Red Randall at Pearl Harbor

by R. Sidney Bowen

  “Get up, you American dog who lies!” Harada hissed, and drew back his right foot.

  Gritting his teeth against the stabbing pains, Red rose slowly to his feet, swayed for a bit before he could steady himself, and then forced himself to look Harada in the eye.

  “Go ahead and kill me next time!” he said in a croaking voice that startled him. “I’ve told you all I know. I don’t know what else was on that map, but it must have been plenty, because that officer was mighty excited! Why, he even said something about me getting a medal from the Government because that map would tell the American High Command in Hawaii everything they wanted to know!”

  Well, there it was, thought Red. There it was, and he didn’t care. Let them do their worst. At least he would be taking it with his chin up, the way a Randall should.

  At that moment the Japanese radio operator suddenly let out a squeal of triumph and began jabbering excitedly.

  Harada wheeled like a cat and went swiftly over to the radio panel. With one hand he knocked the radio operator head over heels off his stool, and with the other hand he snatched off the man’s phones and clamped them over his own ears. Red strained his ears to listen to Harada speak, but the Japanese spy didn’t make a sound for the simple reason that he was making contact by wireless code. For a moment or two Red watched him hunch over the set and listen, saw the blue spark hiss and crackle across the jump-gap, and then watched Harada unlock his own key and start pounding it furiously.

  After a moment Randall took his eyes off Harada and looked over at Jimmy Joyce who was still pinned helpless by one of the guards. Jimmy met his gaze and grinned and winked, and Red’s heart swelled with affection for the other. No one had to tell him that when Harada had belted him, Jimmy had leaped to his rescue and had received a clout on the mouth for his effort.

  He smiled back at Joyce, and returned the wink. But he also added a look which he hoped Jimmy would take as a sign of caution to go easy and try to keep his hair-trigger temper under control a little more. He saw Joyce start to nod and then his attention was drawn back to Kato Harada over at the radio panel. The Japanese spy had broken off contact and was turning away from the set with a pleased smirk on his face.

  He expected Harada to come over and start crowing, but the Japanese seemed not to be aware that he even existed. Instead he went over to one of the maps hanging on the wall. From where he stood Randall could see plainly that it was a detailed map (probably a Japanese Navy map) of the Hawaiian Islands, the archipelago that extended to Midway Island, and the thousands of miles of surrounding waters studded with coral reefs that barely showed above water and were not even marked on most maps and charts.

  Harada stood straddle-legged, arms akimbo, in front of it and studied it intently for a long time. Then reaching out, he took five tiny paper Japanese flags on pins from a small table and jabbed them into the map at a point Red guessed was a good four hundred miles south of the Hawaiian group. He also changed the position of some little Japanese pin flags already stuck in the map. And then, as Red watched in amazement, Harada plucked out of the map four little American flags and changed their position to a point no more than a hundred miles west of the Hawaiian group. The next thing the Japanese spy did was to whirl, around and leer across the room at Randall.

  “You did not believe me earlier this morning, did you? No! And it does not matter if you believe now, either. But you are looking at the doom of your country’s power in the Pacific. You see those little pin flags? Japanese flags and your country’s flags? They mark the position and strength of the various units of our two fleets. Do you see these?”

  The Japanese spy half turned and pointed to a little cluster of American pin flags.

  “Two of your country’s carrier task forces,” he said. “We had hoped to catch them at Pearl Harbor this morning, but they had slipped out to sea too soon. It does not matter, however. We will trap them all when they do reach Pearl Harbor. And these little flags here?”

  Harada paused again to indicate the cluster of Japanese flags far south of the Hawaiian group.

