The Military Megapack

by Harry Harrison

  Roberts glanced at the fuel gauge and groaned. Why hadn’t those rats turned up an hour sooner? If he battled it out now there wouldn’t be fuel enough for the flight home. If he tried to run, those faster fighting jobs were bound to catch up with him. He kept on climbing and cursed the fuel supply.

  The outlines of the ship were becoming more visible with every passing minute. The Vultee was doing two hundred and fifty m.p.h. There was about thirty-seven m.p.h.s. left in her.

  O’Malley put down his glasses.

  “I’m Tojo’s pet monkey if that isn’t a transport loaded to the gunwales, Bob!” he exclaimed. “And those two planes were catapulted. I saw the sling-shots just a minute ago. We’re going to have some action! I’ll take care of our rear with the two flexibles. You mow ’em down with the forward guns. And, Bob—if you cross me up and I don’t get a crack at those yellow bums, so help me, I’ll skin you alive!”

  “You’ll get a shot at them all right.” Roberts was biting his lower lip. “They’re trying to climb above us, but we’ve got a ceiling range they can’t top. So they’ll wait for us to come down, separate and try to take us from two angles. That’s where you come in. Hang on, we’re going to see the sun!”

  Roberts climbed rapidly. All idea of conserving fuel was gone now. Perhaps they would be lucky enough to make it short and be able to land on one of the numerous islands about two hundred miles south. They could radio the secret base and just wait for help—if they were lucky. Roberts kept repeating that phrase over and over.

  He topped the two Jap fighters, but they waited for him, ready to pounce the moment he came down. They were able to outfly him because of their greater speed, but they were vulnerable, too.

  Roberts felt reasonably secure. The Vultee V-12 was heavily armored, and the thick sheets of steel had never looked so good to him. He settled deeper in his chair, raised one hand and signaled O’Malley that he was going down to fight.

  It was a tough break not having a navigator along. The middle seat was empty and another pair of hands to help with the guns would have been useful. But at the secret base there were none too many Army flyers, and navigators were at a premium.

  The Vultee started to rip a hole in the atmosphere. Roberts’ idea was to sweep past those two fighters so fast they would miss with their guns. Then he could come out of that dive with the precision and speed the Vultee could stand, nose up and do some belly-shooting.

  He did not forget that transport either. She was beginning to zigzag already and the smoke from her funnels was thicker than ever, indicating that she traveled under forced draft now.

  * * * *

  They flashed by the two fighters which banked and started to dive after them. Roberts gave a yelp of elation. That was just what he wanted. They could never come out of their dive as fast as he could—not if they wanted to still fly with wings.

  A few bullets ripped through the plane somewhere aft. The young pilot could feel the ship shiver as they penetrated. Nothing seemed to be damaged. He slowly tugged at the wheel. The plane came out of its dive perfectly. Both enemy ships zoomed past, guns spitting.

  Now Roberts was on top again and within the ceiling of the enemy craft. He plunged down again, this time with his finger at the firing buttons. One of the Jap planes veered off and started to fight for altitude. The other didn’t dare.

  Roberts had a bead on him, but held his fire wisely. When he could actually see the shining helmet of the pilot, he cut loose. That shining helmet didn’t reflect the late afternoon sun any longer. The plane gave a lurch, like a wounded animal, coughed a stream of thick smoke, then burst into flame.

  Something rattled like hail on the armored side of the Vultee. The second Jap was plunging down in a suicidal attempt either to shoot his prey out of the sky or ram him. These Jap pilots had nerve, and death seemed to mean nothing to them.

  O’Malley gave a yelp of delight and cut loose then. His flexible guns created a dangerous arc of steel in the sky, but the Jap sideslipped through it, banked and came back for another try. This time he came head-on.

  Roberts didn’t stop to wipe sweat off his face. The fighter craft was plenty faster than this Vultee, but she was not armored and she carried only half the guns of the bigger dive bomber. That gave him an edge, but a precious little one. Also, the fuel gauge was getting lower and lower. Any chance of reaching the secret island base was all gone now. This was a fight to the finish.

