They had been in the air three hours when Gorman touched his arm.
"This is it," he said, "two minutes!"
"Take her down," Madden told Scofield, "and put her on the ground in a hurry."
It was nine minutes past midnight.
Scofield glanced over his shoulder, indicating the altimeter with a finger. It was at a thousand feet. They dare not stay long at that low level. Yet no lights had appeared.
A minute passed, then another. Chiv Sauten shifted his tommy gun, waiting. Gorman glanced at Madden questioningly.
Had their man been captured? Should he play it safe and turn back? Madden set his jaw. To heck with it, he thought. They had come to do a job, and they were going to do it, come what might.
Directly below them was the landing field. Turk's memory for terrain was almost photographic.
He slid forward in the cockpit.
"Give her to me," he said. "I know this field. I might stand a shade better chance at bringing her in blind than you."
Madden leveled off and then nosed down for the field.
Ahead, he knew, was a mountain. To the right and to the left were trees. He could see nothing but the loom of one great peak. He could only pray that he was bringing the big Mitchell in right. He let the ship down fast, pulling the nose up a trifle.
Sweat broke out on his brow as he felt the ship sideslip as it dropped away beneath him. It could crash any moment now, any ...
Two lights flashed suddenly, ahead and to the right. He banked the ship, then flattened her out. A split second later the wheels touched, and the plane rolled forward on the level ground. The lights vanished.
Turk let the B-25 run as far as he dared, then braked her cautiously, his eyes straining against the dark, the big ship swung around, facing downfield.
Madden stepped down, and Chiv Sauten and Monte Jackson closed in beside him.
"Good luck, men," Scofield said softly, and the three of them moved away into the darkness. The last thing Turk saw was Nick Gorman standing by with his tommy gun at the ready.
With every sense alert, Madden led the way. Every moment now was fraught with danger. This was the heart of Japan's own territory. This was the first time American soldiers had set foot on Japan proper since the war began, except as prisoners. If successful, the Kurile Islands would be exposed to attack, along with the whole northern shore of Hokkaido.
He hesitated once, staring about him. There was something wrong about this setup, something very wrong. A subtle sense of danger was flowing through him. He felt as though his back were naked to a bullet-ridden draught.
It was no feeling of the danger ahead. That danger he had faced many times. This was something else . . . the missing map, he'd have to watch his own back on this one.
He thought, then, of what Martin had said of Sauten-that the ex-gangster would sell out to anyone.
Certainly, the Capone bunch had been a gang of mur- derers. Yet Sauten was a silent, capable man. Common sense told him Chiv was not to be trusted. His instincts made him less certain. The fellow felt right, whatever his past record had been.
He wasn't kidding himself about his chances on this mission, and he knew the others weren't. They weren't expected to come back alive. He knew that was what they thought at Headquarters. But Turk Madden had his own ideas.
You don't come through a lot of dangers without acquiring confidence. Turk knew just exactly what he faced, just exactly what chances he had. The odds were a thousand to one against them but experience with danger in many odd corners of the world had taught him that positive, determined action by men of quick wits and valor can do some strange things to the ordinary ratio of chances.
He moved forward, beside him, Sauten was like a ghost.
Jackson was behind them both.
Madden's feet warned him when he reached the path.
He could see nothing, but his soles found its hard smoothness, and his leg muscles felt the downward slope toward the roadbed.
The rail line showed abruptly, two glistening lines of steel. Accustomed to working alone as he always had, Sauten's nearness was disturbing. He kept his companions with him until their eyes were more accustomed to darkness, then at his signal, they vanished. He dropped to his knees and started digging under a tie.
When they had placed their mines, five under each rail, they armed them with detonators and drew back a short distance. Turk wiped his face with his sleeve and felt Jackson near him.
"The culvert's just below us," the man whispered, "the one on the map."
They moved on to the culvert. Sauten was already there, his explosives on the ground. Silently as possible, the three men went to work. This was to be the main, the vital part of the job. If the road were blasted here, it would take weeks to repair. Not only were they preparing the culvert for demolition, but the cliff above as well.
