CHAPTER SIX
SUBMARINES TO THE RIGHT
“A cracked cylinder!” was Fred Marmon’s verdict, the minute he saw theoil spray on the window. “How near are we to landing, navigator?”
“Less than an hour,” Lieutenant Levitt answered, “provided there’senough ceiling under those clouds.”
“I think there will be,” Captain O’Grady told them. “See! There’s abreak in the overcast, dead ahead. We’ll go downstairs for a look.”
Taking over the controls, he nosed the _Rosy_ downward through theblack hole in the clouds. A moment later Barry could see moonlightglinting on the wave crests.
At a thousand feet the Fortress leveled out. Above her the cloud scuffwas breaking up rapidly.
“Got that radio damage located yet, Babbitt?” O’Grady asked through theinterphone. “We really ought to let Trinidad know that we’re on our wayin, so they won’t be throwing up a lot of flak at us.”
“I’ll have the trouble fixed in about five minutes, sir,” Soapyreplied. “Good thing we have plenty of spare parts. What that freaklightning bolt did to us was a caution!”
Just ahead a dark land mass rose out of the sea.
“That’s the upper jaw of the ‘Dragon’s Mouth,’” O’Grady remarked.“Trinidad is just beyond. I’m going upstairs again, until Soapy getsour radio working.”
The big bomber nosed sharply upward. For a few moments she clawed herway in almost pitch darkness through a cloud. Then the moonlight shoneclear through the windows.
Suddenly a shaft of brilliant light burst through a rent in the scuffbelow them. Other searchlights stabbed upward. A sharp detonationjarred the Fortress.
“Antiaircraft shell!” grunted _Rosy’s_ Old Man. “Evidently they don’tlike unidentified planes cruising over the airfield. We’d better spinoff.”
WHAMM! BLAMM!
Two shells, still closer than the first, made the big plane rock. TexO’Grady pulled the stick back between his knees and gave the enginefull throttle.
“Guess those hombres mean business, Blake,” he chuckled. “How do youlike being under fire for the first time?”
“I don’t know,” replied Barry with a forced grin. “Somehow it doesn’tseem quite real, being shot at by your own ground forces. The troubleis that those shells would hurt just as much as Jap flak.”
_“Radio’s Okay, Sir!” Came Soapy Babbitt’s Voice_]
“Radio’s okay, sir!” came Soapy Babbitt’s voice. “What’ll I send?”
“Identification signals first,” the Old Man replied. “Explain whathappened to our radio and lights. Then tell ’em to switch on thefloodlights, so we can land before the oil from that cracked enginecylinder drowns us.”
Soapy was still talking into his radio when the searchlights behindthem switched off. O’Grady nosed down. In a moment floodlights lightedup the field a few miles distant. The _Rosy_ landed lightly for all hermassiveness, and braked to a smooth stop.
“_Yahoo!_ Me for some hot coffee!” whooped her Old Man, reaching forthe entrance hatch. “Last man to the office buys for the whole bunch!”
Six days were spent in Trinidad, replacing the cracked cylinder andrepairing the lightning’s damage to the electrical system. On theseventh day _Rosy_ hopped off on her long trip across the Atlantic toFreetown, Africa.
This time she carried a few bombs. It was Sergeant Hale’s hope thatthey might sight a Nazi U-boat on the crossing. The chance, of course,was one in a million. However, watching for a target would help todispel the monotony of the trip.
The weather was perfect—not a single bump in the air. With “George,”the automatic gyro, taking care of their flying, the pilots had littleto do. By turns, they napped, lunched, listened to the radio, playedgames with the others of the crew. Even Fred Marmon had a soft snap,for _Rosy’s_ hungry “quadruplets” were sucking their gas without awhimper.
Only Sergeant Hale, the bombardier, refused to join his crewmates inkilling time. Stretched at full length in the plane’s transparent nose,he stared fixedly at the sea.
“Danny is a born hunter,” the Old Man observed. “Reckon he learned hispatience from the Texas Apaches. They’ll lie ten hours in one spotwithout moving, waiting for a deer to pass a runway.”
They were just six hours out from Trinidad when Hale gave a bellow ofdiscovery. Gazing down and ahead, Barry saw a convoy of twenty merchantships, escorted by two destroyers and three corvettes. The intensifiedNazi submarine attacks had made heavy protection necessary, he reasoned.
“We’ll go down and say hello to them,” said the captain, fastening hissafety belt. “Maybe it will cheer them up to see _Sweet Rosy O’Grady_dropping them a curtsy, even if she can’t stick around.”
With engines throttled down, the bomber dropped toward the crawlingconvoy. Fascinated, Barry Blake watched the toy-like ships grow larger.Now he could make out the British flags and the tiny figures of theantiaircraft gun crews in their tin nests on the superstructures.
“I hope no cockeyed gunner takes us for an enemy and cuts loose,” hethought. “That wouldn’t be any fun at all—”
“_Submarines to the right!_” yelled Sergeant Danny Hale. “I can seetheir shadows just under the surface, Captain. And look—they’ve justfired two torpedoes! Let’s smash ’em!”
