The field officer flagged them and Stan felt the big ship tremble under full throttle. She slid forward, gathering speed, her engines roaring and flaming. The afternoon sun gleamed on the oily, tropic sea and many birds were winging back and forth in the hot, burnished sky. The Hudson lifted and bored away and upward. Stan connected his headset and gave his attention to the code sheets spread before him. He had a feeling this would be a routine flight such as he had made many times in the United States.
Everything about the ship was familiar and gave him a snug feeling. The instrument panel, the arching ribs, the cable lines, all were familiar to him. He could see the top of Tom Koo’s head, and he could hear Nick Munson muttering to himself as he lifted the intercommunication phone to his ears. Nick evidently had the mouthpiece hanging close to his head.
Stan leaned forward and replaced his earphones. He dialed the wave length indicated on his code sheet. For a time he listened to routine orders coming out of the Rangoon base. But he did not cut in with any messages of his own. That would be taking unnecessary chances. An enemy radio might be listening. The time passed slowly. He heard his phone sputtering and slipped off his headset. Nick was calling him.
“Get in touch with Rangoon?”
“Cleared through O.K.,” Stan called back.
Nick grunted and lapsed into silence. Stan went back to his radio. The hum of the twin motors beat into his senses and the radio messages clicked off and on. He eased back and closed his eyes. It was very restful, flying up above the layer of hot air close to the ground. He nodded and drowsed off into a nap. There was nothing to keep him awake.
Suddenly Stan opened his eyes again. The first sense to register was his ears. He knew, too, from the sickening lurch of the ship that she was in a tight reversement, knifing over and going down at a terrific rate. But it was his ears that told him the Hudson was being attacked.
There was the familiar scream of lead ripping through the dural surfaces of the bomber. Looking out Stan saw two Karigane fighters dropping down out of the sky. Above and behind him he could hear Nick Munson’s guns blasting away, while up ahead he heard O’Malley’s guns pumping lead. Stan pulled off his headset and caught up the intercommunication phone.
The next instant the Hudson was looping back, flap guides screaming, as she faded into a vertical turn gauged to a split second. Allison was tossing her about like a light fighter plane and the Hudson was responding nobly. In the swirling patch of sky and clouds that whirled past, Stan saw at least a dozen of the Karigane fighters circling and diving, eager to get at the bomber.
“Somebody must have tipped them off,” Stan muttered.