Red Randall Over Tokyo

by R. Sidney Bowen

  “Well, sir,” Randall spoke up, “we’re still willing to take a chance, if you’re still willing to take a chance on us. But you spoke of plans, sir?”

  “I did,” the Colonel said with a nod. “I worked them out with Colonel Stacey in detail last night. You will go by Flying Fortress from Darwin to the island of Negros in the Philippines. Negros has not been invaded by the Japanese yet, and there is a field there where a Fortress can land. The Fortress will be under the charge of Captain Little who is making the trip to evacuate some of General MacArthur’s staff. Colonel Baxter is in charge of our forces on Negros, and you will report immediately to him. He has been ordered to make arrangements with one of our submarines still operating in the Philippine waters to pick you up. This particular submarine has been assigned to Negros to assist Colonel Baxter in any way possible. It makes regular calls at the island.

  “When you have boarded the submarine you will hand to its commander a sealed envelope I will give to you presently. The envelope contains orders for the submarine commander to take you to a point on the coast of China known as Kiaochow. It is well north of Shanghai, so of course you will be aboard the submarine a number of days. Kiaochow is an area still unoccupied by the Japanese forces. It is held by troops of the North Chinese Army and Chinese guerrilla troops. Frankly, the reason the Japs have made no serious effort to take Kiaochow is because it is of no great military importance. It’s wild country around there. However, Kiaochow has been of great use to us of Intelligence. The man in command of the guerrilla forces there is General Ling Chan. He and I have worked together several times. And I can assure you that there is no man in all China who loves America and hates the Japs as much as General Ling Chan.”

  Colonel Denton paused and nodded his head as though to give added emphasis to his words.

  “At Kiaochow you will be put ashore, under the cover of night, of course,” he continued a moment later. “General Ling Chan’s men will be there to meet you, and will take you to the General’s headquarters. A second envelope I will give you, you will hand to the General. It contains my request for him to give you all possible aid. He will supply you with a Japanese plane with a flight range long enough to take you to Takahara and back to Chan’s secret flying field. Now that sounds fantastic but the General is a man who prepares for all eventualities. He has an airfield of his own, and several Japanese warplanes captured intact. He uses them against the Japs. True, that is not strictly according to the international rules of warfare, but the General is a man who fights fire with fire.”

  The Colonel paused again, and it was all Red Randall could do to refrain from pinching himself just to make sure he really was awake and not in the middle of some weird and topsy-turvy dream. Ever since Pearl Harbor he had longed for the day when he could fly over Japan, but not once had he dreamed that he would be doing it so soon, or in such a manner as Colonel Denton was now outlining to Jimmy Joyce and himself. The Colonel seemed to read his mind, for the senior officer gave a little sigh and smiled faintly.

  “Sounds like a fairy story, and utterly impossible, doesn’t it?” he said. “But there is the one chance that such a mission would be successful, and because of the vital importance of establishing a personal contact with Agent Six I must bank on that one chance, whether it is you who tackle the job or somebody else.

  “But to continue with a rough outline of the plan. From General Ling Chan’s field you will take off and fly to Takahara, timing your flight so that you will arrive at Takahara just before dark. Of course the instant you leave the ground you will be in Japanese patrolled air. However, you shouldn’t be molested in a Japanese plane. Fortunately, the area about Takahara is thinly populated, and the chances are all in your favor of not being seen as you come down. I will give you detailed pictures of the place, showing the old farmhouse where you will meet Agent Six. You will see that there are several spots where you can land the plane without any trouble. When dark settles, make your way to the farmhouse. Agent Six will be there, or he will arrive soon. Tell him what happened to Agent Ten, and learn from him the information that Agent Ten was bringing to me. Then take off as soon as possible and return to General Ling Chan’s field. There he will give you a Chinese plane that you can fly to Chungking. And I will be waiting for you at Chungking. Well, there it is. We’ll go into the whole thing in more detail later. But, right now, are there any questions you want to ask?”