  He aimed the ship, just as he would a gun. The Jap came into his sights. As he pressed the firing button, he felt the Vultee give a heavy lurch, but she came back on an even keel. The Jap didn’t. The cross-fire of those four guns caught him dead center.

  The prop broke into a hundred pieces. One wing buckled. Her nose pointed toward the Pacific and oblivion. The pilot made a grim attempt to climb out and chute to safety, but he was trapped in the cockpit, probably by a jammed cowling. A thousand feet above the water, fire must have reached the fuel tanks. The plane exploded.

  “Now for that transport!” Roberts shouted. “You okay, Mike?”

  “Never felt better in my life,” O’Malley answered. “We did okay, too, eh, pal? You going to dive-bomb that ship?”

  “I’m not going down and slap her commander’s wrist,” Roberts said grimly. “But I would like to know what in blazes a transport is doing here—unless they intended to take over one of those islands back there. Sure, that must be it. This is a full war party. Raiders must have captured one of the islands. Some have a lot of Yankee workers busy building fortifications. Get on that radio and call headquarters. Tell ’em to reconnoiter the island group carefully. And a couple of destroyers wouldn’t do us any harm either.”

  * * * *

  The transport was a tiny dot in the water, much smaller than the streams of smoke she was giving off. Roberts had two bombs, the heaviest a plane of this type could carry. One hit would sink that ship like a ton of bricks.

  There were, perhaps, a thousand or more men aboard her, but war was not a matter of mercy. The Japs had shown none at Pearl Harbor. They were entitled to none here.

  Roberts raised his hand and swept it down as he put the plane into her furious dive. He knew that unless he sank this ship quickly that he and O’Malley would get themselves buried at sea, in a watery shroud. The gas was being used up fast.

  The air brakes were set this time, keeping the dive under four hundred m.p.h. Roberts saw his target grow larger and larger. Rifles and submachine-guns started throwing up a futile barrage. Forward, a single antiaircraft gun let loose shrapnel that burst high above them and far to one side.

  He tripped a bomb, nosed up sharply and streaked to a safe distance. It was all O’Malley’s show now. He could watch the effects of the bomb from his berth aft.

  O’Malley saw debris, flame and death burst loose amidships. The funnels were knocked half over. The sea was full of swimming Jap soldiers.

  Roberts climbed again and surveyed the damage himself. It was bad—enough to sink the ship, but not fast enough. There might be more on the way and Robert’s job was to annihilate. Each one of those Japs who went down meant an American, Dutch, British or Chinese life saved.

  The next attack was easy. The antiaircraft gun had been rendered useless. A few rifles spat, uselessly. Roberts dropped his second bomb and was no more than five hundred feet above his target when he let go.

  This one burst in almost the same spot as the first. The ship was literally blown in half. Her stern sank in two minutes. The forward section held on a little longer. But Roberts didn’t know about that, because he was heading for that island group. Seconds were precious now for seconds ate up fuel.

  “There goes the rest of her!” O’Malley shouted. “A few life-boats are scooting around. I guess we did that job right.”

  “Yeah—now see about calling headquarters, will you?” Roberts asked.

  “Sorry, pal. It can’t be done. One of those Jap slugs had the radio’s serial number on it. She’s busted, ruined, shot full
of holes. How’s the fuel, chum?”

  Instantly, Roberts throttled the plane down to its minimum speed to conserve fuel. Adding to his troubles, the sun was going down fast. They would be flying in total darkness within thirty minutes. That wasn’t so bad except that there was a chance they would overshoot the islands. And those tiny dots offered the only haven for eight hundred miles.

  Roberts did not even speak as he nursed the ship along. O’Malley was whistling cheerfully. Even if they dived to the bottom of the sea, he was satisfied. They had cleaned out a potential rat’s nest before it was lined with yellow mice.

  Suddenly Roberts killed his engine. O’Malley gave a nervous start of excitement.