They worked swiftly, silently, with grim determination.
There was a vague intimation of light now. Several times Turk looked up. Each time he saw Chiv Sauten peering around.
Finally, Turk Madden straightened up.
"Okay," he said, "now we go back."
"No! Somebody's coming," Sauten said. "And coming very quietly!"
Madden gave a hand signal, and the three of them dropped back into the rocks, on lower ground. From their new position, they could watch the skyline.
Suddenly they saw them-six Japanese soldiers moving slowly, carefully down the track. In the instant before the attack, Madden was grimly aware of one thing-these soldiers were looking for something. They knew!
His hand slid to his knife. It was a commando-style fighting knife, thin and deadly, an eight-inch, doubleedged knife with a point so sharp an expert could almost sink it through a man. The last of the Japanese was passing when he moved. Some almost imperceptible sound must have warned the man. He turned his head suddenly.
Turk was close, but not close enough for a blow. He took a chance and let the knife go, throwing it underhand and hard.
He heard it thud as it hit, and he followed it in, slugging the man as he fell. Then he wrenched the knife from below the soldier's heart and went for the next one, hitting him low and hard.
He heard Sauten and Jackson close in. A blow caught him in the mouth, and he tasted blood. He stabbed quickly with the knife, felt it hang on some equipment, then slide off and into the man. He stifled the fellow's cry with a hand.
A soldier swung a rifle butt, and Turk dropped back onto his hands, kicking out viciously with both feet. The Japanese staggered, and Madden threw his body against the man's knees. He went down.
The knife slipped from Turk's hand, but he went in fast, reaching for the man's throat. It was a brutal, ugly bit of fighting. Someone kicked him in the head, and, desperately, he broke away from the man on the ground and rolled free. He came up fast, and a fist slugged him in the mouth, then a boot toe caught him in the stomach.
A sickening wave of pain and nausea went over him, and he was back on the ground. A soldier closed in, kicking at his face. Turk grabbed the man's ankle and hung on.
They both went down. Then he was up, and the Japanese lurched toward him. Turk had grabbed a rifle from the ground as he came to his feet, and before the imperial soldier could start another assault, Turk brought the rifle down, striking with an overhand butt stroke that crumpled the soldier's skull like an eggshell.
He turned then, swaying, gasping for breath. A shadow moved toward him, and he saw a gun leveled at his stomach, and for a moment he thought he was cold meat. It was Chiv Sauten.
"I thought you were a Jap," Chiv said.
"Where's Monte?" Madden demanded.
"Here," Jackson said, coming up the embankment. "I rolled down there with that guy. He nearly got me."
"You hurt?" Turk demanded.
"A scratch," Monte replied shortly. "Let's go!"
They moved off then. Surprise had done it, Turk knew, sheer darned fool luck and surprise.
Madden set a fast pace and
as he moved, his mind worked swiftly. The Japanese could have taken the plane.
If so, he and the men with him were grounded in Japan.
Turk halted suddenly. Ahead of them was the airfield, less than a dozen yards away.
Turning abruptly, he went off the path and across the brush- and tree-clad hill. Like ghosts, the two men followed him. Sauten remained at Madden's elbow, Monte, his breath coming hard, trailed a little behind.
It was warm and still. Turk eased down over a rock, feeling for the earth. He found it, and lowered himself gently. Then he turned. A bead of sweat trickled down his spine. He moved forward, stepping cautiously and placing each foot solidly before moving the next.
Suddenly, he stopped. A faint, sickening sweet smell.
Perspiration dripped from his chin, and a slow drop slid past his ear. He knew that smell, could feel its aftertaste in his own mouth.
Blood!
Cautiously, he put out a foot. At the second step, his toes touched something. He leaned forward. He could see the body. It was a man, short, and very broad. Beside the man was something metallic. Turk reached for it. A flashlight.
He straightened uneasily. This was one of the men who had guided the plane to the field. He recognized the broad, powerful build, typical of the hairy Ainu. And the flashlight confirmed his suspicions.