  “Yes, sir,” Randall spoke up quickly. “How will we be able to recognize this Agent Six? Also, how will we be able to convince him that we come from you direct and that he is to trust his information to us? Our Yank uniforms may not mean a thing to him.”

  “You won’t wear your American uniforms,” the Colonel said. “At Kiaochow General Ling Chan will outfit you with clothes to wear on your flight to Takahara. As for proving identity, look at this.”

  The Colonel held out his right hand, the palm facing upward. Between the third and fourth finger was a tiny blue dot.

  “Agent Six will carry this mark, as all my agents in the Far East do,” he said. “And you two will carry this mark, too—to your graves, by the way, because it does not come off. Show your mark to Agent Six, and that will be enough for him. Well, anything else?”

  “I’ve got a question, sir,” Jimmy Joyce said with a frown. “If we do contact Agent Six, do you want us to try to bring him out with us? After all, it might be better for him to tell you his secret information direct.”

  “Yes, it would be, of course,” the Colonel said with a faint frown. “Somehow I doubt, though, that Agent Six will want to come out with you. He has well established himself in Japan. I’m pretty sure he will want to remain and carry on with his work. However, that is something that will be strictly up to him. He’ll decide whether it’s best for him to remain or come away with you. I…”

  The Colonel cut himself off short and made a little gesture of exasperation.

  “But the whole thing is so confounded thin!” he grunted. “The chance of your being successful is so slim. Yet, I am convinced that learning Agent Six’s information is worth any risk. And I really do feel that way.”

  “Then that’s good enough for us, sir,” Randall said evenly. “When do we start for Negros, sir?”

  “You’ll leave Darwin tomorrow so that you’ll arrive at Negros after dark,” the Colonel said. “And...and God bless you both, and bring you back safe and successful.”

  “Amen to that, sir, and thank you,” Jimmy Joyce murmured fervently.

  Chapter Six – Sky Killers

  HIGH UP IN the Southwest Pacific sky the lone Yank Flying Fortress prop-churned its way northward toward the Philippine Islands some two hundred and fifty miles distant. Every member of the nine-man crew was at his battle station, scanning the surrounding darkening heavens for signs of enemy planes. In the empty bomb compartment of the huge four-engine aircraft Red Randall and Jimmy Joyce were taking things easy as non-paying passengers.

  “Well, another hour or so and this air ride will be history,” Randall said, breaking a five or six minute silence between them.

  “And you can put it in the record that I’ll be very happy when it is!” Jimmy Joyce echoed. “The first leg of our little jaunt finished, and the next coming up. It certainly will be nice if it’s all as easy as this.”

  “Listen to the man rave!” Randall grunted. “Compared to what we’ve got ahead of us, my friend, this joy-hop doesn’t even count.”

  “I guess you’ve got something there,” young Joyce sighed. “Look, Red, tell me something.”

  “Now, let’s not go into that again,” Randall groaned. “We’ve talked each other practically deaf, dumb, and blind. And we still can’t figure out who’s the most screwy—Colonel Denton for putting this mad idea up to us, or you and I for agreeing to tackle it. All we know is that we’re on our way, for better or for worse. So why not leave it like that, hey, fellow?”

  “Okay, if you want it that way, Red,” Jimmy Joyce murmured. “But I’ve
got a funny feeling, and don’t laugh.”

  “Who’s laughing?” Randall asked. “A funny feeling about what?”

  “That we’re going to pull this thing off, in spite of how mad and cockeyed it appears to us now,” young Joyce told him.

  Randall grinned and linked his fingers behind his head.

  “Well, just hang onto that feeling, Jimmy,” he said. “It will help us both...plenty.”

  “Then you don’t think...?” Jimmy Joyce began and gave him a sharp look.

  “That’s right,” Randall nodded. “I don’t think. I mean, I’m trying my darnedest not to think. You and the Colonel and I hashed over every detail last night. And today you and I have hashed them over again. If all goes according to plan, we can’t miss. The trouble is, though, darn little in this war goes according to plan. That’s why I’m trying not to think about things. Hang on to that feeling you’ve got, kiddo. And I’ll keep my fingers crossed, too. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough, Red,” young Joyce agreed.

