do.”
“0.K., Bill,” Sandy said. But he regarded Bill suspiciously. He knew this might be a stall on Bill's. part to take him, Sandy, out of danger. He knew Bill had been jittery ever since the deaths of Mort Henderson and Cy Hawkins, and this wouldn't be the first time that Bill had sidetracked him to keep him from actual combat.
“I want you to take the Eaglet out,” Bill said, “and when we get a little north of here, near the northern tip of Queen Charlotte Island, I want you to take a run up to Juneau and see what you can find out at the airport. Red made a landing there. Get hold of the airport manager. Tell him who you are and find out what Red had to say to him.
“I don't want to send Shorty or Bev because we may run into some trouble a little later in the day and I'll need them. Things are going too quietly. If some one wanted to get us up here they've succeeded, and hell may pop any time.”
“I knew it!” Sandy said, pointing his finger at Bill. “You're trying to sidetrack me! You know we may run into trouble and you're trying to get me out of the way. I can hold up my end any .old day. in the week. Bill. I——”
“Shut up!” Bill roared at him. “I'm sending you because you can slip in there and out again in the Eaglet without being noticed. If I send a Snorter or the Lancer, the whole world will know it.” Bill's face was flushed with anger. “I want you to learn to obey orders, kid. I know you can hold up your end and I'm not trying to sidetrack you. You may run into plenty of trouble yourself. Now hop to it!”
“O. K., Bill,” Sandy said. “I'm sorry I ——”
“That's all right,” Bill said trying to hide a grin. “Get on it!”
Sandy was on his feet in an instant, his face glowing with anticipation. In another minute he was in the cockpit of the little fighter that had been literally built around him and was fastening his safety belt.
Bill throttled his engines as Sandy waved a hand at him and signaled to Miles to throw the switch that would bring the powerful suspension gear into play.
As Miles threw the switch, the floor of the transport divided into two segments and swung downward. Then the telescoping crane supporting the tiny Eaglet slid through the opening in the fuselage.
When the little plane was about twenty-five feet below the under-carriage of the carrier. Sandy turned a crank that operated a high-speed worm manipulating the folding wings. There was a mechanical click as the locking lugs turned; then the wings began to turn on their hinges. Another click and the gull-type wings were locked in flying position.
Bill's forehead was covered with cold, clammy perspiration. He couldn't ever get over the idea that it would be his fault if something went wrong with the mechanism and Sandy was hurt in one of those take-offs.
He held the ship steady while he waited for the first blast of Sandy's ^ engine. As the roar of the powerful eight hundred and thirty h.p. Twin Wasp joined the crescendo of the two supercharged Diesels of the transport, a smile flitted on his lips. His tanned face wrinkled with pride.
“The kid has what it takes,” he said to himself as the Eaglet dropped away.
Bill flipped the switch on his radio panel and chanted Sandy's call letters into his microphone.
“Nice going, kid,” he said when
Sandy checked back. “You know what I want to know. Just nose around. But keep your own mouth shut. You'd better load up your tanks again before you leave there. Keep in contact with me. I'll let you know our position as soon as you, get away. You'll have about an hour's run up there. Then you'll have to give it the whip when you leave. You'll be over open water, so keep in contact.”
“0. K., Bill,” Sandy said. He brought the Eaglet around on one wing, kicked its tail in the air like a bucking broncho and laid the nose on the capital of Alaska.
An hour later he was talking to Martin Cassidy, the red-faced jovial manager of the airport. He remembered talking to Red Gleason the week before.
“I knew Red in France during the War,” he told Sandy. “He's an old pal of mine. Has anything happened? He said he would stop in to see me on his way back. He just refueled and shoved off for Nome. I had a little trouble getting juice for those Diesels.”
“No,” Sandy said when he had an opportunity to speak, “nothing is wrong. I'm supposed to join him up here and I haven't been able to make contact with him yet. I thought he might have told you something definite about his plans.”
“He didn't,” Cassidy said. “But you better drop down at Whitehorse and
Flat before you get to Nome. They may know something. What are you fellows doing up here?”
“Just a survey for the government,” Sandy lied. “I'd like to load up with some gas if you can spare it.”
“Rather,” Cassidy said. “Be sure to drop in with Red on your way back.
He's a great lad, Gleason.”
A few minutes later the Gastineau Channel flashed under Sandy's wings and off to the right Mount Fairweather towered sixteen thousand feet into the cold, clear air.
“A lot he could tell me,” Sandy said aloud and flipped his radio switch to make contact with Bill. “Probably Bill will think I'm a dummy.”
The deep growl of the Twin Wasp in the nose of his Eaglet became a thunderous roar as he opened his throttle and sped out over the Gulf of Alaska.
A few minutes later he had become definitely aware that there was something wrong with his radio. He tuned and checked and rechecked, but not even. the rasp of static answered his efforts. He was debating what he had better do when he felt the Eaglet quiver like a mortally wounded animal. He could hear bullets drumming into its tail as a machine gun yammered above his head. For one startled instant he sat immobile, frozen to the stick.
Then he yanked it back into his stomach and zoomed up and over on his back as a black-and-red biplane streaked beneath him. At the top of his loop he half rolled the Eaglet to a level position and gazed over the side to see the rugged little biplane pull out of its dive and come around in a wide, sweeping bank.
“My golly,” Sandy said to himself, “where did he come from?” His face was suddenly flushed and he could feel his blood racing through his body like white-hot fire. He opened his throttle wide and zoomed upward in an abrupt climbing turn until he almost stalled. Then he brought the nose down as the black-and-red biplane came streaking up underneath him with its twin guns spewing burst after burst of fire. Lead chewed through the leading edge of his left wing. He threw the Eaglet out of the line of fire as anger half choked him.
The pilot of the biplane had hung it on its prop to take it upstairs, then brought it around in a flashing chandelle. Sandy pulled his stick back and raced to meet the diving plane.” His finger tightened on his gun trip and his guns chattered their song of death. His bullets drew a line along the engine housing of the fast biplane before the pilot skidded it out of range.
Sandy was talking to himself through clenched teeth. All fear had left him after that first surprise attack. He had settled down to handling the Eaglet like a veteran.
“You snake!” he shouted at the pilot of the black-and-red ship. “You low-down, sway-backed son of a pig! You'll try to shoot a man in the back, will you, you knife-throwing rat? I'll teach you, you——” He was working himself * into a frightful rage when he remembered that that was one of the things Bill had taught him not to do.
The two ships streaked and tumbled across the sky, filling the air with the roar of their thundering motors and the chatter of their twin guns. They fired burst after burst at one another with out telling effect.
Sandy's fingers clamped down on his gun trip time after time as the biplane came under his sights. But before his bullets reached the other plane, it had slipped away. He made noises in his throat and almost lost control of himself again. Then his lips became a single hard, straight line across his face.
“Concentrate!” he told himself. “Study his tactics.”
He slipped the Eaglet out of range as the black-and-red biplane came roaring at him again with its guns yammering fire and death. He kept right on by the rugged black-and-red ship, then yanked his stick up and threw it to the left as he kicked his rudder. He came up and over in a fast turn and dived again. But when he clamped down on his firing trip, the black-and-red plane disappeared from under his sights as though some unseen hand had flicked it out of danger.
Sandy shook his head in disgust. He realized that he was still bearing down too hard. He knew that he was doing the very thing Bill had taught him not to do. He was “freezing on his controls” like a novice. He was trying too hard.