  “I just saw lights down there,” Roberts said. “We’re going in—silently. Mike, I think the Jap transport was headed this way. According to my map, the island where I saw those lights was being rigged as a plane base. The Japs must have been wise to it and captured the whole shebang. No telling how many of ’em are down there, but we’re going to find out.”

  O’Malley got busy. He slipped one of those .30 caliber machine-guns loose and prepared all the ammunition he thought they could carry. If there were Japs below, he wanted to give them a taste of good old U.S. steel—and O’Malley didn’t mean bonds.

  * * * *

  Roberts maneuvered the silent ship for a landing that would beach the craft, with luck. He didn’t dare try to sit down on any of the landing fields. He didn’t know whether they had even been started, and what was more, it might be an open invitation for the Jap garrison to close in.

  The plane splashed through shallow water, ground against sand and came to a shuddering halt within wading distance of the island. Roberts hoped she had dug a deep enough hole to keep her from going out with the tide.

  He and O’Malley slid back the cowling. Roberts jumped into the water, shoulder high. He reached up and supported the heavy machine-gun while O’Malley held the ammunition above his head as he jumped.

  They waded ashore, streaked for the thick brush, and dropped flat, breathing hard from their exertions. Not so far away they heard a tinny radio blaring forth Japanese. Roberts dug an elbow into O’Malley’s ribs.

  “Hear that? They’re tuned to Tokyo! My hunch was right! They’ve captured this island and were waiting for that additional force to help ’em hold on when our men found out. How about sneaking up on ’em and having a look-see?”

  “Sure,” O’Malley grunted. “Just so long as I can tote this two-ton tommy-gun along. I’m like the guys in the movies. I want to die behind a spitting rifle. You got a flag on you, partner?”

  “They’ll put one around your body if you don’t pipe down,” Roberts grumbled.

  He drew a heavy Army automatic from his holster. The gun was wet, but would work. Roberts knew his weapons.

  For almost a third of a mile they crawled on all fours, then both flattened themselves against the earth. Four Jap soldiers were proceeding along a path in single file, their rifles held at ready. Roberts guessed that some outpost had heard the plane as she had slid along the beach. These men were to see what was going on.

  Roberts put his lips against O’Malley’s ear.

  “Okay, fighting Irish,” he whispered. “This is your chance to do some fancy work. We’ve got to take those four monkeys. If they report that plane, we’ll be in the soup. We slip through the jungle, get ahead of them and pick ’em off silently. No blasts with the tommy gun, you hear?”

  O’Malley carefully laid the gun down and drew his own automatic. He gripped it by the muzzle and grinned. They separated then, each taking a side of the trail.

  It was easy to outstrip the Japs. They were not moving fast and the insect night life made enough racket to hide the little noise which the two Yanks made.

  Roberts crouched behind a bush at the edge of the trail. He saw the four Japs heave into view, and three of them filed past. Roberts jumped the fourth, wound an arm around his throat, and lifted him completely off his feet. The man’s kicks and struggles made no noise. Roberts gave the man a sudden push, then brought down the butt of his gun. The Jap’s skull crunched.

  Roberts knelt over him, drew out the man’s bayonet and found four grenades in a sack. He slung this over one shoulder and set out for more prey. He stumbled on O’Malley a moment later. The Irishman was wiping blood off the butt of his gun, too.

  But the remaining pair of Japs were suddenly aware that things were radically amiss. They jabbered to one another and tried to penetrate the darkness. Just about the time they decided to yell for help, two shadowy forms came catapulting out of the brush. Each had a bayonet. It was over in half a minute.

  * * * *

  O’Malley’s Jap was dead. Roberts held a squirming, mass of flesh and bones against the ground until O’Malley came up. The Irishman did not believe in elaborate measures. He just kicked the Jap’s jaw hard enough to break it and put him away.

  “I wish we could get one of these apes who could speak English,” Roberts grunted. “I’d like to know how many of them are on the island.”

  “Well, for the love of Mike, let’s go find out,” O’Malley suggested. “If they can’t speak English, we can count in good old American as we mow ’em down.”