The Japanese had known. Calmly, quietly, they had stood by and let the plane be guided in. Then they had killed the men who flashed the signals.
The feeling of unseen menace he'd had earlier possessed him again. The soldiers along the track had been no casual patrol. They had been searching for the flyers. They had known, as he had suspected.
If they knew, it could mean but one thing. The American plan of attack had been betrayed.
Sauten moved up beside him. The man's lips moved, and the whisper was ghostly. Turk had never believed a man could speak with so little sound, so little exhalation of breath.
"We're in a spot," the gangster said softly, "there's Japs south of us, and there's Japs across the field. I heard those nearest, saw the gleam on a rifle barrel."
What worried Madden was the plane. Had they taken the plane? He moved forward, touching Sauten.
Keeping the brush behind them, and the blackness of the looming cliff, they worked across the top of the field toward the Mitchell.
There was double danger now. If the plane were not taken, Gorman or Scofield might fire on them.
Crouching low, he saw the silhouette of the plane against the vague sky. Uneasily, he glanced downfield. Something was happening down mere. There was no real sound, but a subdued whisper of movement, deadly, mysterious.
What had happened at Wakkanai? Had Ryan managed to wreck the radio? Or had he landed and walked into a trap-a trap that would soon engulf the whole American attack? For, Turk knew, if the enemy had known enough to prepare for this advance movement, they would be ready, multifold, for the attack to come.
Turk moved ahead, halted, then started on again. Suddenly, a figure shot up from the ground ahead of him, and he glimpsed a flicker of movement. Instinctively, he ducked, and just in time to let a rifle butt miss. Lunging, he let go with a wicked left hook for the body.
It landed, a glancing blow, partially blocked.
"Why you dirty-!" The voice was low and hoarse with anger. "I'll-!"
"Nick!" Madden gasped. "It's me! Madden!"
"We thought they'd got you," Nick whispered. "Let's get to the plane!" Lunging to his feet, he made a quick dash for the few remaining yards. Madden followed, then Sauten.
"Where's Monte?" Scofield demanded.
"Here."
Monte's voice was low with effort. He fell against Scofield, and the pilot felt blood on his hand. Jackson's whole side was soaked with it.
Hurriedly, yet gently, they got him into the ship.
Scofield stared down the field. It was pitch dark.
"I don't like it," he said grimly, "but here goes!"
They climbed into the ship. Turk hesitated, remembering the subdued sounds. Then he shrugged, and crawled in.
The plane's motors broke into a roar of sound. Surprisingly, no one fired on them. The Japanese, and they must be all around, made no effort to stop them. Turk scowled. Suddenly, on the inspiration of the instant, he picked up the rocket pistol from the lifesaving equipment.
He stepped to the door, and even as the ship started to roll, he fired a shot into the air. There was a brief moment, then the flare burst.
The Mitchell was thundering down the narrow field, her twin motors roaring, and dead ahead, across the field, was a heavy barrier of logs!
Madden's face went white. He started to speak, then saw Scofield. The pilot's eyes were wide, his face grim.
Turk saw him push the throttles wide, and at the same instant, he pulled back on the stick.
Turk grabbed his tommy gun. If she crashed, and he lived through it, he was going out fighting.
The Mitchell lifted, sagged, and headed straight at the barrier, her engines a thunder of impossible sound!
Desperately, his face cold and stiff, Scofield held back on the wheel. Suddenly, her run seemingly not long enough, the B-25 lifted, a wheel touched the top log, and the ship shot over-they were free!
Below, a machine gun broke into a wicked chatter, bullets slamming into the fuselage, and in the fading light of the flare, they saw Japanese soldiers pour out upon the landing strip, weapons blossoming fire.
Steadily, the big ship climbed. Madden sank back, his face gray, and his mouth dry. He looked at Gorman and thought for a moment that the navigator was going to faint. Only Chiv Sauten showed no emotion, nothing but widened eyes.
"The torpedoes back in Chi thought they were hard guys," he said, just loud enough to be heard. "They thought they were tough! Boy!"
