“Thank God!” Randall breathed softly. Then giving Stivers a startled look, he asked quickly, “This is Mindanao, isn’t it? I mean... Hell! If I could only make the old brain think!”
“Don’t try, fellow,” Stivers said, and squatted down beside the cot. “You’ve won the right to give the old brain a rest, and the body, too, as long as you live. Why, man, you and Joyce will be the talk of the whole Pacific war theater for months to come. The whole doggone world, for that matter. And if they don’t make you each a General, and hang at least a dozen medals of honor on you, then I’m crazy. But for you and Joyce, General MacArthur, wouldn’t be here, in Mindanao waiting for some B-17-’s to come up from Australia and fly him back.”
“Then this is Mindanao?” Randall asked. “And the General did get through?”
“Sure it’s Mindanao,” Stivers nodded. “And sure, General MacArthur got through, thanks to Lieutenant Bulkeley and his boys, and you two fellows. Boy, how some guys get all the action. But I guess maybe I shouldn’t complain. I’m still alive, and that’s plenty in my book.”
“What happened to you?” Randall asked. “And what about the others? A Jap officer told Jimmy and me that all fourteen of us had been captured or killed.”
“Yes, I know,” Stivers said softly. “And he was probably right, though I hope not. Maybe some of the others will turn up...the way I did. Nobody reached Davao, anyway, that’s sure. We all got lost in storms, or were jumped by Japanese planes, the way you two were. I got forced down on the water, and a Japanese patrol boat picked me up. The tub struck a mine that night, and I woke up floating on an empty life raft. I could see the shore of some place about half a mile away. I was just about half dead, but I used a piece of planking from the raft’s seat, and paddled ashore. The wind was with me, so that helped. When I reached shore I passed out again. A squad of Yank soldiers found me and brought me to this camp at Cagayan.”
“Cagayan?” Randall gasped. “The Cagayan Islands?”
“No,” Stivers shook his head. “A place by the same name on Mindanao Island. I’d been here two days when a sentry saw your Jap plane land on the beach out there. Boy! Was he surprised to see a couple of Yanks come in in a Jap plane! And when Joyce came to long enough to tell us what it was all about, we all were a bunch of very surprised guys. And then when MacArthur and those two PT’s came sliding in, they must have heard our cheering way up in Tokyo.”
“So Jimmy told you about us, huh?” Randall murmured. “I was wondering if I’d been raving while I was passed out.”
“You were, some,” Stivers grinned. “Fact is, you added a few things that Joyce overlooked. And General MacArthur’s party gave us the rest of that brush with those destroyers the Japs had waiting. The PT’s were hugging the shore, but if you and Joyce hadn’t nailed those two destroyers, and made the third one scram, it would have been good night PT’s, what I mean. But, here’s the funny thing of it all, you might say. You and Joyce actually did what the whole fourteen of us launched off that Comet were supposed to try to do!”
“Come again?” Randall grunted.
“That was the real reason we were launched off the Comet,” Stivers said with a vigorous nod. “Only we weren’t to be informed of it until we had reported to Lieutenant Colonel Brady at Iloilo. It was to be his job to use us as an air cover for the PT’s during daylight. However, everything went wrong. For one thing, the Japs got to Iloilo first. And for another, MacArthur’s boats left Bataan sooner than expected. So...well, see what I mean? You two fellows held up our end of the thing, after all.”
“Maybe, but some others did most of the work for us!” Randall murmured, as his thoughts slipped back in memory for a moment. “The finest, bravest bunch of black men in the world. Jimmy and I got the breaks, because those guys made them for us!”
“I’d like to hear more about that John Smith sometime,” Stivers said. “But, look, want to hear another surprise coming up for you and Joyce? General MacArthur’s orders, no less. You two are going out on the plane he rides. Yes sir, my friend. Even if a couple of high-rankers in the General’s party have to be tossed off to make room for you. The General wants to hear all the details in detail, if you get what I mean.”
“You kidding?” Randall gasped. “You mean...?”