  “Park here a minute,” Roberts said. “It won’t be as easy as that. If we could locate their barracks and lob a couple of grenades through the window, that might be okay, but what if we toss those grapes into the shack where the Japs have the workers imprisoned? We’re pretty well alone out here. No chance to get help, so this becomes something of a private war for you and me. There’s only one thing to do, Mike.”

  “Shoot,” O’Malley offered.

  “I’m going to let them capture me,” Roberts said. “That will draw the whole garrison into the open. They wouldn’t miss grabbing a Yank in uniform. They’ll be plenty busy with me. Your job is to hide, keep that machine-gun ready and watch where they throw me. Then blast their barracks and officers’ quarters into a cocked hat. Turn loose the gun on what’s left and I’ll get the prisoners to bust out too.”

  “Yeah,” O’Malley said slowly, “only it’s me who is going to surrender. You’re better at heaving grenades than me.”

  “After all the bragging I heard you do?” Roberts scoffed. “Nix. I’m in command, and you take orders. Now let’s sneak up and get your gun into position to strafe the whole clearing.”

  They worked furiously then. It would not be long before more patrols would be sent out to search for the first one and when the bodies of those Japs were discovered, Roberts’ whole plan would blow up.

  They set the machine-gun into position at the end of a fairly long field. The field was clearly meant for planes but not yet fully completed. O’Malley nodded and disappeared into the darkness. He carried two grenade sacks over his shoulders and Roberts’ automatic was stuck in his belt. A Japanese bayonet was strapped around his middle. He looked like a walking arsenal.

  Roberts ripped his uniform in a couple of places, rubbed dirt on his face then staggered boldly onto the clearing.

  He yelled for help. The Japs would be sure to believe his prepared story about being wrecked close to the island and that he made for it as a haven because he thought it was in American hands.

  Lights flashed on. Men poured out of one long, low building. If O’Malley was in position, he would know this was the barracks and get set. Bayonets jabbed Roberts as he stumbled along. Twice he fell and the bayonets prodded him painfully.

  A dapper Jap lieutenant stood waiting. A smirk was on his yellow face and his buck teeth glistened as though he would like to take a bite out of this fair-skinned Yank.

  “Well,” the Jap staid in good English, “what have we here?”

  Roberts stared at him in open surprise.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “I thought there were Americans on this island. My plane developed engine trouble. I came down about half a mile east of the island and swam the rest of the way. Now I find a lot of Japs—and
you, who speak English as well as I do.”

  The Jap stepped forward. His open hand hit Roberts across the mouth.

  “I speak English better than you,” he hissed. “I was trained in an American university. It was a glorious four years. For me, Yank, not for you or your kind.”

  Roberts caressed his bleeding lips.

  “Nice way you have of returning our hospitality. Would you mind telling me what’s going on here?”

  “No. Of course not. We simply took over the island a week ago. Some of the fools here tried to fight us with clubs. They are buried over there, in one grave. The others are my prisoners. They are kept busy finishing this flying field which we shall soon use. Tomorrow you will help them. I suppose you are hungry.”

  “Starved,” Roberts said. “I’d appreciate—”

  Another slap smacked him across the mouth. The officer gave a signal and his men pitched in with rifle butts. Roberts got in a few licks, but they were inconsequential, and he went down under the terrific barrage of blows. The Jap officer smirked and kicked him to his feet again.

  “You will remain silent,” he snapped. “Oh, yes—I do thank your country for letting me study there. In fact, I liked the gesture so well that soon now, I shall return to the United States—at the head of an armed force. I’ll show you pigs a yellow man is as good, or better, than a white. Tomorrow you work, from dawn to darkness. If you do enough, there will be some rice. Otherwise—nothing. And, Lieutenant, I would very much enjoy shooting you for the sheer pleasure of it—so don’t cross me.”

  He barked a command in Japanese. The bayonets started work again and Roberts was forced over to another long, low building at the opposite end of the field. Two sentries opened a door and Roberts was kicked through it. He fell heavily.

  Wan, hungry-looking Americans eagerly helped him to his feet. They plied him with questions. Did the Army know the island had been lost? Was help coming?