“You bet your sweet neck we will!” answered the Old Man. “Take over thethrottles, Blake. Watch your r.p.m. We’ll give Hale a target he can’tmiss.... Sergeant Babbitt, signal the convoy that we’re not bombing_them_!”
The Fortress leveled out at 500 feet. Glancing down, Barry saw the deckof a freighter immediately beneath him. He could almost catch theexpressions on the upturned faces of her crew. His eyes came back tohis instruments and clung to them.
“Bombs away!” yelled Hale’s voice in the interphone. “Give me a run atthe other one, Captain.”
WHOOM! BR-ROOM!
As the Fortress zoomed sharply, the two bomb explosions buffeted her.She staggered, gained altitude, banked, and turned.
WHAMM! A torpedo had struck. Flame blossomed from the sides of thefreighter. Another ship was dodging the second “tin fish.”
Searching the water for the submarines’ shadows, Barry spotted one, butit looked misshapen, seen through the spreading ring of the bomb burst.Then he found the other. It was less distinct, evidently diving at topspeed. That was the next target.
Between it and the convoy, a destroyer was circling like an excitedhound. She was waiting, Barry realized, for _Rosy’s_ next run. Thecorvettes were threading their way through the mass of slowerfreighters, to be in at the kill.
“Steady, Blake—here we go again!” warned Captain O’Grady. “If that Hunis too deep for our bombs to hurt him, the explosion will spot his divefor the destroyer. Her depth charges will get him for sure.”
WHR-R-ROOM! BOOM!
The _Rosy’s_ second run was still lower. The explosions made heraluminum skin crackle like an empty oil can. Suddenly Barry glimpsedthe mast of a freighter spearing up at the bomber’s nose. He gave herfull throttle. The mast flashed beneath—seemingly with mere inches ofclearance.
“Upstairs” again, the fortress’s crew had a grandstand view of thesubmarine’s finish. The destroyer raced toward the mark left by_Rosy’s_ last bombs. She dumped a depth charge off her stem. Her Y-gunspitched two more “ash cans,” bracketing the spot. A fourth and lastdepth charge completed the square.
Behind her, the corvettes darted to the oil slick that now spread overSergeant Hale’s first target, and dropped two more charges for goodmeasure.
“Pilot from radioman,” Soapy Babbitt’s voice crackled on theinterphone. “The destroyer’s commander sends us his congratulations andthanks. He thinks we bagged the second sub, too. Wishes we could staywith him for the rest of the voyage.”
“I reckon he’s telling the truth,” chuckled _Rosy’s_ Old Man. “Thoseundersea wolves have been hanging right at the heels of every convoylately. They hunt in packs. We’ll just swing around the outskirts
ofthis floating freight train and see if Danny Hale can spot any moresuspicious shadows.”
The Fortress banked slightly in a slow turn, describing a twenty-milecircle around the convoy. As she swung back again, Barry could see theresult of one torpedo hit.
The freighter had been struck on the starboard side near the bow. Shewas slightly down by the head. Smoke was still rising from herforecastle, but she still kept her place in line. Her life-boats werein place, with nobody near them. Evidently her crew had no otherthought than to take her to port.
“There’s the second oil slick, Captain!” Hale called. “We got boththose U-boats. Yip-yip-yippee!”
As the bombardier’s coyote howl shrilled in his earphones, Barry Blakelaughed outright. Like every man on board he felt pretty cocky. Alreadytheir ship had been under fire. Now she had drawn first blood, sinkingat least one enemy submarine without help. The world was their oyster,waiting to be cracked wide open when they reached the battlefront.
With a final waggle of their broad wings, _Sweet Rosy O’Grady_ turnedher back on the convoy and headed eastward on her course. A chorus ofgrateful whistles followed her. Owing to the thunder of her ownengines, her crew could not hear the freighter’s salutes, but TonyRomani in the tail turret reported seeing the puffs of white steam.
The sinking of the subs provided conversation to last Barry and hiscompanions for most of the trip. They were still comparing notes whenthe sun set. That put an end to Sergeant Hale’s sea-gazing.
Supper was supplied from thermos jugs and a box of sandwiches.Afterwards, Curly Levitt took a fix from the stars, and made a slightcorrection in their compass course. The engines were behaving sobeautifully that their red-headed nurse, Fred, began to be bored. Heroamed from tail turret to cockpit playing small practical jokes oneveryone, until the Old Man told him to spin off.
By midnight everyone but Captain O’Grady was dozing. His co-pilot wassound asleep in his seat. He was waked by the first red beams of thesun rising over Africa. That was another thrill for BarryBlake—watching the shoreline of a foreign continent loom up out of thehorizon. He slapped on his earphones in time to hear Curly Levittgiving the Old Man another change of course—this time to the north.
A few minutes later the deep harbor of Freetown took shape beneaththem. Soapy Babbitt, contacting the RAF field, received permission tocome in and land. The first of their long, transoceanic hops was safelyended.
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Barry Blake of the Flying Fortress Page 6