XIII
WINGS OF DESTRUCTION
The Scorpion pilot sat chewing his lips in silence, while Red tied hiswrists behind him. Mixed anger and admiration showed on the man's darklyhandsome face.
"If you mean you're going to shoot it out with our bombers, you're acouple of suicidal nuts!" he exclaimed finally. "They'll outnumber youthree to one, and they all mount one-pounder guns, firing through ahollow prop shaft. Who do you guys think you are, to buck odds likethat?"
Don pushed the sturdy ship to its steepest possible climb.
"See that other plane, right above us?" he asked. "It's ours, and it'sarmed like this one, with guns fore and aft. The odds won't be too badfor us, when your three ships show up. And if they don't get here prettyquick they'll run into some more of the United States Navy. There's asquadron of fast attack bombers due here in half an hour."
"Which is going to be just half an hour too late!" remarked RedPennington in a strained voice. "Here come the Scorpion bombers right onour tail! And--"
"SC-25, acknowledge!" blared a voice from the seaplane's radio. "Ahoy,Count Borg! Explain presence of second seaplane. Also, why _Gatoon_ hassteam up. Is anything wrong?"
Don Winslow's response was instantaneous. In a flash he realized thatthe question he'd heard came from the leading bomber. His hand darted toa switch just below the plane's radio dials.
"Borg speaking!" he said, in excellent imitation of his captive's voice."Second seaplane is okay. _Gatoon_ appears defenseless except for rifleson deck. Come ahead!"
Still climbing, Don Winslow's captured seaplane was already above theScorpion ships. They were, he saw, closing up on a course that wouldbring them directly over the _Gatoon_ at about three thousand feet. Notfearing the gunboat's crippled anti-aircraft, they were going to divebomb--from a height that would insure direct hits!
A plan of attack grew swiftly in the young commander's mind. It wouldrequire perfect timing, and if it failed....
But this was not the moment to think of failure. Circling back Donheaded for the first enemy ship just as it commenced its deadly bombingdive.
The seaplane's air speed mounted. Under full throttle it plunged tointercept the Scorpion bomber.
Just as a crash seemed certain, twin streams of fire ripped from Don'sforward guns. In the same split second he zoomed, bringing the secondand third Scorpion planes briefly in front of his sights.
On, up and over in a complete loop he flew the snarling little ship. Asyet he was unable to see the effect of his surprise attack. Had hecrippled one or more of the enemy, or had his bullets missed their vitalspots?
Don's answers came all in a bunch, as he leveled out, less than threethousand feet above the sea. Directly below him a heavy concussionrocked the air. White water geysered upward alongside the _Gatoon_.
The first enemy plane had pancaked, and had been blown to bits by itsown bomb load. But the others?
A row of bullet holes appeared suddenly in Don's left wing surface,creeping toward the cabin. As Don zoomed, a dial on his instrument boardsmashed to bits.
The machine gun in the plane's after turret fired two short bursts,followed by Red Pennington's shout.
"Two of 'em, diving at us from port and starboard!" yelped thelieutenant. "They've got us bracketed--"
The sudden jerk of his safety belt cut off Red's speech, as Don threwhis ship into a barrel roll. It was a desperate attempt to dodge thedeadly cross-fire of the two enemy planes until he could bring his ownguns to bear.
But now another ship had joined the dogfight. Michael Splendor's openseaplane, diving from ten thousand feet, unleashed a stream of bulletsat the enemy.
Coming out of his roll at barely a hundred feet, Don climbed his ship ina furious effort to get back in the fight. But already the Scorpionpilots had had enough. One after another, they fluttered down likewounded birds, their wings and fuselages pierced in a hundred places.
Both managed to take the water safely, though they began to sink amoment later. Their crews plunged overboard, swimming toward the_Gatoon_.
Immediately a boat was lowered by the yacht. Glancing down Don Winslowcut his throttle.
"We'll land on the other side of the _Gatoon_, Red, and taxi in underthe stern. Splendor will moor his plane near the bow until they hoist itaboard, and...."
"Wait, Don!" Red Pennington cried sharply. "Splendor's waggling hiswings to signal us. He's trying to tell us something."