  “Units of our fleet and troop transports!” he shrilled in triumph. “Our troops that will take over control of your Hawaiian Islands beginning with midnight tonight. Take over the Islands, and capture or sink your carrier task forces at this very moment racing back to port. You see? Everything that we Japanese plan goes just as we wish it. We cannot fail. We have waited years, have studied and planned and worked for this day. Now the day has arrived! When you two youths have grown to be men you can look back to this day and remember that it was the beginning of the end for your soft, stupid, jellyfish country. And you can also look back and remember that I, Kato Harada, did much to make it so!”

  The Japanese came to a dramatic halt, so he thought, and stood grimacing at the two American youths in smug triumph. Red Randall hardly noticed him, however. His eyes were fixed on the flag-marked map on the wall behind Harada. He believed he knew now why Harada had been on edge and close to going off the deep end completely. It was because the Japanese had been unable to make wireless contact with that lurking transport force far to the south. Obviously, he had finally made the contact, and had learned the new position of that unit of the Japanese fleet. It was also obvious that he had learned the new position of the American aircraft carrier task forces racing back to Pearl Harbor. In short, the Japanese plans were going right along according to schedule, and Harada was very pleased.

  However, as Red peered at the map, a rather puzzling thought came to him. If the land, sea, and air defenses of Oahu were a smoking shambles, as Harada so gloatingly declared, then why were the Japanese troops waiting until midnight to make their invasion? Why not right now, if there was really nothing on Oahu to stop them? Why wait for another twelve or fifteen hours?

  There seemed to be but one answer to that, and hope arose anew in Red Randall’s breast as he thought of it. It was obvious that Harada wanted to believe that all of Oahu was a shambles, but he was not sure! And until he was sure, the transports would continue to remain far south out of sight, or until they could steal in under the cover of darkness. So certain was Red of this fact that he met Harada’s gaze, and shot out the question.

  “Why wait until darkness if there is nothing on Oahu to stop your troops?”

  Harada blinked, scowled, and then laughed.

  “There is nothing there to stop us,” he said. Then waving one hand toward the radio, he went on, “Most any minute I will receive proof from loyal Japanese who have lived there for years and have worked night and day for their Emperor. But that is unimportant. We fight this victorious war according to plan. And it is only fools who change their plans when it is unnecessary. No, do not think otherwise, foolish one! Your country is doomed. It is so written, and so it shall be.”

  The Japanese paused and eyed Randall in silence for several moments. Red returned his stare grimly, refusing to let what he felt inside to show on his face. And what he did feel inside was anything but confident. If what Harada had boasted that morning were the truth, then the Hawaiian Islands, Uncle Sam’s mighty outposts in the Pacific, were doomed—unless a miracle came to pass. From what little he had been able to observe of the treacherous Japanese attack it had undoubtedly accomplished its mission. The Island of Oahu must lie blasted and bleeding from the terrible wounds inflicted upon it. The Fleet caught cold in the harbor, airfields bombed sky-high, and planes scattered all over the place like torn bits of paper after a cyclone. Yes, he had seen enough to fear the truth. Oahu was smashed and ripped apart, and at midnight tonight the Japanese would strike the final and decisive blow!

  “Which of you two can navigate an airplane best?” Harada suddenly barked.

  Red started, looked at him, and shook his head.

  “Neither of us knows a thing about navigation,” he replied quickly on the spur of the moment.

  “You lie!” Harada hissed at him. “I know that you have studied navigation, or you would not hold the class of pilot�
�s license that you do hold. Listen to me! Later, when the time is right, we will make another flight in your airplane. An overwater flight of some distance.”

  “To where?” Red impulsively blurted out the question before he could check himself.

  “To meet our victorious troops, of course!” Harada cried, and jerked his close-cropped head at the map behind him. “I have final information which I will not trust to the radio. This last and supreme deed of mine will be to deliver the landing information to Admiral Yamato in person. We will fly to his force, land in the water, and be taken aboard his flagship.”

  “Nothing doing!” Red shouted triumphantly. “This time you are out of luck, Harada! There isn’t enough gas in the tank to take the plane that far!”

  Harada grinned broadly and shook his head.

