Dave Dawson on Guadalcanal

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

Canceled Orders

Stretching out as comfortably as the gear-packed bomb compartment of the Flying Fortress would permit, Dave Dawson lazily unwrapped a bar of semi-sweet chocolate, and bit off a man-sized hunk.

"Ub glub dish blub ice," he grunted, and winked at Freddy Farmer, who was sitting on a packing case of spare parts a few feet from him. "Deferenally jice!"

The English-born air ace gave him a cold stare and a scowl.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, little boy!" he said. "In fact, don't talk at all."

"And that from a guy I've often seen eat peas off a knife," Dawson chuckled after he had swallowed. "But, as I was saying, this is my idea of something nice. Definitely nice."

"You think so?" Freddy snorted, and glanced out the port at the broad expanse of sun-flooded Indian Ocean beneath the wings of the B-17. "What's nice about it, I'd like to know? Nothing but water down there. And more water!"

"So what are you kicking about, Pal?" Dave shot at him. "You're only seeing the top of it, you know. But I meant it's nice to be air chauffeured around once in a while. Just sit back and relax and enjoy yourself, while some other guy does all the work."

"I always suspected that you were born lazy," Freddy said. "And every day in every way I'm becoming more and more convinced. I wouldn't relax too much, old thing, if I were you. In case you don't remember, there is still a world war going on. And particularly in this part of the world. Just over there a couple of hundred miles or so are some islands called the Dutch East Indies. Right now a mess of slant-eyed devils are in control. And they have quite a few airplanes, too, for another thing."

"Meaning?" Dawson grunted and frowned.

"Meaning that we're expected to do something in return for this hitch hike hop from India to Australia," the English youth explained. "In other words, we are expected, like everybody else aboard, to keep an eye out for possible approaching enemy planes."

"Do tell, do tell!" Dawson murmured, and pushed himself up to a half sitting position.

Turning his head slightly, he took a long look out the port nearest him. Then presently he shook his head, relaxed and slumped back to his original position.

"Nope," he grinned at Freddy. "No enemy planes approaching, sir. Now what?"

Freddy made sounds in his throat and stabbed a finger at the bomb bay doors.

"You could step down through there, and neglect to take your parachute along!" he snapped. "You know something, Dave? I'm just a little worried about you."

"Good!" Dawson chuckled, and bit off another hunk of chocolate. "Worrying about me will keep you out of trouble, and that will be fine. But, seriously, what's on your mind, my good fellow? You do have a mind, don't you?"

"I have a mind to toss you overboard, and not even mention it to the others!" Freddy came right back. "But seriously speaking, too, I really am worried about you. You've lost your pep and you're going stale. And—"

"Hey, what gives?" Dawson cried, and sat up straight. "Just stick a Jap Zero out there, sweetheart, and I'll show you who's going stale. Where do you get that stuff, anyway?"

"Oh, I don't mean that," Freddy said with a faint gesture. "I imagine you could shoot down a Zero—if the pilot would keep it still long enough. No, I mean about your pep, your—well, your disinterest, Dave. Once you used to be all keyed up about what was going to happen next. But now...? Well, you just seem to slide along from day to day. Sort of take things as they come."

"So?" Dawson mumbled, and munched on his chocolate.

"See what I mean?" Freddy cried angrily. "No interest at all in what's going to happen next. Take this flight we're making right now....