But Turk Madden was already thinking ahead. Their mission was complete. All of it had taken but a few minutes of actual time, a very little while. The bombers would be in the air now, they would be well on their way to Japan. What of Sparrow? Had he succeeded? Or did it matter?
Sauten looked at Turk.
"Well, we're out of that! And I ain't sorry!"
"No," Turk said, "we're not out of it... we're going on to Wakkanai!"
"What?" Scofield looked at Madden. "Are you nuts? If the Japs knew about us-" He scowled in concentration.
"Nick," he suggested, "if you knew what we know, and you were a Jap, what would you do?"
Gorman shrugged. "Run in a bunch of Zeros and park them out of sight until just before the attack began. Then knock down every Yank in the air."
Madden nodded.
"My guess, too. The ack-ack will be ready, of course, but unquestionably they'll have pursuit ships somewhere out of sight."
He bent over the chart, and pointing, said to Nick Gorman, "It will probably be here, but it might be here or over here. Try the first one."
Sauten made no sound, but his lips thinned to a queer, strained smile. Thoughtfully, he began to check the tommy gun.
Madden said no more. For an instant, he thought of San Francisco and the Top o' the Mark. He'd always liked the view from there, and it reminded him, somehow, of the view from the Peak in Hong Kong.
This was going to be tough. They might find the enemy field, and they might not. hi either case, there was a good chance there'd be more trouble.
The whole area they had to cover was not large. Actually a few minutes of flying time would be enough.
They could make it, and still have fuel to get safely back to base-if they were still able to fly.
Then he saw the planes. It was a small field, but a dozen ships were lined up to take off. Behind them, more planes were being wheeled from under camouflage nets. The vague lights were enough to show him that, and the Japanese seemed to be working with no thought of discovery.
Scofield had seen them too. He glanced around.
"How about it?" his lips framed the question, and Madden nodded.
The Mitchell whe
eled around and down in a long, slanting dive. The Japanese airmen heard it, and he saw them suddenly scatter. Anti-aircraft guns flashed, but the B-25 was already too low for the shrapnel.
Scofield took the ship in fast, and the men in the Mitchell manned the guns. Madden opened up with the fifty in the nose. He saw a man run for a ship, let go with the gun, ! and watched the Jap stumble and fall on his face. j The angry teeth of the bullets gnawed the earth, then ripped at the sleeping plane. An explosion burst in the concealed hangars with a terrific concussion, and as the Mitchell lifted away from the field, Turk could see three of ( the parked ships were in flames.
"Again?" Scofield asked, but Madden shook his head.
He pointed north. !
"Wakkanai," he said. He was worried about Ryan. It wasn't only the man, although the flyer was his friend. It |i | was the job. The mission always came first and Ryan had f) been betrayed-Turk Madden knew he had.
Someone had stolen his map of Hokkaido before they began the flight. Someone had warned the enemy.
Sauten moved a little, and his black, slitted eyes turned |
Then he remembered Martin. Lieutenant Ken Martin had been the hero of another flight over Japan. Martin had doubted Sauten. Turk looked again at the man.
True, he had been a gangster. The man had been a criminal. Why should he believe in a man who had done nothing to warrant belief?
Wakkanai was still in the quiet night. As the Mitchell came in toward the great Japanese naval base, Turk's brow furrowed.
If Sparrow had gone down there, he had done nothing. There were no fires, had been no explosions.
Something was wrong, radically, bitterly wrong!
He got up, pulling on his 'chute. Gorman stared. Turk motioned down, then going nearer, gave it to him.
"I'm bailing out! You go on back!" Gorman's protest was lost as he turned. The port opened, and he spilled out into the night.
Over and over he tumbled through the blackness. Then he pulled the string, and after a moment, the 'chute jerked him up, hard.
Studying the dark ground below, he spilled air from the 'chute, trying to guide himself toward a black spot where there were no lights.
It was wildly reckless but Ryan had failed to succeed with his mission. The whole attack depended on their success and the planes would be over the town within the hour. Perhaps the surprise was gone, yet they could take no chances. The attack was going forward regardless.
with These Hands (Ss) (2002) Page 17