  With that the pair lapsed into another short spell of brooding silence. It was a short spell, no more than four minutes. At the end of that time the alert buzzer sounded throughout the Fortress, and both youths could feel the huge craft suddenly pick up speed.

  “Oh-oh!” Randall grunted, and pushed up on his feet. “My guess is that we’re running into company at last. I thought we’d been getting too many good breaks.”

  As though to emphasize those words, the port guns of the Fortress suddenly smashed out a song of death and destruction. In a single leap Randall crossed the bomb compartment and pressed his face to the small window and stared out. At first he could see nothing but a world of blurred gray that gradually became a faint red glow far over on the western horizon. Night was closing down fast, and even as he strained his eyes for the sight of attacking Japanese wings, the red glow in the west faded and the heavens took on a darker shade of gray.

  And then he saw them. Six Japanese Zeros were streaking down at the Fortress in perfect formation. Six Japanese Zeros and then there were only five as one of the Fort’s gunners found his mark. Five Zeros still streaking down, and the sixth was a ball of fire seemingly hanging motionless in mid-air.

  “The fools!” Randall grated as he watched the five Zeros drop lower and lower. “Look at them come down like soldiers on parade. Boy! If I only had a pair of guns. What easy pickings those chumps are. I...”

  He cut off the rest because at that moment the Fortress shook and trembled with the vibration recoil of the starboard and top turret guns going into action. An instant later the Flying Fortress lurched drunkenly off to the left and down. The sudden movement threw Randall off balance, and he tried frantically to grab hold of something for support. However, he clutched only thin air and went stumbling across the bomb compartment to crash into Jimmy Joyce. They both went down in a heap, and it was a couple of seconds before either of them could regain his breath. In the meantime the Fortress was still lunging off and down to the left.

  “We stopped something that time!” Jimmy panted as he scrambled up onto his feet and grabbed hold of a flare rack to steady himself.

  “And how!” Red echoed and started forward. “My guess is that the pilot stopped some of it, too. This Fort feels like she’s going down out of control. Come on. We’d better take a look.”

  The lurching, downward plunge of the Fortress made progress forward a most difficult undertaking, but Randall finally reached the little door leading to the navigator’s nook and jerked it open. The navigator was not at his little desk. He was up aloft in the turret, manning the guns there. He looked down and yelled something as Randall pushed forward to the pilot’s compartment, but Red did not understand it and went on.

  A couple of moments later he fought his way into the pilot’s compartment. One look made his heart skip a beat, and cold lumps of lead formed in his stomach. Captain Little, the pilot of the Flying Fortress was dead. A burst of bullets had smashed through the glass window on the left and killed the Captain instantly. The upper half of his body was slumped forward over the controls, forcing the aircraft to remain in its mad power dive.

  Lieutenant Wilson, the Fort’s copilot had also been hit. He was not dead, but he was seriously wounded, and his unconscious body was slumped over against his side of the compartment. One swift glance at the two of them, and then Randall yelled at Jimmy Joyce right behind him and went to work.

  “Lend a hand, Jimmy! We’ll take Captain Little first. He’s leaning against the controls and keeping us in the dive.”

  Jimmy grabbed hold of the dead pilot and pulled him back in the seat. With one hand Randall reached forward and eased back on the four throttles, and with the other he took a firm grip on the Dep wheel and pulled steadily backward. Like a runaway horse with the bit in its teeth, the Flying Fortress refused to come out of its crazy dive. It went plunging on down through the now night-shrouded sky, and tingling fear made Randall’s throat and mouth go bone dry.

  “Get Little out of the seat, Jimmy!” he gasped. “I can’t get enough pull like this. Heave him out and then help me.”

  “Just what I’m trying to do!” young Joyce panted back at him. “All right! Up we go. Okay, Red. Get into that seat fast!”