  “You are wrong, little fool!” he said. “Will you not understand that Kato Harada plans for everything, whether necessary or not? For months we have had a store of gasoline right here, in case it should ever be needed. Foolish one! Right now, at this very moment, the tank of your plane is full to the brim and ready for a flight twice the distance we shall have to travel. Do not think otherwise! We three will make a second flight in your plane!”

  Red’s heart sank at the Harada’s words. He tried to tell himself that he’d die before he’d fly Kato Harada another foot through the air. But in his heart he knew that he would. He would, because the Japanese had forced him to pilot him once, and he would use the same devil’s trick to make him pilot the plane on a second flight!

  Harada seemed to read his thoughts, for he smirked and nodded his head.

  “Good!” he hissed. “The foolish one continues to learn rapidly!”

  The Japanese finished his sentence on a rising note of triumph. At that moment everyone in the room became conscious of a vibrant humming in the air. Soon the humming changed to thunder, the thunder of many wings. Many wings thundering in low from the sea, and Red’s heart leaped wildly as he realized from the sound that those wings were American wings!

  Chapter Fifteen – The Blood of Youth

  RED RANDALL’S HEART leaped as the mighty roar grew louder and louder until the very air seemed to tremble and vibrate. Red, watching Harada, saw the man’s face register astonishment, then alarm. Suddenly he dashed to the side window and squinted upward. The planes were so close now, and so low, that it seemed to Red that they must almost be swiping the treetops with their bellies. And the hammering roar that now filled the hut was deafening.

  And then, something seemed to snap in Randall’s head. The pounding of those American planes seemed all at once to galvanize his body into swift, furious, reckless action. Perhaps it was instinct that drove him to it. At any rate, as Harada peered up out of the window, as the radio operator stood transfixed with fright, and as the Japanese who held Jimmy Joyce pinned helpless gaped pop-eyed at Kato Harada, Red wheeled on foot and dived headlong for the stacked guns in the corner nearest him. The tips of his fingers touched a fully loaded submachine gun. An instant later he was whirling about and moving the gun barrel to and fro, covering the entire room.

  “Get your hands up, all of you!” he shouted. “Hands up, or I’ll shoot!”

  At the sound of Red’s voice Harada turned from the window. His hand made a movement toward his shirt.

  “Up with your hands, all of you! That means you, Harada!” Red yelled. “Jimmy! Duck down and step away from that guy!”

  And then it happened!

  At the end of the next second Red Randall should, by all rights, have been stone dead. But he did not die because of the crazy twist of fate that caused two devils to try to destroy him at the same time. Had they not conspired together, Red Randall’s fate would surely have been sealed.

  But that was not the way it was to be. The Japanese holding Jimmy Joyce gave a mighty shove, and sent Joyce flying straight at Randall. Red detected that movement out of the corner of his eye and ducked down and to one side. Even as he ducked, the knife from Kato Harada’s lightning-swift hand whistled through that patch of air where Red’s body had been a scant split second before. Had not the other Japanese caused him to duck aside Jimmy Joyce’s flying body, Red’s eyes would never have been able to see the knife that flew from Harada’s hand.

  But he did duck, and so his life was spared for the moment, and as Jimmy Joyce’s body crashed into him, and they both fell toward the floor, Red just managed to jerk his submachine gun around and pull the trigger. The hammering of the gun nearly deafened him, and its recoil seemed to tear both arms out at the shoulder sockets. But he held onto the gun and swept it around in a half circle, spraying hot bullets.

  A terrible scream rose above the yammer of the gun, and in a flash Red saw the Japanese who had been holding Jimmy Joyce, topple forward with both hands clawing at his blood-spurting throat. An instant later there came a loud explosion from the direction of the radio panel. A sheet of greenish yellow flame seemed to fill the entire room, and then a moment later dirty blue smoke began to billow out to engulf everything.

