one strand of barbed wire and caught hold of it. He was glad the Japanese were short of metal and could not do a good job of wiring the fence. With a jerk he yanked the wire down and was on top of the fence.

Down at the gate a smoky flare was waving back and forth and a Jap officer was bellowing orders. Stan hit the ground inside the stockade. He bumped into a man and felt clawlike fingers gripping at him. He pushed the man aside and stumbled over another lying on the ground. Then he reached the wall of the hut and felt for a door.