  Randall slid into the now empty seat, braced himself, and used both of his hands on the controls. The Flying Fortress responded almost grudgingly. The nose carne up slowly until finally Randall had the craft on even keel, had trimmed ship, and was opening up the four throttles. Sweat streamed down his face, and his lungs felt as though they were on fire. Little by little, though, new strength flowed through him. Suddenly he realized that all the shooting had ceased. And it was then that Lieutenant Allen, the navigator, pushed his way into the pilot’s compartment. His face was smeared with gunpowder and grease, and all the hatred in the world seemed to flare up in his eyes as he looked down at Captain Little’s dead body where Jimmy Joyce had placed it on the floor boards in back of the twin seats.

  “The dirty devils!” he choked out. “They got Little! They got Pete Little!”

  “And Wilson, too,” Randall said and nodded at the unconscious copilot. “He’s not dead, but he’s hit bad. Have you a first-aid kit aboard? Maybe we can save him. And what about the others?”

  “All right, I think,” the navigator said, as a sort of dazed look came into his eyes. “You can check on the intercom. The Japs are gone. It was just a hit-and-run for them. We got two. I saw two of them go down. But Pete Little...!”

  Allen stumbled over his words, and he began to shake like a leaf from head to foot. Randall reached back and placed a hand on the man’s arm.

  “Steady, fellow,” he said quietly. “It won’t help anybody if you go off half-cocked. What’s happened has happened. And you’ve still got to give me the course to Negros, you know. Did Captain Little tell you what the landing signals were?”

  Randall’s quiet voice, plus the reassuring pressure of his fingers on Allen’s arm, seemed to do the navigator a world of good. The dazed look faded from his eyes. He licked his lips, swallowed, and nodded.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I didn’t mean to sound off like that. This was my first scrap, you see. I guess a fellow has to kind of get used to it. The shock, I mean. Don’t worry, I’m okay now. I’ll get you to Negros right on the nose. I was there several times before the war. I know it like my own front yard.”

  “Swell,” Randall said. “And the landing signals? What about them?”

  “We’re to go in over the field at fifteen hundred and heading due north,” the navigator told him. “Then we are to circle to the right and flash our wing lights three times. Then they’ll light landing flares to show us the landing strip and wind direction. That’s all there is to it. But, say! I guess we owe you something. All of us. If you hadn’t pulled us out of that dive, none of us would be here now. We’d be shark food. I thought something was wrong, the way the ship was going down. I yelled at you as I saw you scrambling by, but you didn’t
answer.”

  “I didn’t hear you clearly, and, besides, there wasn’t time,” Randall told him. “We can talk later. Things to do now. Jimmy, lend a hand with Wilson, will you, and see what you can do. I’ll check with the other crew members. Give me my course, Allen, as soon as you can.”

  “Keep her as she’s headed now,” the navigator said after a glance at the instrument panel. “I’ll have a correction course for you in five minutes. I’ve got to do some figuring and checking first.”

  “Okay, five minutes then,” Randall grunted, and turned front to slip on the intercom headphones and pick up the flap mike.

  A couple of minutes later he had completed his check with the members of the crew. They all answered, and not one of them reported that he had been hit. A very pleasing addition to the good news was the fact that the Flying Fortress had not been seriously damaged. Save for the one unlucky burst that had slashed through the pilot’s compartment window to snuff out Captain Little’s life and to wound copilot Wilson, the Flying Fortress had survived the short but savage hit-and-run attack untouched.

  But one man had been killed. Japanese bullets had taken Captain Little from the ranks of Uncle Sam’s war eagles, and perhaps Lieutenant Wilson, too. Two Japanese had paid for that bit of dirty work with their own lives. But in Red Randall’s mind two Japanese lives for two American lives was not an even score.

  He guided the Flying Fortress forward through the black sky. At length he turned his head to see Jimmy Joyce slide into the copilot’s seat. In the faint glow of the cowled instrument board light young Joyce’s face looked drawn and haggard. There was a smear of blood on his chin. Randall peered at it closely and saw that it was not from any wound on Joyce’s chin. It was another man’s blood.

  “How is he, Jimmy?” he asked. “Any chance? Any hope?”