Don Winslow, banking in a slow turn squinted out over the sunlit ocean.Against the horizon, just over the tail of the other seaplane appeared aV-shaped group of dots.
"It's the Navy squadron we radioed for!" the young commander chuckled."I'd forgotten all about them, Red! And, say--will those boys be peevedat having missed the fight!"
He was still grinning at the thought when he set the captured seaplanedown on the bumpy water, in a cloud of spray. His expression changed,however, as the craft developed a sharp list to port, which grew steeperevery second.
"Hey, Skipper!" cried Red Pennington, in alarm. "Those bullets must havemade a sieve of our left pontoon. The wing's goin' to 'catch a crab'!"
As he spoke, the left wing tip caught a wave and went under. The wholeplane shuddered, swung about and lost the remainder of its speed.Another wave slapped loudly against the listing fuselage.
Don Winslow unsnapped his safety belt and faced around.
"Water'll be coming through those holes under our feet in a moment," hesaid tersely. "We'd better unlash our prisoner and get him out of here,quick!"
"Aye-aye, Skipper!" gulped Red, bending over the Scorpion pilot. "I madehim fast on the deck here, seeing there were only two safety belts,and--great guns, Don! He's wounded! Bleeding from the head! Help me...."
Whipping a seaman's knife from under his blouse, Don quickly cut thelashings which held the unconscious man. Turning, he slid open the metaldoor of the cabin.
"You go through, Red, and wait for me to pass him out," the youngcommander said. "The fellow's still breathing. Put on your life beltfirst, and make it snappy. This crate's going to end over in a minute!"
Red obeyed instantly. Without waiting even to fasten the life belt, heplunged through the open door into the water. There, clinging to thefuselage, he waited for the pilot's body to be passed out.
It came, suddenly heaved through the wave washed opening, _with Don'slife belt lashed in place_!
Startled, Red Pennington lost his grip, and drifted free. A secondglance at the white face bobbing above the cork belt made the man'sidentity certain. It was the pilot, all right. But why didn't Don come?
Before Red could more than shout his friend's name, the seaplane listedmore sharply than ever, forcing the cabin door under water. Don Winslowwas trapped inside. He could still dive down through the doorway andswim clear, Red thought, but the air in the cabin now wouldn't last forlong.
"Don's hurt, or caught in there!" Red groaned, stroking back to thehalf-submerged fuselage. "If he weren't he'd be out by now. There's justone way to get him, and if that fails, we'll both go down together!"
Slipping out of his unfastened life belt, he dived under the plane'swave-battered fuselage, groping for the door. A moment later he foundit.
The cabin was dark, half full of water, and almost upside down. It tooka few seconds for Red to get his bearings. As his eyes got accustomed tothe dim light, he made out the pale blur of Don Winslow's face.
The young commander was clinging weakly to a seat, his eyes closed. AsRed Pennington reached him, he stirred and mumbled vaguely, but did notrelease his grip on the seat. A bloody gash on his temple explained hishalf-conscious condition.
"Must have struck his head, just before the plane turned over!" thestout lieutenant groaned. "Come on, Don, old man! Leggo that seat, andlemme take you out. Leggo, I say! This plane is sinkin' lower everyminute!"
Don Winslow's fingers were locked as if in a death grip. By main forceRed pried them loose and dragg
ed his friend down toward the submergeddoor.
"If only he doesn't breathe in a couple lungfuls of water!" the worriedlieutenant muttered, "but I've got to take that chance."
The shock of cold water closing over his head seemed to rouse Don'sfighting instincts. Halfway through the doorway, he clutched at the jamband got a grip. Red, also under water, struggled until he thought hislungs would burst.
Just in time, Don's muscles relaxed. With his last strength RedPennington dragged him free and up to the surface. Then, all at once,strong hands were hauling the two half-drowned officers into a boat.
The next thing Don Winslow knew, he was back in his own berth aboard the_Gatoon_, with Michael Splendor, Red, and the ship's doctor crowding thelittle stateroom. His head still ached from the wallop he'd got insidethe plane's cabin, but the bandage which the doctor had just appliedfelt cool and comfortable.
"Say, Doc," he grinned, trying to sit up, "who was it that beaned methis time?"
Don Winslow of the Navy Page 13