“Sure, I mean it!” Stivers cut in. “Want me to go get the General to prove it? And look, just remember that I know you when they get through hanging medals on you, and we meet in Australia, huh? And speaking of Australia. What’s the thing you want to do most when you get there?”
Randall frowned in thought, and then he slowly smiled.
“Take Jimmy Joyce to a jewelry store,” he said.
“Says which?” Stivers gulped, and stood up.
“And get him the best doggone watch that a year’s pay can buy,” Randall told him.
“Buy Joyce a watch?” Stivers murmured and edged away. “A year’s pay? I... That’s swell! Now look, fellow. You get a nice sleep, see? Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed so long. See you soon, kid. Be good.”
And with a quick glance back over his shoulder, Stivers slipped quietly out of the tent. And Red Randall smiled happily, and did exactly as he was advised. He fell fast asleep.
About the Author
Robert Sidney Bowen was born in Allston, Massachusetts on October 4 1900. His grandfather, Charles F. Bowen, fought in the Fifth Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry during the American Civil War. Bowen attended the Newton High School at Newton, Massachusetts. After World War I broke out in Europe, he left school to drive an ambulance for the American Field Service in France. In May 1917, the United States Army Ambulance Service took over the AFS, and Bowen, being underage to serve, returned to the United States. When he turned seventeen, he signed up with the Great Britain’s Royal Flying Corps as a Flight Cadet. According to The London Gazette, Bowen was granted a temporary commission as a Second Lieutenant in the Royal Air Force on June 20, 1918.
In July 1918, he went overseas to England, and was assigned to the 84th Squadron, R.A.F. fighting in France on SE5 fighter aircraft. After the end of hostilities at the Western Front, Bowen transferred to the United States Army Air Service.
After the war, he began working as a journalist for the London Daily Mail, the Paris edition of the Chicago Tribune, and two Boston newspapers. For several years he was editor-in-chief of Aviation Magazine. He also worked as an editor for Flying News and several motor magazines.
Bowen’s “I Cover the Murder Front” was the lead story in the June 1937 issue of Black Book Detective.
Bowen had turned to writing in 1930, using his prestige as editor-in-chief of Aviation Magazine to write Flying From The Ground Up, a non-fiction work on how to fly an airplane. He began freelancing for pulp magazines. In 1934, he headlined his own pulp magazine, Dusty Ayres And His Battle Birds, for Popular Publications. Twelve issues were released, the first ten published monthly from July 1934 through April 1935. Bowen continued writing for mystery, adventure, sports, and aviation pulp magazines through the 1950s.
After the invasion of Poland by Germany in 1939 sparked World War II, Bowen was asked to produce an adventure story based on the war. This resulted in the famous Dave Dawson series. Bowen got to work immediately, and the first book, Dave Dawson At Dunkirk, was published in 1941. A total of 15 volumes were released between 1941 and 1946.
By 1945 the series had sold over 2,000,000 copies. Inspired by the success of the Dave Dawson books, Bowen was asked to write a similar series for them. The Red Randall series debuted in 1944, selling 200,000 copies its first year.
During this time, Bowen lived in Wilton, Connecticut, writing seven days a week, from 9 to 5, in an office that he rented over an old garage. He averaged 10,000 words per day, and could complete a novel in ten days. He also never revised his work, believing that any tampering with the story would ruin it.
After the war, Bowen turned to writing books aimed toward adolescent boys, on topics such as aviation, cars, and baseball. He also began
writing books about horses under the pseudonym James Robert Richard.
Robert Sidney Bowen and his second wife, MaryAnn (MacIntyre) Bowen, had two sons, James Sinclair Bowen and Richard Fenton Bowen, and one daughter, Virginia Bowen, and, at the time of his death, on April 11 1977, five grandchildren.
The Red Randall Series by R. Sidney Bowen
Red Randall at Pearl Harbor
Red Randall on Active Duty
… and more to come each month!
Red Randall on Active Duty Page 12