Dave Dawson with the Pacific FleetBowen, Robert Sidney
General
Dave Dawson with the Pacific Fleet
Bowen, Robert Sidney
World War, 1939-1945 -- Juvenile fiction
Fighting the tendency of the Lockheed to yaw toward the dead engine
side, and struggling to keep the left outboard engine turning over,
Dave leaned over close to the shattered window and peered down into the
sea of silver-white light below. For a couple of seconds he couldn't
see anything but eye-dazzling light. Then as the flares dropped astern,
he was able to get a good look at the type of terrain below.
What he saw didn't exactly cause his chilled heart to warm up and loop
over with joy. True, they had safely crossed over the highest peaks of
that part of the mountain range. Below, though, were the tree-covered
foothills, cut by deep jagged stone sided ravines, and narrow plateau
formations of ground that would be hard for even a crow to alight on.
"It's no go, Dawson!" Colonel Welsh's voice suddenly broke the tingling
silence that had settled over the trio. "I know what's in your mind,
but our safest bet is for all three of us to jump. We've still got
three or four thousand feet of clearance. I think we should jump."
"I don't, not yet," Dave said bluntly, and raked the terrain below with
his eyes. "I think we should hang on a bit longer, and try to pick out
some spot big enough to slip into. This is wild country here, Colonel.
If we bail out we'll lose contact with each other, and all three of us
get lost. Let's look hard, first. I can keep her up a big longer. That
left outboard hasn't quit cold yet. And we're not losing altitude too
fast."
"All right," Colonel Welsh said grimly, and leaned forward the better
to study the flare-lighted ground below. "Confound that rat! I'd give a
lot to have his neck between my two hands right now!"
"I can think of things to do to him, myself," Dave grunted. Then, out
of the corner of his mouth: "Work those eagle eyes hard, Freddy. This
is where you should star. You always do see things first. Hurry up and
find Papa a place big enough to set us down in."
"Shut up and tend to your flying!" the English youth growled. "You
dropped our nose two feet while you were talking. Want to power dive
us in, or something? You--hold it, Dave! Bear right a bit. What's that
down there? It looks like--oh, blast it! They would, wouldn't they!"
The last was caused by the two flares finally touching ground and being
snuffed out. Quick as a flash Freddy Farmer shot out his hand and
released two more flares. The instant his eyes were again accustomed
to the bright light, Dave looked in the direction of the English
youth's pointed finger. His heart did loop with joy this time, and
he gulped with relief. What at first looked like the rock studded
side of a foothill was actually a strip of barren and seemingly level
ground between two foothills. It wasn't very big, but it seemed big
enough--unless Lady Luck deliberately turned her face the other way.
"Yeah, check, Freddy!" Dave murmured, and eased the laboring Lockheed
around and down. "That's us, that spot. Just hang on, everybody. It
won't be long now!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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