  It stung Randall’s eyes and half blinded him. It poured down his throat to sear his lungs. It filled his nose with its terrible acrid stench. He heard screams over by the window, and wondered if his last burst had caught Harada. He couldn’t wonder about it long, however. If they were to get out of this place alive it would have to be pronto. Twisting over from his prone position on the dirt floor, he flung out a groping hand and caught hold of the panting Jimmy Joyce who was trying to scramble up onto his hands and knees. He grabbed hold of Jimmy and pulled him close.

  “Hang onto my belt, Jimmy!” he gasped. “We’ve got to get out of here before we suffocate!”

  “All right!” Jimmy Joyce choked out hoarsely. “I’ve got hold of you. Which way?”

  There seemed to be no answer to Jimmy’s question, because from all four sides of the room came swirling acrid smoke laced with licking tongues of greenish yellow flame. Then, as though an invisible hand were actually guiding him, he bent over double, flung up one arm to shield his face from the heat of the flames and plunged straight across the dirt floor, with Jimmy Joyce dragging along behind him.

  A moving shadow to his right caused Red to spin and fling up his submachine gun. He did not pull the trigger, though. For one reason, the shadow was instantly obliterated by the swirling smoke. For another reason, the place was now filled with the fiendish screams and cries of the Japanese, and to fire his machine gun would reveal his position to the enemy. And the third reason he did not open fire blindly was because at that exact instant the swirling smoke seemed to clear and there, not three feet from the end of his nose, was the flag-marked wall map.

  Red stared at it and then sheer automatic impulse sent him forward. The swirling smoke had closed down again, but the groping fingers of his free hand found that map and tore it from the wall. And in what was practically a continuation of the same movement, he shoved the map inside his shirt front. Then he lunged to the right until he found the window out of which Harada had stared. He half expected to find the Japanese still there, and his finger curled about the trigger of his machine gun. Only then he recalled that Harada had moved swiftly away from the window at the exact moment of the radio panel explosion. Relaxing his pressure on the trigger, Red twisted around to get his face close to Jimmy Joyce.

  “Out the window after me, Jimmy!” he whispered hoarsely. “Follow me out, and start running for your life. This smoke will hide us for a while, but not for long. Here goes!”

  If Jimmy Joyce made any comment Red did not hear it, because at that moment the smoke-filled room behind shook and trembled with the savage burst of another machine gun. There came a piercing scream from over on the other side of the room, and as he practically dived through the window headfirst, to land in prickly leafed bushes just outside, there was a fervent prayer on his lips that the horrible scream had come from the lips of Kato Harada.

  He did not, however, pause to find out whether or not his prayer had been a
nswered. No sooner had he plunged down into the prickly thorn bushes than Jimmy Joyce was sprawling down on top of him. Together they scrambled to their feet and plunged blindly forward through the swirling smoke. Trees got into their way and they crashed into them. But always they somehow managed to remain on their feet.

  Much sooner than they would have liked they got beyond the protection of their smoke screen. They continued to plow and charge their way through heavy undergrowth, making a noise that surely must have been plainly heard from one end of the island to the other. They didn’t dare stop, however. Shrill cries and screams still rang in their ears, punctuated every now and then by a wild burst of machine-gun fire. The Japanese behind them, insane with rage, were undoubtedly shooting at anything and everything that moved, hoping it to be their escaped prisoners. And for the very reason that one of those chance bursts of fire might come streaking their way, Red Randall and Jimmy Joyce exerted every ounce of their strength to gain distance from the jungle clearing.

  In what direction they were traveling they had no idea, and less desire to pause and try to figure it out. In an abstract sort of way they hoped that they might be headed for Puuwai, the only village on the whole island, and where its handful of inhabitants lived. But Puuwai was way over on the other side of the island, and from past flights over Niihau both boys knew there was a lot of tough terrain in between.

  Their direction of flight, however, didn’t matter at all at the moment. To get away from those Japanese killers was the thing of paramount importance. But right now...